Shit.
This is not what I should be thinking about. Not tonight. Not right after dredging up all of that darkness. But fuck if my body cares about the timing.
Her eyes drop to my mouth.
Just for a second.
But it’s enough to punch the air straight out of my lungs.
I release a ragged breath. “Get some sleep, Red,” I manage. My voice rougher than it should be.
She nods but doesn’t move.
I lift a hand before I can stop myself and tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. Her lips part, and the room tilts. Her hand lifts like she’s about to touch my chest, so I lean in.
Slow.
And I swear the air literally sparks between us as my nose almost brushes hers.
Her breath trembles.
Her eyes flutter shut—
And I pull back.
Not far but just enough.
Her eyes open, confused and so fucking soft.
“I should go,” I say, voice rough. “Before I do something we’re both gonna think about all night long.”
A flush spreads across her cheeks. It’s beautiful.
Deadly.
Opening the door, I pause in the doorway. “Goodnight, Abbie Girl.”
“Goodnight, Jas.”
I step out of the guesthouse before I change my mind. Before I take her face in my hands and erase every inch of distance between us. The porch boards creak under my boots as I walk back toward the main house—heart pounding, hands shaking, chest heaving. Because all I can think is—
I’m in trouble.
Deep, life-altering trouble.
Because, despite being with so many women in my life, that one in there isn’t just getting under my skin. Nah. She’s slipping into the cracks of places I’ve spentyearssealing shut.
And I want to let her.
Chapter thirteen
Abigail
Lucyisawarm,snoring lump at my feet, her tiny paws occasionally twitching against my ankle as if she’s chasing something in her dreams. Lying on my back, I fold my arms over my stomach and stare up at the wooden beams stretching across the guesthouse ceiling.
Yesterday plays through my head on repeat just like it did in my dreams all night long. Meeting Lincoln and Jasper. Dinner in the big house. Beau dropping the mug, and the way the sound shattered something inside me the moment the ceramic crashed against the floor. And four men moving toward me not with anger, not with raised voices or flinching disgust, but with steady hands, soft words, and space to breathe.
It doesn’t feel real.
