“Shower?” she mumbled against my shoulder, her voice sleepy and satisfied.
“Later.” I carried her down the short hall to my bedroom. “Sleep first. You’re exhausted.”
She lifted her head, smirking even through heavy eyelids. “Only if you’ve got something bigger than a twin bed in there, mountain man. I’m not planning to wake up with my ass hanging off the edge.”
I huffed a laugh—the first real one in years. “King size. Plenty of room for both of us.”
“Good.” She nuzzled into my neck, lips brushing skin. “Because I’m planning on waking up in the middle of the night and climbing on top of you again.”
I kicked the bedroom door shut behind us, already half-hard at the thought.
“Rest up, Charisma,” I said, laying her gently on the cool sheets and sliding in beside her. “You’re gonna need it.”
She curled into my side, one leg thrown over mine, her hand splayed possessively on my chest. “Promise?” she whispered.
I kissed her temple, pulling the quilt over us both. “Promise.”
5
CHARISMA
The pounding woke me from a dead sleep.
For a disorienting moment, I didn’t know where I was. Warm sheets. A heavy arm draped over my waist. The smell of cedar and leather and sex.
Then the memories flooded back—the storm, the mailbox, T.J., the kitchen table, his mouth, his hands, the way he’d said my name like it meant something—and heat rushed to my cheeks even as my heart started hammering.
The pounding came again. A fist against wood, urgent and relentless.
“Charisma.” T.J.’s voice was rough with sleep but alert. Already moving. “Stay here.”
He slid out of bed, and I caught a glimpse of his bare back, the muscles shifting as he grabbed a pair of sweatpants from the floor and pulled them on. Then he was gone, the bedroom door clicking shut behind him.
I sat up, pulling the quilt to my chest. Pale gray light filtered through the curtains—morning, but barely. The storm had quieted to a soft hush of falling snow. Through the thin walls, Iheard the front door open, a rush of cold air—and then a voice that made my stomach drop.
“Where the hell is my sister?”
Dagger.
I scrambled out of bed, my heart pounding for an entirely different reason now. T.J.’s flannel was somewhere in the kitchen, buttons scattered across the floor, so I grabbed the first thing I could find—a folded T-shirt on the dresser. It hit me mid-thigh, barely decent, but I didn’t have time to care.
I yanked open the bedroom door and hurried down the hall.
Dagger stood in the doorway, snow dusting his shoulders, his face tight with worry that shifted to shock the moment he saw me. His eyes traveled from my bare legs to T.J.’s shirt to my disheveled hair, and I watched the pieces click into place.
“Charisma.” He said my name like he wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or furious. “What the hell is going on? I saw your car next to that stupid bear mailbox on the ground and I thought—” He stopped, his jaw working. “I thought something happened to you.”
“Something did happen to me.” I moved to stand beside T.J., close enough that our arms brushed. “But not the kind of something you’re thinking.”
Dagger’s gaze cut to T.J., sharp and assessing. They were roughly the same height, but T.J. had broader shoulders, more bulk. Not that Dagger looked intimidated. If anything, he looked like he was calculating exactly how many punches it would take to lay this guy out.
“Who are you?” Dagger asked, eyes narrowing at the man beside me.
“T.J. Jernigan.” T.J.’s voice was calm and steady. “Your sister hit my mailbox in the storm last night. Roads were impassable. I gave her a place to stay.”
“Looks like you gave her more than that.”
The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. I felt my cheeks burn, but before I could say anything, T.J. stepped forward.
