Page 9

I laugh. “I’ve slept in far worse. Bedroll in the crew cab after we hiked a feeder the trucks couldn’t reach. Woke up with a moose looking in the window once. I’ll live.”

Doesn’t look like she’s buying it. She has her head cocked and her arms crossed hard in front of her.

“I don’t want you uncomfortable because of me. We can keep it together and share. It’s a big enough mattress. I stay on my side; you stay on yours. It’s a practical solution.”

“Practical?” I stop before adding for who? Because it’ll be torture for me.

“Of course. You said yourself this is your family’s emergency crash pad.” Lila points at the blackness outside. “I’d say this is an emergency. At least it is for me.”

Neither of us speaks. I watch her face and she watches mine.

Outside, something heavy thumps against the cabin wall and Lila flinches.

I scrub a hand over my face. Every instinct in my bones is telling me to put space between us. To remember she doesn’t belong in Passion Pines, and she’s turning everything sideways. But the thought of her up in that loft alone, arms wrapped around herself and flinching at every crack of thunder, while the storm tries to tear the roof off, isn’t going to work for me. I’ll be worried, and won’t be able to sleep if I’m down here.

“All right,” I say finally. “We share. But I’m serious about the sides. Don’t cross over to mine.”

Relief flickers across her face. “Thank you.”

I carry a few battery lanterns up the narrow stairs, and Lila follows close behind. The loft is almost too low for me to stand. The bed is centered right under the highest peak of the ceiling. The mattress is wide enough for two, but not by much, and I’m not entirely sure I won’t wander in my sleep. I can force myself to be a gentleman awake. Asleep, with those curves next to me? I decide to hope for the best.

I watch her crawl to the far side on top of the bedspread, still in her jeans and sweater. I toe off my boots, keep all my clothes on, and stretch out on the opposite edge, careful not to let our bodies touch.

The storm howls. The generator drones. Every inch of me is aware of the curvy city girl breathing just out of reach, smelling like something I have no business wanting, making my body decide things my head hasn’t agreed to yet, making this particular location the most dangerous place on Stone Mountain.

Then she turns her head on the pillow.

In the low lantern light, her mouth is closer than it should be. She’s close enough that I can smell the toothpaste she just used, and something else underneath it—something richer, like rare bourbon and the temptation of a woman who hasn’t been touched in too long. Her exhale lands against my jaw, soft and wet. One inch. That’s all it would take. One inch and I could know if she tastes as forbidden as she smells. Her eyes drop to my mouth.

I pull back so fast I nearly hit my head on the rafter.

“We should sleep,” I say in a voice that sounds like I’ve been swallowing gravel. I shut the battery lights off and turn away from her. With my face to the wall, I squeeze my eyes shut.

What the hell is wrong with me? She’s leaving in a week. She’s temporary. A tourist. Getting involved is a guaranteed mistake. And I just almost proved I’m exactly the kind of weak, pathetic hypocrite I swore I’d never be.

“Gideon?” she whispers.

“Go to sleep, Lila.”

I don’t turn around. I don’t dare.

***

I wake before dawn to the scent of vanilla and silky hair against my face. My body is flush against hers, my arm is trapped beneath her head, and my dick hard against the curve of her ass.

Christ. I can’t even trust my own body.

She’s asleep, breathing softly, completely unaware of how we ended up tangled together.

Panic kicks in. I have to get out. Carefully, I slide my arm out from under her and slip from the bed. I grab my boots without looking back, but the image of her, peaceful in the grey light, is already seared into my brain. A gut punch. A mistake.

I take the stairs two at a time with guilt and desperation clawing at me. I need air.

Chapter four

Morning light filters through the small loft window. Where am I? I sink back into the pillow and slowly acclimate to my surroundings. I haven’t slept this deeply in weeks.

The storm is doing what storms do outside, but the cabin feels solid and safe. And the reason is probably downstairs. Either that or he’s splitting wood bare-handed or doing some other manly-man thing.