Their footsteps retreat, and voices fade as they give us privacy.
Kate slowly slides down from my arms, her boots touching the floor, her gaze sweeping the space like she can’t believe it’s real. The entryway opens into wide, clean lines—stone, timber, and glass. The kind of architecture that breathes.
“It’s… beautiful,” she whispers.
I watch her more than the house.
“It’s quiet,” she adds, softer, then she turns, eyes shining. “It feels like you.”
She moves forward, slow, reverent, fingers trailing along the wall as if she needs to touch every inch to convince herself it exists. I follow, my steps heavy, controlled, my body still buzzing with everything I haven’t said.
We pass the living room with vaulted ceilings, windows that look out onto the sleeping pasture and the dark silhouette of Iron Stallion beyond. The moonlight spills in, silver and calm.
“This is yours,” she murmurs.
I shake my head once. “Ours.”
My hand slides to her waist, pulling her flush against me. “I love you,” I confess, breathing the words to life for the first time.
She smiles so wide, her whole countenance lighting up. “I love you more.”
My mouth finds hers, the kiss immediate and deep, swallowing the rest of the distance between us. Kate makes a sound against my lips, her hands gripping my shirt like she’s afraid to fall.
I back her toward the nearest wall, the glass beside us cold, the contrast brutal against the heat building fast inside my body. Her coat is the first thing to go, then mine. Kate’s fingers slip beneath my shirt, palms skimming skin, and I feel the way she shudders from want.
“This house,” she whispers against my mouth, dizzy. “We should…”
“Christen it,” I finish, voice dark.
Her laugh is breathless. “Yes.”
I lift her without effort, her legs wrapping around my waist. I carry her down the hallway, toward the bedroom that waits at the end like a promise. The door closes behind us, and the rest of the world disappears.
The bedroom is dark except for the moonlight spilling in through the glass, pale and silver across the sheets. Kate stands in the middle of it like she doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, her breathing unsteady, her hair coming loose around her shoulders.
She turns slowly, eyes finding mine, and something in her expression breaks me open in a way bullets never could. I pull her closer, my hands sliding to her waist, and this time the kiss is slower. She melts against me with a soft sound, fingers curling into my shoulders, and I feel the exact moment she lets go—of fear, doubt, and the last months of survival that have lived in her bones.
My mouth moves to her jaw, her throat, tasting her like promise.
She exhales my name like a prayer. “Ryder…”
“I’ve got you,” I murmur. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Her hands find my face, holding me there, forcing me to stay in the moment instead of disappearing into instinct.
“Say it again,” she whispers.
“I’m staying.”
I bridge the gap between us and take my time stripping off all the layers on her, until she stands in front of me—all naked glory, bathed in the moonlight. A shudder runs through her as I lift hercarefully, lay her back onto the bed as she watches me with wide, luminous eyes.
I kiss her again—slower, thorough, worshipful. My hands trace her like I’m memorizing her. Kate’s back arches when I move lower, her fingers gripping the sheets, her voice breaking on my name. My mouth wraps around her nipples. I don’t rush. I take my time, because this isn’t frantic. This is claiming. This is me choosing to stay.
Her hands pull me closer, her body answering mine with desperate honesty, every touch a yes, every breath a surrender.
“Ryder,” she whispers, trembling. “Please.”
I press my forehead to hers, breath ragged. “I’ve got you,” I murmur. “I’m not leaving.”
