There will be no shutting down. Not this time.
I clean up, breathing ragged, already knowing one taste will never be enough. Sloane is mine now. And I’m going to ruin her for anyone else.
Sloane
A week ago, I was running for my life.
Today, I’m arguing with Farmer Dan about whether there’s actually something in the water in Crescent Ridge that makes women stay.
“I’m telling you, it’s real,” he insists, leaning back against the picnic table with a grin. “You drink enough of it and suddenly you’re married with a baby on the way.”
Cole snorts from the other side of the table. “Or maybe it’s just that we’re all charming as hell.”
“Speak for yourself,” Casanova mutters, not even looking up from his sandwich.
I laugh before I can stop myself, the sound slipping out easy. It startles me a little, how normal it feels standing here in the middle of the yard, handing out lunch like I’ve been doing it for years instead of days.
Carter takes the basket from me without a word, his hand brushing mine just enough to tease.
I don’t feel like I’m hiding.
I don’t feel like I’m waiting for something to go wrong.
For a few minutes, I feel like I belong here.
By the time I leave the yard, I’m in no rush. I visit with Carina and Sam Carmichael atSugar Crossingfor a couple of hours before stopping byReid’s Garageto see if he’s hiring. He is, but he’s not available to meet me until after he gets back from vacation.
I stop at the grocery store, picking up a few things Carter doesn’t even know he’s out of, and exchange a few words with the woman behind the counter. When I pass the diner, Wendy waves from inside, and I wave back without thinking about it.
Everything feels normal.
That’s why I notice him.
He’s standing near the front window when I go into the grocery store. He’s still outside when I come back out. I tell myself it doesn’t mean anything, but then I see him in a truck two streets over from the diner.
My grip tightens on the steering wheel. I take the next turn slower than I should and watch my mirror.
The truck follows.
The burner phone is in my hand before I think about it, Carter’s number already pulled up. It rings once, twice, then goes to voicemail.
I try again with the same result.
My chest tightens, breath coming shorter as I glance back at the road and then the mirror again. I’m not staying in town.
Instead of heading back the way I came, I turn onto the road that leads up the mountain and press harder on the gas.
If he wants to follow me, he’s going to have to keep up.
By the time I pull up to the cabin, my hands are shaking bad enough that I have to force them to be still before I open the truck door.
Carter is outside, splitting wood.
He lifts the axe and brings it down in one smooth motion, the movement controlled and efficient. The log splits clean under the force, wood cracking sharp against the quiet of the mountain. Sweat darkens the collar of his shirt, the fabric pulling tight across his shoulders with each swing, clinging just enough to show the shift of muscle underneath.
My mouth goes dry. Every swing of that axe makes his biceps flex and his powerful thighs strain against his jeans. Too easily I can imagine those strong hands gripping my hips instead, holding me open while he drives into me.
My panties are already damp, and when his green eyes lock on mine, dark with something far more possessive than concern, fresh heat floods my core.
