I’d explained to Tessa that while most of the mountain had no cell service, her father had set up an extensive satellite system to run his financial business from his home office and had extended the service to all of us.
“I promise,” she continues, turning asshe notices me. Her lips curl up into a soft smile. “You don’t have to worry,” she says into the phone before pulling it away from her ear and clicking the button to put it on speaker.
There’s a pause, and then?—
“You’re in good hands with Holt,” Luke says. “Let him take care of you.”
My jaw tightens. Her nostrils flare, and she sucks in a breath.
“That’s a good idea,” she says, meeting and holding my gaze. “I’ll let him take very good care of me.”
Fuck. Me.
“Good,” Luke says, completely oblivious to what a traitorous asshole I am. “I’ll get there as soon as I can. I have a few more meetings I’m trying to cancel, and then I’ll need to get up the mountain. I could still be a few days, depending on the roads.”
“That’s okay.” She looks me directly in the eyes as she speaks. “Take your time.”
She ends the call and sets the phone down, her eyes still locked on me.
The silence that follows is loaded.
She doesn’t look away.
I was an idiot to think that kiss would have scared her off. It had only done the exact opposite.
As if to confirm my thoughts, she says, “You don’t scare me, Holt.”
I swallow and jerk my head in a nod. “I’m starting to see that.”
I run my hand through my hair and walk across the room toward the kitchen. I take my time pouring myself a measure of whiskey before I turn around. “I’m not who you think I am, Tessa.”
She stands from the couch where she’d been curled up and pulls her hair up to the top of her head, stretching so I can see the expanse of skin on her stomach before dropping her hands and letting her long blonde locks spill down over her shoulders.
“You’re exactly who I think you are,” she says. “Who I’ve always thought you were.”
I frown and take a sip of the golden liquid. “What does that mean?”
“You’re a good man, Holt.”
I shake my head. “You don’t know me.”
“I know my dad trusts you,” she says, taking a step toward me. “And he told me to let you take care of me.”
“That’s not what he meant.”
“It’s whatImeant.” She reaches for the whiskey in my hand, and I let her take it. I watch as she takes a small sip and doesn’tflinch at the burn of the alcohol. “I’m a big girl, Holt. I make my own decisions.”
Something in me snaps.
It’s a quiet but dangerous shift.
Walking away from her—fromthis—no longer feels like an option.
I should say something.
Instead, I reach for her.
My hand curls around her waist, tugging her toward me. I let my thumb move in small circles on the inch of exposed flesh.
