Instead I'm thinking about how easy it would be to roll over and pin her beneath me. How she'd gasp, probably. That little intake of breath she does when she's surprised. How her hands would feel in my hair if I kissed my way down her neck.
"Instead I'm thinking about you," I say. "Which is inconvenient."
"Inconvenient." She laughs, low and quiet. "That's flattering."
"It's honest."
"Your honesty needs work."
"My honesty is fine. My timing is the problem."
She shifts closer. Not much, an inch, maybe two. But enough that I can feel the movement through the mattress. Enough that the space between us shrinks to something that feels more like an invitation than a boundary.
My hand is moving before I can stop it, reaching across the space between us to touch her jaw. Her skin is soft. Warm. She goes perfectly still, her breath catching as my fingers trace the line of her cheekbone.
"Jake?" Her voice is barely a whisper.
"I'm trying to talk myself out of something," I say.
"Is it working?"
"No."
My thumb brushes across her lower lip. She shivers, not from cold, and her eyes flutter half-closed.
"This is a bad idea," she whispers.
"I know."
"We barely know each other."
"I know."
"I'm leaving as soon as the storm clears."
"I know that too." Her hand comes up to take my wrist. She doesn’t move it, just holds on. Keeps it there like she doesn’t want me to let go.
"We should sleep," I say. My voice is unsteady. "We should... we need to sleep."
"Yeah."
I roll onto my back, flexing my hand as I stare at the ceiling. Every nerve in my body is screaming at me to close the distance, to finish what I started. But she deserves better than a guy who takes advantage of a snowstorm.
"Good night, Madison."
"Good night, Jake."
Chapter 5
Madison
I wake up alone.
For a moment, I'm disoriented. Wrong ceiling, wrong bed, wrong everything. Then the memories come flooding back. The storm. The cabin. Jake Morgan's fingers tracing my jaw in the firelight like he was memorizing me. His thumb brushing across my lip. His voice, rough and honest:I’m trying to talk myself out of something.
Oh God.
I press my hands to my face. I can still feel the ghost of his touch. The way he looked at me when he said it. The way he pulled back like it cost him something.
