It was deep, heavy, and thick with the frustrated attraction they’d both been trying to outrun. Izzy let out a soft, defeated sound against his lips, her toiletry bag slipping from her fingers and hitting the floor forgotten as her hands flew to his bare chest.
The feel of him was overwhelming—the hunger radiating off his skin, the hard, unyielding muscle beneath her palms, the solid ridge of his ribs. She gripped his shoulders, pulling herself up into him, her lips parting as he took more, his stubble burning a rough, intoxicating path against her skin. His other hand flattened against her waist to anchor her tight against his hips.
He tasted like mint and the dark coffee from earlier, demanding and possessive in a way that left her completely unraveled. Every point of contact burned, her soft silk pajamas pressing against the rough, warm planes of his bare skin.
When he finally pulled back, it was agonizingly slow. His lips lingered for one last, bruising second before he rested his forehead against hers. Both of them were breathing hard, the narrow hallway filled with the frantic sound of it.
Grant’s eyes opened, the blue of them entirely stripped of his usual stoic calm. He looked at her like a man who had just crossed a line he had absolutely no intention of erasing.
Izzy swallowed, her lips tingling, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She tried to steady herself, to summon a bit of her practiced composure, trying to make a joke out of the way the air between them crackled.
“Wow,” a shaky smile touching her lips. “Well... that was unexpected.”
Grant didn’t blink. He kept his forehead resting against hers, his breath hot against her mouth. “Was it?”
The word was a low, knowing whisper that made her knees weak. She lingered there in his space a bit longer, the absolute reality of what they were doing crashing back into her mind.
“Burke would kill you,” she whispered.
A ghost of a rough laugh shook his chest. “And Caitlin would help.”
Izzy let out a soft, helpless laugh, slowly releasing his shoulders and stepping back an inch until the cool air of the hallway rushed between them. She looked down at her fallen toiletry bag, then back up at his dark, intense eyes.
“Okay,” she said, clearing her throat as she retrieved her things. “I’m going to go brush my teeth now.”
Grant watched her as he stepped back to give her room, forcing himself to steady. He looked at her one last time, his voice a rough, uneven scrape in the quiet house
“Goodnight, Izzy.”
He turned and stepped into his bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him.
Izzy stood against the wall for a long second, her hand trembling against her skincare bag. The clock downstairs kept ticking, steady and unbothered, but in the quiet mountain dark, everything had just changed.
10
Saturday Afternoon — Bridlepath Farm
The old red barn was all faded paint and worn boards, a hundred years of use etched into every beam.
Grant eased the skid steer forward another foot, eyes up, one hand steady on the controls while Burke balanced in the lifted bucket above him, threading a strand of lights through the rafters.
“Hold it,” Burke called.
Grant stopped. “Been holding it.”
“You moved.”
“I adjusted.”
Burke didn’t dignify that.
He looped the strand once more, secured it, then leaned back slightly to check the line. The lights weren’t on yet, but even unlit, they changed the feel of the place—softened it somehow.
Grant glanced up again.
Burke didn’t look like a man finishing a job.
He looked… settled.
