"You've been out here for a long time," she says, stepping aside to let me pass. "I was afraid you'd cut off a hand or leg… or something even more important." The grin that creases her face relieves some of my tension.
"Oh? And what appendage would that be?" I ask with a raised eyebrow as I dump the load of firewood into the container by the fireplace. Her face flushes, but she grins even wider as her eyes drop to my crotch. "So, it's my dick you're after."
"Well, it would be a shame to lose such a fine specimen," she says, her voice dropping to that husky tone that makes heat pool in my gut.
I move toward her, backing her against the doorframe. The blanket slips from one shoulder, revealing smooth skin and the curve of her collarbone. I brace one hand on the frame above her head, caging her in.
"I'm not afraid of you, remember?" Her hand comes up to rest on my chest, fingers splaying over my heart. Even through my shirt, her touch burns.
"You should be." But I'm leaning down anyway, drawn to her like metal to a magnet.
She rises on her toes to meet me halfway. "Too late for that."
The kiss starts soft but quickly turns hungry. Her fingers curl into my shirt, pulling me closer, and I slide my hand into her hair, angling her head to deepen the kiss. She tastes like coffee, and I could lose myself in this. In her.
But the memory of that office, those cold decisions, surfaces like oil on water. I pull back, breathing hard.
"Sasha?" Her lips are swollen, her eyes dark with desire.
"I need to shower." I step away, putting distance between us before I do something stupid like carry her back to bed and forget about everything else. "I'm covered in sweat."
"I don't mind." She moves toward me, persistent as always.
"I do." I head toward the bathroom, needing space to think, to breathe without her scent clouding my judgment.
The shower is scalding, but it doesn't wash away the unease that's been building since I woke. Those memory fragments feel like puzzle pieces that don't quite fit together, and the more I try to force them into place, the more jagged the edges become.
When I emerge, dressed in clean jeans and a thermal shirt, Maya has made coffee. She's in my shirt, her legs bare beneath the hem, and I have to force myself to look away from the smooth expanse of her thighs.
"Better?" she asks, handing me a mug.
"Getting there." I take a long drink, letting the heat settle in my chest.
We stand in comfortable silence for a moment, and then she says, "You want to talk about what's really bothering you?"
"Not particularly."
"Sasha." She sets her mug down and crosses her arms. The movement pushes her breasts up, and I can see the outline of her nipples through the thin fabric.Focus, you bastard. "You can't keep everything locked inside."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You've been chopping wood like you're trying to split the mountain in half." She moves closer, and I can feel the heat radiating from her body. "What did you remember?"
I set my own mug down and turn to face her fully. "Things I'm not proud of. Decisions that came too easily and violence that felt natural."
"You don't know if those memories are even real," she says softly. "They could be fragments of something bigger.""
“They feel real." I reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingers linger on her jaw. "They feel like the truth."
"So what if they are?" Her hand covers mine, holding it against her face. "So what if you did terrible things before? That doesn't define who you are now."
"Doesn't it?" I pull away and move toward the window, needing to see outside, to check the perimeter, old instincts rising to the surface. "If I was capable of that kind of cold calculation, that kind of brutality, then it's still in me. Waiting."
"Everyone has darkness in them." She follows me, her bare feet silent on the wooden floor. "The question is what you choose to do with it."
I stare out at the trees, at the road barely visible through the pines, and spot a plume of dust rising from the road.
Maya must sense my sudden tenseness. "What is it?"
