"Not in the way it used to." His smile is soft, vulnerable. "I learned to live with it. Most days, I forget it's there."
"I won't forget," I murmur, kissing it again, lingering this time. "Every scar has a story. I like yours."
The vulnerability in his admission makes my chest tight with emotion I'm not ready to name. Here's this strong, controlled man letting me see pieces of himself he probably doesn't share with anyone.
I look up at him, taking in the way the morning light catches the silver threads in his dark hair, the laugh lines around his blue eyes that speak of better times before whatever hardened him into the careful man he's become.
The moment stretches between us, loaded with things neither of us is ready to say but both of us feel. Finally, Gabriel glances at the clock on his nightstand and sighs with obvious reluctance.
"I need to shower," he says eventually, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of my head. "Got to be at the station in an hour. Paperwork on the Cutter arrest won't file itself."
I want to protest, want to keep him here in this perfect bubble we've created where the outside world can't touch us, but I know duty calls. It always does with Gabriel. "Go," I tell him, stealing one more kiss before he reluctantly disentangles himself from my limbs.
I watch him walk naked to the bathroom, admiring the play of muscles across his back and the confident way he moves.
When the shower starts, I slip from bed and pull on the first thing I find, a discarded T-shirt on the chair. It falls to my knees, smelling like him.
In the kitchen, I find Tyson sprawled in a patch of morning sunlight streaming through the windows, his massive head lifting hopefully when he sees me.
"Sorry, handsome," I tell him, scratching behind his ears until his tail thumps forgiveness. "I know I've been neglecting you for the sexy sheriff, but you're still my favorite boy."
I let him out for his morning patrol of Gabriel's property before starting the coffee, falling into a domestic routine that feels dangerous in its normalcy. It's only been a few days since I started staying here, but already this house feels more like home than anywhere I've lived since my mother died.
The thought should terrify me. Instead, it fills me with a longing so acute it takes my breath away.
I'm measuring coffee grounds when Gabriel appears in the kitchen doorway, hair still damp from his shower, wearing fresh jeans and a navy button-down that he's still fastening. Even the simple act of watching him get dressed feels intimate, domestic, like maybe this could be my life if I were brave enough to reach for it.
He moves closer, his presence filling the kitchen like he owns not just the space but the very air in it. When he stops just close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes, the air between us crackles with electricity.
"You keep looking at me like that," he says quietly, his gaze dropping to my mouth, "and I'm going to be late for work."
"Like what?" I whisper, even though I know exactly what he means. I'm looking at him like I want to taste every inch of his skin, like I want to hear again the sounds he makes when he completely loses that iron control.
Instead of answering, he steps closer, one hand bracing against the counter beside my hip while the other cups my cheek. His thumb traces my lower lip, and I can see the moment he decides to stop fighting whatever this magnetic pull is between us.
"Like you want me to bend you over this counter and remind you exactly how I can make you scream," he growls, his voice dropping to something dark and promising.
The words send fire racing through my veins like whiskey. I rise on my toes, drawn to him by forces beyond my control, and he leans down to meet me halfway.
Our lips are almost touching, our breath mingling in the space between want and surrender, when the sound of gravel crunching under tires shatters the moment.
We spring apart like we've been burned, both of us turning toward the window with the guilty reflexes of teenagers caught by parents.
Through the kitchen window, I can see Colt's truck pulling up next to Gabriel's patrol car, dust swirling in its wake like a small tornado. Beau's in the passenger seat, and my heart starts hammering against my ribs as I watch both men climb out.
Colt bends down near Gabriel's car and picks up something from the gravel, shaking his head with what looks like disbelief mixed with amusement.
When he straightens, I can see he's holding pieces of fabric that I realize with mortification are the clothes Gabriel and I abandoned in our desperate haste last night.
My face burns hot enough to fry eggs.
"Shit," I breathe, pressing my hands to my flaming cheeks.
"Should have known they wouldn't stay away," Gabriel says, his voice carrying equal parts amusement and territorial satisfaction as he moves to open the front door.
Colt's voice drifts through the house before they even step inside, thick with dry sarcasm that doesn't quite hide something sharper underneath. "Hope you made enough coffee for everyone, Sheriff. Found some interesting evidence in your driveway that suggests you had a very eventful evening."
My stomach drops to somewhere around my ankles.
