"Good," I whisper. "A little sore, but…good."
His lips twitch in a satisfied half-smile. "Let me take care of you."
Before I can answer, he's scooping me up, carrying me naked through the cabin to a bathroom I haven't seen yet. A large clawfoot tub dominates the space, rustic but clean. He sets me on my feet and turns on the taps, testing the water temperature with his hand.
"You don't have to—" I start, but he cuts me off with a look.
"Let me take care of what's mine," he says, the words brooking no argument.
While the tub fills, he gently cleans between my legs with a warm washcloth, his touch clinical but reverent. I should be embarrassed, but there's something so tender in the gesture that I can only stand there, heart swelling in my chest.
When the tub is full, he helps me in, the hot water a blessing on my aching muscles. I expect him to leave, but instead, he rolls up his sleeves and kneels beside the tub.
"Lean back," he instructs, reaching for a bottle of shampoo.
His fingers in my hair are magic, strong yet gentle as they massage my scalp. I close my eyes, surrendering to the sensation.
"Such pretty hair," he murmurs. "My precious little girl, letting Daddy take care of her."
The praise washes over me like the warm water, making me feel cherished in a way I never have before. John's compliments always came with conditions—you look nice, but you'd look better if…Thorne's praise is absolute, unconditional.
"I'm an artist," I tell him as he rinses my hair, wanting him to know me, really know me. "I paint landscapes, mostly. I came up here hoping to find inspiration."
His hands pause briefly before resuming their gentle ministrations. "Did you? Find inspiration?"
I open my eyes to look at him. "I found something better."
His smile is small but genuine, transforming his rugged face into something heartbreakingly handsome. "I'll build you a studio," he says, like it's already decided. Like I'm staying. "North-facing light. Good for painting."
The easy way he makes plans for us, for a future together, should terrify me. We've known each other for less than forty-eight hours. But it doesn't feel rushed or creepy—it feels right. Inevitable.
"Tell me about before," I say softly as he helps me from the tub, wrapping me in a towel. "About your family."
Pain flashes across his face, but he doesn't shut down like he did yesterday. "Amy was my sister. Jamie was my niece. Four years old." His voice is rough with disuse and grief. "I was logging that day. Came home to fire trucks. Faulty wiring, they said."
My heart cracks open for him. "I'm so sorry, Thorne."
He shakes his head. "Should have been there. Could have saved them."
I reach up to touch his face, my fingers tracing the silver streaks in his beard. "It wasn't your fault."
He captures my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm. The vulnerability in his eyes makes me want to wrap myself around him, protect him from his pain.
A static-filled noise breaks the moment—a radio crackling to life in another room. Thorne tenses, his expression darkening as he wraps the towel more securely around me and strides to the kitchen. I follow, curious.
"...search parties in sectors three and four," a tinny voice reports through the static. "Ranger Thompson reports a solo female hiker, early twenties, failed to check in. Last knownlocation near Eagle Ridge. All volunteers report any sightings immediately."
Thorne's entire demeanor changes in an instant. The gentle man who bathed me disappears, replaced by something feral and dangerous. He switches off the radio with enough force to knock it askew.
"They're looking for me," I say, stating the obvious.
He's across the room in two strides, backing me against the wall, his massive body caging me in. "You're not leaving." It's not a question.
Before I can respond, his mouth crashes down on mine, possessive and demanding. I should be afraid of this wild intensity. Instead, I melt into him, opening to his insistent tongue. My towel falls away, leaving me naked while he's still fully clothed, and the contrast makes me feel small, vulnerable, and impossibly aroused.
"Not going anywhere," he growls against my mouth. "Mine now."
"Yes," I gasp as his hand finds my breast, thumb circling my nipple. "Yours."
