Page 64 of The Sugar Maple Inn

Every part of her remembered. The tenderness between her thighs. The pleasant ache of her lips.

She sat up, pulling the sheet around herself and looked around the tower room. Empty bed beside her. Empty chaise longue. Early morning light filtering through the windows. Everything looked different in daylight. Less Gothic romance, more, “Actually we’re trapped in a tower and, oh God, what have I done?”

She turned to see Reese crouched by the fireplace, coaxing flames to life. He was shirtless, his blond hair still messy from sleep and her hands.

There was something almost primal about the way he tended the fire, like he belonged in this setting: rough and outdoors and completely removed from boardrooms and business suits. Then she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror and winced. Hair that looked like she’d been electrocuted and mascara smudged under her eyes.

“Morning,” Reese said, glancing over his shoulder and giving her a smile that was warm. Genuine. “Sleep okay?”

Grace’s brain supplied several inappropriate responses involving how little actual sleeping had occurred. She went with: “Yeah. You?”

“Two hours. I’m fine.”

“Two hours? How are you functioning?”

“Practice.” He stood up from the fire and strolled to the stove in the small kitchen area, flipping some bacon in a pan as he gestured to a pot of coffee. “Coffee’s on. Go park yourself by the fire.”

Grace wrapped the blanket around herself like the world’s least dignified toga and moved toward the kitchen, hyperaware of how little she was wearing under this blanket. How domestic this felt. How easy it would be to get used to waking up to the smell of bacon and a half-naked man in the kitchen.

More dangerous thoughts. Very dangerous thoughts.

She poured herself a coffee. Black. Strong enough to wake the dead. Then she sat by the fireplace, watching Reese cook. He was a natural. He moved around that small kitchen like he’d been doing this forever. This was different from Reese, the Golden Wolf, the alpha competitor. This was just…a man. Making her breakfast.

She liked it. Way more than she should.

She shivered and he stopped what he was doing, grabbing another blanket and bringing it over, wrapping it around her shoulders and kissing her on the forehead as he did.

“It’s freezing,” she said.

“I noticed.”

“Then why are you still half naked?”

“I run hot.”

“Sure do,” she heard herself say.

He gave her his predatory smile. “Should’ve stayed in bed. And kept you warmer.”

Grace’s stomach did something complicated.

He plated up eggs, bacon, and toast and brought it over.

“Sounds like the storm’s cleared,” Grace said. “Jake and his lot will be able to get across the lake and—”

Reese shook his head. “Look out the window.”

Grace did as he asked and all she saw was fog.

Thick, gray, blanketing everything. The lake was invisible. The shore was invisible. Even the trees closest to the tower were just dark shapes in the white. The world had shrunk to stone and mist and silence.

“Oh,” she said.

“Yeah, we’re not getting out of here for a few more hours, so relax and let someone take care of you for once.”

The words hit hard. When was the last time someone had made her breakfast? Treated her like she was worth the effort?

Grace did as he asked and looked up at him.