“Yeah?” I murmur.
She holds herself still like she’s trying not to shake. “This doesn’t mean you get to… claim me.”
My mouth twitches. “Claim you.”
“Yes.”
I let a slow breath out. “Sweetheart, you walked into my cabin off a bride ad. I’m not claiming you.”
Her eyes widen slightly.
“I’m protecting you,” I correct. “There’s a difference.”
She licks her lips, and I track the movement like a starving man.
“And if I don’t want your protection?” she whispers, defiant, even as her voice trembles.
I smile, but it isn’t kind.
“Then you wouldn’t be here.”
Ellie’s breath stutters. She hates that I’m right.
I take a step back before I do something reckless, before my hands forget every promise I’ve ever made to Wade, before my mouth finds her throat and I lose my mind.
I point down the hall. “Go put your bag in the bedroom. Make yourself a tea. Eat something. You look like you’ve been running for days.”
Her eyes narrow. “And what if I don’t want to be told what to do?”
I tilt my head. “Then you can argue with me after you do it.”
She glares. “That’s not how arguing works.”
“It is with me.”
Her mouth opens, ready with another bite, another shield.
Then her shoulders sag a fraction, and she exhales. “Fine. But I’m not… I’m not your bride.”
I hold her gaze, steady and dark.
“Not yet,” I say.
Her eyes flare, and she spins on her heel before I can see what that does to her face.
She walks down the hallway with stiff, determined steps, backpack bouncing against her shoulder. Halfway down, she glances back at me like she can’t help it.
Like she needs to know I’m still there.
I’m still there.
I watch her disappear into the bedroom, then I turn my head to the window and scan the treeline again, jaw tight.
Because Ellie’s in my cabin now.
And whatever put fear in her eyes?
Whatever “difficulties” she won’t name?
