She thinks she's just a temporary guest waiting out a storm. She has no idea. I'm not just keeping her safe for a few days—I'm going to keep her forever.
Chapter three
Lucia
How did something so unlucky happening to me turn into...this?
Dawson is not at all what I expected. He's quiet, but every time his eyes are on me, I can feel the weight of them. Between looking at my ankle and watching me move around his cabin like it's my own space, I can't pretend he isn't right there.
Thanks to my nap, the last thing I want to do is sleep. Unfortunately, my host has his mind set on leading me to his bedroom to prepare for the night.
"If you keep the door open, the heat from the fire will keep this place warm. If it's not enough, the blankets are thick." He moves all on his own, changing out the sheets so I have somewhere fresh to sleep. "The storm has quieted down, but who knows how long that'll last."
He keeps busy until he's motioning to the mattress.
I swallow hard, looking past him at the clean sheets that have swapped out the scent of pine needles, replaced with fresh linen. Shifting my weight more onto my good ankle, a terribly timed heat crawls up my throat at the question of whether he's telling me this bed is all mine, or if he plans on getting beneath the blankets, too.
He wouldn't want to sleep with a stranger, Lucia.
"Um, what about you?" Feeling nervous for all the wrong reasons, I cling to the doorway while looking at his offering. It's pretty big for one guy to be living by his lonesome, even bigger for a woman of my size. "I don't want to be an inconvenience. Really, I don't mind sleeping on your couch. All I need is a blanket, and I'll be set."
He rumbles his disapproval, and he steps toward me. Offering his hand, he curls his fingers in a way to beckon me to accept. "You're injured, and I'm not an asshole. It's a nice bed. I've fallen asleep on that couch enough times that I can't tell the difference."
I feel bad taking advantage of his kindness as much as I have.
Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I trudge forward. Passing him, the hairs on the back of my neck stand as I feel the heat rolling off of him from barely grazing him.
A fire wouldn't matter if he remained here.
Trying to shake the thought out of my head, I probably look silly as I slide into the bed. The sheets smell fresh, but the pillows still smell like him. In my attempt to get comfortable, Iend up surrounded by the smell of the same forest that was my nightmare for the last few hours.
Instead of feeling the same fear and worries from earlier, there's a heat I've never felt before twisting around in my gut.
"Is there anything else I can get you?" Drifting toward the end of the bed, he pinches at the blanket, fixing where it's folded awkwardly. "Any more medicine, or some more ice?"
I'd hate to leave a damp spot on his mattress. The pain has turned to a deep lull rather than a sharp stab now that I'm no longer trying to hike on it. At this rate, a little more rest should do the trick.
Shaking my head, I don't miss the brief passing of disappointment on his face. It's gone by the time I can blink.
Does he want to linger in here as long as I want him to, or am I letting my thoughts run wild on their own?
"Wait—" Sitting up, I chew on my lip as the impulse to keep him here wins over everything else. "Don't sleep on the couch. This bed... We both can see how huge it is."
His brows lift in a momentary surprise. Turning, his eyes drag over me to the empty spot next to my body. "You don't mind?"
Not as much as I should.
Shaking my head, I tear my gaze away in an attempt to get comfortable. Hard to do now that I know in seconds, he'll be right next to me.
My poor heart needs to calm down. If not, with how close he'll be, he'll hear it. I shouldn't be the only one kept awake because this thing in my chest can't relax.
Instead of watching him wearily as he moves around his room, I tug the blanket to my chin as he pulls clothing from a dresser. He turns, giving me his back, and I don't realize what he's doing until it's too late.
My eyes lock onto his hands as he reaches behind his neck. Gripping the hem of his shirt, he pulls it up and over his head.The movement is slow, fluid, exposing the broad, hard expanse of his back and the tight ripple of muscles shifting along his spine. In the cold cabin air, I can almost sense the warmth coming from his bare skin even from a few feet away.
He turns back around with agonizing slowness, and the front of him is downright devastating. There is a warmth to him that makes the fresh linen sheets beneath me feel suddenly searing. My eyes trap themselves on the dark trail of hair disappearing straight into the low waistband of his jeans. I swallow, the sound amplified in my own ears, terrified he can hear how shallow my breathing has become.
Holy shit.
