Her lips parted, then pressed back into a line. “So you’re saying it meant nothing and that showing up in my bed was an accident?”
He met her gaze. “Not exactly,” he said. If I’m being honest, I’d do it again if I knew it meant I’d sleep like that.” His truth seemed to catch her off guard. Anger flared in her dark eyes, followed by confusion, and then something he recognized instantly and couldn’t quite name.
She turned away a little, her hair catching the light. “You should think before you say things like that.”
“I did,” he admitted. “Hell, I’ve spent the entire day thinking about waking up next to you, Kimi.” He hadn’t planned on saying that part out loud, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Snow drifted between them, catching on her lashes.
She shook her head, her voice softer now. “You’re a storm waiting to happen, Gorgon.”
“So are you,” he said. “Except you haven’t learned how to use it to your advantage yet.”
Her laugh came out quieter than he expected. “Is that what you think you’re doing? Teaching me how to be the perfect storm?”
“Nope, I’m keeping you alive,” he said simply. “And maybe teaching you is the only way to do that.”
She looked up at him with eyes too dark to read, then nodded once, more to herself than to him. “Then I guess we’re both paying for your kind of safety.”
He almost smiled. “Safety’s just another word for temporary peace.” She turned from him before he could see how his comment landed. But her hands were clenched at her sides, telling him she wasn’t as angry as she wanted to be. She didn’t say another word to him, just walked into the clubhouse in a huff that had him smiling like a loon. She was the most unexpected thing to happen to him in a damn long time, and he had to admit that having Kimi around was way more fun than he thought it would be.
He followed her into the kitchen, where she was talking to Trudi. “I’d like to eat in my room, if that’s all right,” she said. Trudi shot him a look, and he nodded, despite his rule that they all ate meals together. If he didn’t agree, he was sure that Kimi would skip another meal, and he hated that thought.
She passed him in a huff and walked upstairs, stomping her way up the wooden planks as she went, proving that she was pissed. He got it—he was a little pissed at himself, but he wouldn’t take back anything that he had said to her because it was all true.
Gorgon took the early watch again after dinner. Night fell again over Manitoba, and his gaze drifted once more toward the window of the spare room upstairs. The curtain moved slightly, the faintest shift of a shadow, and he knew she was still awake. And even though he should’ve been focused on the horizon, or on the storm that would eventually bring Cole back, his mindonly held one maddening truth—he could live without sleep. He couldn’t survive that silence that only her presence had broken. And maybe that was going to be the beginning of his next mistake.
Kimi
The snow fell so thick that night it erased the horizon. Everything from the tree line to the highway vanished into the same white hush. The clubhouse lights glowed faint and golden through it—a small island in the dark.
Kimi couldn’t sleep. She’d tried stretching out on top of the blanket, tried drinking some tea, tried reading the same line in Trudi’s old paperback a dozen times. None of it worked. Every time she closed her eyes, the image of Gorgon in the cold yard filled the space behind her eyelids. His hands were shoved into his cut and his head tilted like he was listening to something only he could hear.
She hated that her body noticed him before her mind could argue with her to stop. She hated it more since her fear and her wanting had started to sound like the same voice in her head. A loose floorboard creaked outside the door. Footsteps—slow, heavy, and measured had come up the stairs, causing her pulse to leap before she could breathe it down. Then came the knock—only once on the door. She didn’t answer right away. The handle turned, the sound rough in the quiet. The door opened a few inches, and he stood there—broad silhouette haloed by the hallway light.
“Can’t sleep again?” she asked, voice steadier than she felt.
His eyes met hers. “Didn’t try yet.” He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The air changed; it always did when he entered a room, as if it rearranged itself around his gravity. For a long time, neither of them spoke. The heater hissed softly as the snow tapped the window like a heartbeat.
Kimi finally said, “If you’re here to apologize again, don’t.”
“I’m not.” His voice was low, a scrape of gravel.
“Then what are you doing here?” she asked. She already knew his answer, but she wanted to hear him say it.
He took one slow step closer, and her heart felt as though it might beat out of her chest. “I’m trying to stop pretending I haven’t wanted to come back here all day.” Her breath caught. Every defense she’d built wavered into thin air like smoke.
“Gorgon,” she breathed.
He shook his head. “You can tell me to leave,” he whispered. She should have told him to leave. Every reason played through her mind—the danger outside, the chaos she’d brought to him and his clubhouse, and the way men like him didn’t belong with women like her. But instead of saying no, she reached up and touched his collar. Just one hand, trembling slightly. The leather was cold under her fingers, but the warmth of his throat wasn’t. Something in him stilled, and then seemed to break open.
He leaned in, slow enough that she could have moved away, but she didn’t. His hand came up, fingertips grazing the side of her jaw, the callused pad of his thumb tracing the place where her pulse met her skin. Her world narrowed to that single contact. And when his mouth met hers, it wasn’t gentle—it was careful, yes, but weighted, like a confession disguised as need. The kiss tasted like heat and smoke and the exhaustion they’d both been carrying for too long.
She caught a handful of his shirt and pulled him closer without thinking. The sound he made—low and surprisedshivered straight through her. Each breath grew rougher, the line between caution and want dissolving into the dark.
When he finally drew back, both of them were breathing hard. Their foreheads touched; the air between them felt fragile enough to break. “This is a bad idea,” she whispered.
He nodded, not moving away. “Yeah.”
“Then why can’t I stop?” she breathed.
