3. Sophie
three
Sophie
I wake up on Kane's couch to the scent of coffee and something that smells suspiciously like pancakes. Sunlight streams through the sugar shack windows, and for a moment, I'm completely disoriented.
Then I remember. The storm. The attraction. The way Kane kissed me like I was everything he'd ever wanted before pulling back and being frustratingly gentlemanly about the whole thing.
"Morning, princess," Kane calls from the small kitchenette in the corner. "Sleep well?"
I sit up, trying to tame my hair with my fingers. "Like a baby. A very uncomfortable baby on a lumpy couch."
He turns, and I catch him looking at my legs where the flannel shirt has ridden up during the night. There's heat in his eyes before he forces them back to my face.
"Coffee?" he offers, holding up a steaming mug.
"God, yes." I stand, padding over to him in bare feet. When he hands me the mug, our fingers brush, and that same electric jolt shoots through me.
"How's the storm?" I ask, trying to ignore the way my heart races at his proximity.
"Still coming down. Might be longer than I thought." He moves to the window, and I follow. Outside is still a wall of white, if anything heavier than yesterday.
"Longer how?"
"Maybe a week."
A week. Trapped here with Kane, fighting this attraction that seems to grow stronger every time I look at him. The rational part of my brain knows I should be panicking about the Morrison deal, about Mom's medical bills, about my career.
Instead, I feel a flutter of excitement.
"I should call my office," I say, though I make no move toward my phone.
"No signal anyway. Tower's probably down."
Right. No way to contact the outside world. No way for Morrison to pressure me about closing the deal. No way for reality to intrude on whatever's building between Kane and me.
"So what do we do with ourselves?" I ask.
Kane's eyes darken at the question, and I realize how that sounded. Heat floods my cheeks, but I don't take it back.
"Well," he says, his voice rougher than usual, "I was thinking you might want to learn a little about what you're trying to buy."
"You mean the farm operation?"
"I mean what this place actually is, instead of what your spreadsheets say it is."
There's challenge in his voice, and something else. Hope, maybe, that if I understand what this place means to him, I'll somehow change my mind about the deal.
If only it were that simple.
"Okay," I say. "Show me."
He grins, and my stomach does a little flip. "Fair warning—this involves going outside. In the snow. Are you up for that, city girl?"
"I'll manage."
Twenty minutes later, I'm bundled in Kane's spare winter gear, which is hilariously too big for me. The snow pants are cinched tight and rolled up at the cuffs, the parka hangs nearly to my knees, and the boots are so large I have to wear three pairs of socks.
"You look ridiculous," Kane says, but there's affection in his voice.
"I feel ridiculous. But warm."
He leads me out into the winter wonderland that his farm has become. The snow is knee-deep and still falling steadily, transforming everything into a pristine landscape of white curves and shadows.
"This is the main sugar bush," he explains, gesturing toward rows of massive maple trees. "Some of these trees are over two hundred years old. My great-great-grandfather tapped some of them by hand."
I follow him between the trees, struggling to keep up in the oversized boots. Despite the awkwardness, there's something magical about being here, surrounded by ancient maples heavy with snow.
"How many trees do you tap?"
"About fifteen hundred. Each tree can produce ten to twelve gallons of sap during the season." He stops beside a particularly massive maple, placing his gloved hand on the bark. "This one's my favorite. We call her Big Bertha. She produces more sap than any three normal trees."
"Her?"
"All the old ones are female to us. They're nurturing, life-giving. They've watched over this land longer than any human."
There's reverence in his voice that I've never heard him use for anything else. This isn't just business to him—it's heritage, legacy, almost religion.
"Kane," I start, then stop. How do I tell him that understanding what this place means to him only makes my job harder?
"What?"
"Nothing. Show me more."
We spend the morning touring the operation—the network of tubing that carries sap from trees to collection tanks, the storage facilities, the equipment barn where he maintains the machinery that keeps everything running.
"It's bigger than I expected," I admit as we trudge back toward the sugar shack. "More complex."
"Most people think maple syrup just magically appears in bottles. They don't understand the infrastructure, the timing, the skill involved." He opens the sugar shack door, stomping snow off his boots. "Or the passion required to make it profitable."
Inside, I peel off the oversized winter gear, suddenly aware of how the morning's exertion has left me flushed and breathless. When I look up, Kane is staring at me with an intensity that makes my pulse quicken.
"What?" I ask.
"You have snow in your hair," he says, stepping closer.
"Oh." I reach up to brush it away, but he's already there, his fingers gentle as they comb through the dark strands.
"There," he says softly, but he doesn't pull his hand away.
We're standing close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in his green eyes, can feel the warmth of his breath against my face. The air between us crackles with tension.
"Kane," I whisper.
"Sophie." My name sounds like a prayer on his lips.
"I thought you wanted to go slow."
"I do." But even as he says it, his thumb traces across my cheekbone. "But you make it damn hard to stick to good intentions."
"What if I don't want you to stick to good intentions?"
His control wavers, and I can see the moment he decides to give in. His hand slides into my hair, tilting my face up toward his.
"You sure about this?"
Instead of answering, I rise on my toes and kiss him.
This time, there's no hesitation, no pulling back. Kane kisses me like he's been thinking about it all morning, deep and thorough and hungry. I melt into him, my hands fisting in his shirt as I pull him closer.
"Sophie," he groans against my mouth, his hands roaming over my back, pulling me flush against his body.
I can feel every hard plane of his chest through our clothes, can feel the evidence of his desire pressing against my hip. It sends heat shooting straight to my core.
"I want you," I breathe against his lips. "I know it's crazy, but I want you so much I can barely think straight."
His eyes darken, and his hands slide down to cup my ass, lifting me slightly. "Christ, the things you do to me."
"Show me," I challenge.
That's all it takes. He lifts me easily, carrying me to the small back room where he's been sleeping. The space is cozy and masculine—a narrow bed covered with thick quilts, a kerosene lamp casting warm light over everything.
"You sure?" he asks one more time as he sets me on my feet beside the bed.
"I've never been more sure of anything in my life."
He kisses me again, softer this time, more reverent. His hands work at the buttons of my flannel shirt with careful fingers, and when it falls open, revealing my bare breasts, he sucks in a sharp breath.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, his palms skimming over my ribs, cupping the soft weight of my breasts.
I arch into his touch, gasping when his thumbs brush over my nipples. "Kane, please."
"Please what?"
"Touch me. Everywhere. I need to feel your hands on me."
He's happy to oblige, mapping every inch of exposed skin with his calloused palms while I work at the buttons of his shirt. When I push the flannel off his shoulders, revealing broad chest and defined abs, it's my turn to stare.
"God, you're beautiful," I breathe, my hands exploring the hard planes of his torso.
"Men aren't beautiful," he says, but his voice is rough with pleasure.
"You are. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
I lean down to press kisses across his collarbone, tasting salt and something uniquely him. He groans, his hands tightening in my hair.
"Sophie, if you keep doing that, I'm going to lose what's left of my control."
"Good," I murmur against his skin. "I don't want you controlled. I want you wild."
His restraint snaps. In one fluid motion, he flips us so I'm on my back beneath him, his weight pressing me into the mattress. The sensation of skin against skin is almost overwhelming.
"Wild?" he asks, his voice dark with promise. "I can do wild."
He proves it by kissing his way down my throat, across my collarbone, lower. When he takes one nipple into his mouth, I cry out, my back arching off the bed.
"That feels incredible," I gasp, my hands tangling in his hair.
He lavishes attention on first one breast, then the other, using his tongue and teeth to drive me to the edge of madness. By the time he works the oversized pants down my legs, I'm trembling with need.
"So responsive," he murmurs, pressing kisses to my hip, my thigh, everywhere except where I need him most.
"Kane, please," I beg, beyond caring how desperate I sound.
"What do you need?"
"You. All of you. I need you inside me."
He looks up at me with eyes so dark they're almost black. "Not yet. First, I want to taste you."
Before I can respond, he settles between my thighs and puts his mouth on me.
I cry out at the first touch of his tongue, my hands flying to grip the quilt beneath me. He's thorough and relentless, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention on my clit until I'm writhing beneath him.
"Kane," I gasp, feeling my climax building. "I'm going to—"
"Let go," he commands against my flesh. "Come for me, Sophie."
I shatter with a scream, my body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash over me. He doesn't stop, working me through the aftershocks until I'm boneless and trembling.
When he finally lifts his head, his lips are glistening, and the sight is so erotic I feel fresh heat pooling between my thighs.
"My turn," I say, reaching for his belt.
He catches my hands. "Sophie, you don't have to—"
"I want to," I interrupt, sitting up to work at his jeans. "I want to taste you the way you tasted me."
His control wavers at my words, and he releases my hands. I free him from his jeans, and the sight of him—thick and hard and perfect—makes my mouth water.
"You're perfect," I tell him, wrapping my hand around his length.
He groans at my touch, his hips bucking involuntarily. "Christ, Sophie."
I lean down to take him into my mouth, savoring the salt and musk that's purely him. His hands tangle in my hair, gentle but insistent as I work him with my tongue and lips.
"Fuck," he breathes, his voice strained. "That feels incredible."
I take him deeper, relaxing my throat to accommodate his size, and his control starts to crack. He's trying to be gentle, but I can feel the tension in his body, the way he's fighting the urge to thrust.
"Don't hold back," I tell him, pulling off long enough to speak. "I want all of you."
He looks down at me with desperate eyes. "Sophie..."
"Please, Kane. Let go for me."
His grip in my hair tightens, and he begins to move, fucking my mouth with deep, careful strokes. The feeling of being used for his pleasure is intoxicating, and I moan around him, the vibrations making him curse.
"I'm close," he warns.
Instead of pulling away, I increase my efforts, taking him deeper, faster, until he's coming with a shout, spilling himself down my throat.
When I finally release him, we're both breathing hard. He pulls me up for a kiss, tasting himself on my lips.
"That was incredible," he says against my mouth.
"We're not done yet," I tell him, reaching between us to stroke his already hardening cock. "I need you inside me."
His eyes flare with renewed heat. "Are you sure?"
"I've never been more sure of anything."
He reaches for the nightstand drawer, retrieving a condom with hands that aren't entirely steady. Once he's sheathed, he positions himself at my entrance, looking into my eyes.
"Sophie," he says, and my name sounds like a vow.
"I know," I whisper, pulling him down for a kiss. "I feel it too."
He slides into me slowly, both of us groaning at the sensation. He's big enough that I need a moment to adjust, but when he's fully seated inside me, it feels like coming home.
"Move," I whisper against his ear. "Please, Kane, I need you to move."
He starts slow, careful, but I'm having none of it. I wrap my legs around his waist, meeting him thrust for thrust, demanding more.
"Harder," I gasp. "I won't break."
He gives me what I want, driving into me with a force that makes the bed creak. I can feel another climax building, coiling tight in my belly.
"Come with me," I beg, my nails digging into his shoulders. "Please, Kane, come with me."
He slides one hand between us, finding my clit with his thumb. The added sensation pushes me over the edge, and I come with a cry that's part pleasure, part his name.
The feeling of me clenching around him triggers his own release, and he follows me over with a groan, burying his face in my neck as he spills himself inside me.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, both trying to catch our breath. Kane traces lazy patterns on my skin, and I've never felt more content.
"That was..." I start.
"Yeah," he agrees. "It was."
"Kane?"
"Mmm?"
"I'm falling for you." The admission slips out before I can stop it. "I know it's crazy, but I am."
He lifts his head to look at me, his green eyes serious. "Sophie..."
"You don't have to say anything. I just needed you to know."
"I'm falling too," he says quietly. "So hard it terrifies me."
"Really?"
"Really. Which is why we need to talk about what happens when this storm ends."
Reality creeps back in, cold and unwelcome. The Morrison deal. My job. Mom's medical bills. The impossible choice I'm going to have to make.
"Can we not think about that right now?" I ask, pressing closer to his warmth. "Can we just have this moment?"
He tightens his arms around me. "For now. But Sophie, eventually we're going to have to face the fact that you're here to take away everything I love."
"I know," I whisper, but I don't tell him the whole truth—that I'm starting to think he might be everything I love too.