“I’m trying to help you.”
But Troy?
Troy sounds like a man making a promise. And somehow that feels infinitely more dangerous.
Outside, wind rattles against the cabin windows hard enough to make me jump slightly.
Troy notices immediately.
“Storm’s getting worse,” he says. “Power probably won’t come back tonight.”
I glance toward the couch. Then toward him. Then toward the very obvious single bedroom door down the hallway.
“Oh.”
One dark eyebrow lifts slightly.
“I can take the couch,” he says.
Except the couch is barely long enough for me, let alone a six-foot-something mountain man built like a grizzly bear with emotional repression issues.
“That couch looks like it’ll kill your back.”
“I’ll survive.”
I hesitate.
Because inviting the terrifyingly attractive outlaw into bed with me feels like the beginning of several very questionable decisions.
Then again… I already kissed him.
At this point, the poor decision ship has probably sailed.
“You could just…” My voice trails off awkwardly. “Share the bed.”
Troy goes completely still. Heat blooms low in my stomach under the weight of his gaze.
“You sure?” he asks quietly.
The fact that he asks at all makes me want him more.
“Yes.”
The word comes out softer than I intended. But I mean it. Very much.
An hour and a can of soup later, we bring up going to bed again. It’s not like there’s anything else to do.
The room is dark except for faint firelight, painting soft gold shadows across his face.
“You know,” I murmur into the darkness, “most men would be taking advantage of this situation.”
Troy turns his head slightly toward mine. “Most men worth a damn wouldn’t.”
That answer hits me squarely in the belly. Before I can recover, his fingers slide gently along my arm.
Slow. Tentative. Giving me time and space to stop him. I don’t want him to. I move closer. His sharp inhale cuts through the darkness instantly.
“Troy,” I whisper.
