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And I’m losing control of this situation faster by the second.

Rhett’s hand slides into my hair slowly, gripping just enough to tilt my head back for him.

“Still thinking?” he murmurs.

“Someone has to.”

His mouth curves slightly. “You’re overthinking.”

“I’m standing in a mountain cabin making out with a growly caveman who tracks my movements like a feral park ranger.”

“You forgot the part where you like it.”

I open my mouth to argue.

Nothing comes out.

Because he’s right again.

The smug look in his eyes says he knows it too.

“I hate that you keep doing that,” I mutter.

“Doing what?”

“Being correct.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “You really hate it.”

The teasing edge in his voice only makes me want him more, which feels deeply unfair.

Rhett kisses me again slower this time, deliberate enough that every touch feels intentional. His hands move carefully over my body like he’s trying to memorize me, reverent in a way I never expected from someone this rough around the edges.

That’s what gets me.

Not the possessiveness.

Not the control.

The care.

The way he touches me like I matter.

Like losing me would wreck him.

The realization hits hard enough that I pull back suddenly, breathing uneven.

Rhett’s eyes sharpen instantly. “What?”

Nothing.

Everything.

Panic crawls up my spine so fast it almost feels like fear.

Because this stopped being casual already.

Somewhere between the stalker and the storm and the way this man watches me like I’m something worth protecting, I stopped wanting temporary.