I'm going to die. Actually die. My heart can't take this.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and turns toward the cottage. I jump back from the window so fast I nearly tripover my own feet. Shit. Did he see me? Please God, don't let him have seen me.
I scramble to the kitchen and busy myself with the coffee maker, trying to look casual and failing. My hands shake as I measure out grounds. My face is on fire. My panties are absolutely ruined.
The back door opens.
"You're up." His voice is rough, breathless from exertion.
I don't turn around. Can't. If I look at him all sweaty and half-naked, I'm going to combust. "Yeah. Just... making coffee. Hope that's okay."
"Of course it's okay. You don't have to ask."
I hear him moving closer. Smell sweat, horse, and leather.
"Sleep okay?" he asks.
No. I spent half the night lying awake thinking about you and the other half dreaming about fucking you. "Fine. You?"
"Well enough."
Liar. I heard him tossing and turning.
The coffee maker gurgles. I focus on it like it's the most interesting thing in the world. Like I'm not aware of the massive half-naked man standing a few feet away.
"I should shower," he says. "Get cleaned up before breakfast."
"Okay." Please leave before I do something stupid.
He doesn't leave. Just stands there, and I can feel his eyes on me.
"Nicole."
I turn slowly, keeping my eyes on his face. His sweaty, gorgeous face with those brown eyes looking at me like he wants to say something important.
"Yeah?"
"Are you... okay? Really okay? After last night?"
He's asking about the party. About Jason. About being locked in that bathroom terrified.
Not about the kitchen conversation. Not about the loaded silence. Not about whatever this tension is between us that's been building for three years and reached critical mass last night.
"I'm okay," I tell him honestly. "Better than I expected to be. Thanks to you."
"You sure? Because if you need to talk about it, or if you need anything—"
"I'm sure." I offer him a small smile. "I promise. I'm tougher than I look."
"I know you are." He runs a hand through his hair again, and I watch the muscles in his arm flex. "I just... I want you to know you're safe here. For as long as you want to stay. No pressure, no expectations. Just... safety."
"Thank you."
"And if you want to talk to someone professional, someone who deals with trauma, I can help you find someone. Or if you want to report what happened, I'll go with you. Whatever you need."
God, he's perfect. Too perfect. And I'm going to lose it if he keeps being this considerate while standing there half-naked and glistening with sweat.
"I'll think about it," I say. "Right now, I just want coffee and maybe some breakfast and not think about Jason at all."
