Page 92

Cal dropped lower into a different stance, flowing through transitions with a speed that didn’t make sense for someone his size. When he drove back up, the wet fabric of his briefs pulled taut across his heavy bulge, and Sage Thompson — who had spent years viciously shoving down every flicker of arousal her body ever tried to give her, who had never once let herself simply want — felt heat slam through her like a freight train.

Oh. My. God.

It started in her chest and rushed downward, hot and insistent. She was suddenly aware of a throbbing between her thighs and she was slick and aching in a way she couldn’t ignore. Her knees wobbled. She pressed harder into the rough wood behind her, focusing everything she had on staying upright.

He’s beautiful.

The thought slipped out before she could punish herself for it. He was beautiful the way dangerous, wild things were beautiful — powerful, scarred, completely unapologetic. And the wanting that moved through her right now… it was hers. No performance. No calculation. No survival math whispering in the back of her mind about what it would cost.

Just want. Clean. Real. Terrifying.

He shifted into another sequence, the thick muscles of his back flexing and rolling beneath scarred skin. Her hips gave a small, involuntary roll that she immediately tried to pretend hadn’t happened.

I am so completely fucked.

Sage peeled herself off the barn wall and walked back toward the cabin at a pace that was definitely not running. The freezing air slapped against her face and bare legs, but she tilted her chin up into it, letting the cold do its job. Cal’s enormous coat still wrapped around her like a hug, warm and heavy, carrying his scent – that deeper, comforting warmth that was just him. It made her body throb dangerously after what she just saw.

She was going to need a very cold shower. And a long, stern conversation with herself about boundaries and the extremely complicated situation she was currently living in.

Behind her, the steady sounds of his training continued — calm, focused, completely unaware she’d ever been there.

She slipped through the mudroom door, hung his coat back on its hook with exaggerated casualness, and stood in the kitchen in just her tank top and sleep shorts, staring at the refrigerator like it held the answers to all her problems.

I’m going to make him breakfast, she decided. Because I’m a normal person making a completely normal decision for normal reasons that have nothing to do with what I just saw.

The eggs were right there in the door. How hard could it possibly be?

She moved toward the fridge, stopped, and looked down at herself.

Blushing furiously and muttering under her breath, Sage turned and went upstairs to change her shorts.

CAL

Cal saw her boot prints on the way back from the barn and wasn’t surprised in the slightest.

He could usually tell when he was being watched, and Sage wasn’t exactly subtle.

Cal stopped, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. Not subtle was the understatement of the year. Her small footprints showed the whole story: the shuffling, unlaced drag in the snow on the way out, the longer pause pressed against the south wall of the barn, and the quicker, almost panicked steps coming back. He noted it all, the corner of his mouth tilting up.

He smelled the disaster before he even reached the door.

Burnt bacon—acrid and well past saving. Overcooked eggs beneath that. And cutting through both, the bright, overly cheerful sweetness of orange juice splattered absolutely everywhere.

Well… this ought to be good.

Cal took the stairs to the door two at a time, a lightness in his step he couldn’t quite hide. He wouldn’t admit it out loud to anyone, but he’d been feeling lighter lately. It wasn’t just the quiet contentment he’d found since coming back to Blackthorn Ridge and slowly healing, but something warmer. Brighter. A kind of quiet excitement he hadn’t felt in a long time, steady and warm in his chest. Sometimes, late at night on the porch with Sage, he caught himself wondering if he had ever truly felt happy before.

The disaster that met him when he stepped into the kitchen didn’t dim that lightness one bit. If anything, it made the urge to laugh stronger.

It was majestic, really. Eggshells scattered across the counters, the floor, and somehow stuck to the ceiling. A stick of butter looked like it had been murdered in the middle of the island, a perfect fist-sized imprint smashed into it. The commercial juicer was absolutely covered in pulp and juice, along with most of the backsplash and—yes—more drips still falling from the ceiling.

Cal tilted his head, taking it all in.

Impressive.

The eggs in the pan were gray at the edges. The bacon had achieved a color that suggested it might be classified as a biohazard. And right in the middle of the beautiful wreckage stood Sage, aggressively stabbing at the remaining eggs with a spatula while muttering darkly under her breath.

She did all this for me, he realized, he realized, something soft and dangerous blooming in him as he looked at her.