I watch her go, my grip tightening on the wheel as I think about the way her teeth cut into her pillowy bottom lip when she looked up at me, heat burning on her cheeks. She’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen in Devil’s Peak, too sweet. This place and the kind of men that call this mountain home will ruin her. As I pull into my driveway ten minutes later all I can think is that I need to stay away from Tessa, for her sake as much as mine.
Chapter 2
Tessa
Ialmost don’t knock.
The cabin sits tucked into Devil’s Peak like it grew here—dark wood, wide porch, smoke curling lazily from the chimney like it’s breathing. Quiet. Private. The kind of place you retreat to when you don’t want to be found.
Which makes sense.
Because the man who opens the door looks like someone who learned how to disappear.
Recognition hits hard enough to steal the air from my lungs.
Firefighter. Truck. Morning crash. Sawyer.
For half a second, neither of us moves.
Then his eyes shift—slow, deliberate—taking me in the same way they did on the side of the road, except now I’m standing on his porch, hair brushed, resume in my bag, heart trying to climb out of my throat.
“Well,” he says, voice low and rough. “Guess Devil’s Peak is smaller than it looks.”
I force a smile. “Apparently I have a talent for running into you.”
One corner of his mouth lifts. Not quite a smile. Something sharper.
“What can I do ya for, Sparklplug?”
“Sparkplug?” I burst into a laugh. “That’s a new one. Why sparkplug?”
“Well, when you rear-ended me earlier you kind of ruined my morning–like when a sparkplug goes–it’s an inconvenience–a minor one but one just the same.”
“Wow, so here I am, standing on your front porch looking to inconvenience your afternoon I guess.”
“Keepin’ me on my toes, that’s for sure. So what brings you to my side of the mountain?”
“Heard you were looking for a nanny, so here I am,” I grin widely.
“You?” His eyebrows jump. “What an unfortunate turn of events.”
“For who–you or me?”
“Likely both.” His eyes sparkle as he says the words.
“I really am sorry?—”
“Stop apologizing, Sparkplug. You already did that. Nothing worse than a woman who apologizes too much.”
“Oh–I–I don’t know how to take that.”
He shrugs and swings the door wide. “You comin’ in?”
I nod, stepping past him and trying to notice the way my body seems to hum with the close proximity of his. He’s all hard edges and squared jawline and the natural scent of him is pine with a hint of smoke. My eyes flutter closed a beat as I suck in a steadying breath.
The warmth inside the cabin wraps around me immediately—wood smoke, coffee, clean laundry. It smells lived-in. Safe. My instincts relax even as my nerves spike.
A little girl peers at me from the hallway, curiosity bright and unguarded.
