Chapter 4
Maverick
The steaks sizzle like they’re trying to distract me.
It almost works.
The cast-iron pan throws heat up into my face, butter foams around the edges, and the smell is the kind that usually settles my nerves. Simple. Familiar. Steak. Potatoes. Something I can control.
Not like the image that keeps flashing behind my eyes.
Nova in my bedroom doorway, wrapped in a towel, looking at me like she’s one wrong breath away from bolting.
Nova with her hair damp and her cheeks pink.
And then Nugget, the little demon, yanking the towel down like he’s conducting a science experiment.
My jaw clenches hard enough to ache.
I flip the steaks, spoon butter over them, and force my thoughts back into something solid.
Food. Dinner. Normal.
I am not going to think about her curves.
I am not going to think about the way she froze when my eyes found her, like she’s used to people looking at her with judgment instead of lust.
I am not going to think about lust.
I’m thirty-eight years old. I’ve seen too much. Done too much. Carried too much.
And she’s… what, twenty-two? Twenty-three? Not even twenty-five, probably.
Too young. Too soft. Too damn innocent.
The kind of innocent that doesn’t survive long if it falls into the wrong hands.
The kind that makes something in me turn feral.
I can handle a lot of things.
I can’t handle the idea that someone hurt her, made her run away.
The potatoes are already done, smashed and crisped in the oven, garlic and rosemary clinging to them. I pull them out, set them on the counter, and drag in a slow breath through my nose.
Then I hear it.
Footsteps.
I keep my eyes on the pan because if I turn around too fast, I’m going to look at her like I’m starving again.
And I’m not going to do that.
Not unless I want to ruin everything.
She stops at the entrance to the kitchen area.
I plate the steaks, because my hands need something to do. I set the potatoes beside them, add a quick pile of green beans I cooked with too much butter, and then I finally turn.
Nova stands there in leggings and a long t-shirt that hangs off one shoulder like it has no idea what it’s doing.
The shirt is soft, worn. Dark. It looks like it’s been through a hundred washes and still decided to stay. The leggings cling to her thighs and hips like a sin.
My body reacts immediately.
Hard.
A hot, sharp pulse that hits my gut and spreads out like it owns me.
I grip the edge of the counter.
Her hair is still damp, curling in waves around her face. Her skin looks clean, warmer. Freckles stand out against the flush on her cheeks.
She looks like she belongs here.
And that thought is so dangerous it makes me want to swear.
Nova’s gaze flicks to my hands on the counter like she notices the tension in them, then back to my face.
“Dinner smells…” She hesitates. “Really good.”
“Yeah,” I manage.
My voice comes out rougher than I want.
She swallows, glances around, then steps closer to the table like she’s following a map.
I set the plates down. One in front of her. One in front of the chair across.
“Sit,” I say.
She sits.
I do not watch her bend at the waist. I do not watch the shirt shift. I do not imagine what her skin would feel like under my palms.
I am not that man.
I am not.
I sit across from her and immediately regret it because now she’s right there, close enough that I can see the tiny water droplets still clinging near her hairline.
Her eyes drop to the plate like she doesn’t trust it to be real.
“This is…” She looks up again, and there’s something in her face that makes my chest tighten. “You didn’t have to do all this.”
“It’s food,” I say, like that settles it. “You paid for a weekend here. Food included.”
She gives a small, surprised huff of laughter. “Okay. But it’s… nice.”
The word nice lands differently coming from her.
I nod once, then cut into my steak.
The first bite should be satisfying.
It tastes like effort.
Like restraint.
Nova takes a bite too, chews, and her eyes close for half a second like her body is so relieved it doesn’t know what to do with itself.
When she opens them, she looks embarrassed for reacting.
My chest tightens again.
“What,” I ask, even though I already know.
“It’s just… really good,” she says.
She stops.
Her fork hovers.
I don’t push.
I take a bite and let the silence fill in the space between us because she needs it. I can tell. She needs control over what she says and when she says it.
Nugget’s nails click across the floor, and he trots into the kitchen like he’s expecting his cut.
He sits beside Nova’s chair and looks up at her with shameless confidence.
Nova’s mouth twitches. “He’s so cute.”
“He’s a thief,” I mutter.
Nugget barks like he agrees.
Nova’s laugh is small but real.
“Does he always…” She gestures vaguely. “Stare like that?”
“Yes,” I say. “He thinks everyone exists to serve him.”
Nova glances down at him, then back up at me. “And you let him?”
I shrug. “Not always. Someone has to keep him humble.”
Her eyes soften for a second.
Then she clears her throat. “Thank you. For earlier. For… not making it weird.”
My gaze flicks up.
Her eyes don’t hold mine for long. She stares at her plate like she’s confessing to a crime.
“I’m not going to make it weird,” I say.
She swallows. “Still. Thank you.”
We eat for a minute in quiet, the fire crackling, the cabin warm around us. Outside, the wind slides past the walls, soft and persistent.
Nova sets her fork down carefully, like she doesn’t want to make noise. “So. You… built this cabin?”
I pause.
It’s a normal question. Harmless.
“It was written on the auction flyer,” she adds.
But my chest still tightens around it because the answer is mine. My life. My solitude. The things I built when everything else got taken.
“Yeah,” I say. “Took a while.”
Her eyes widen a little, like she’s trying to imagine it. “By yourself?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s…” She searches for the word, then gives up and just says it. “That’s impressive.”
I grunt.
Her mouth quirks. “Is that your version of thank you?”
I blink at her.
She’s smiling. A little. Like she’s testing the ice.
Something in me shifts, reluctant and warm.
“Maybe,” I say.
Nova’s smile grows, then fades as her gaze drifts around the cabin. “Do you live out here all the time?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
I hesitate.
“Yeah,” I say finally.
Her brows pull together. “Doesn’t it get lonely?”
The question hits harder than it should.
Lonely is a soft word.
Lonely is not what I call the nights where my dreams wake me up with my heart in my throat, sweat on my skin, ghosts in my head.
But I can see from her face that she means it in the simple way. The human way. The way that’s allowed to exist without blood in it.
“It’s quiet,” I say.
She studies me like she wants to argue, then decides not to.
“What do you do?” she asks instead.
“Build,” I say. “Repair cabins. People’s porches. Roofs. Whatever needs fixing.”
“Like… for work?”
“For work,” I confirm.
She lifts a brow. “Do you love your job? Fixing things?”
I chew, swallow. “I like it.”
Nova nods slowly. “That’s good.”
Then she looks at me more seriously. “Evelyn said you help older folks for little or no money.”
I glare toward the living room, like Evelyn might be hiding behind my recliner.
Nova catches it and smiles again, quick and bright. “So, it’s true. That's sweet.”
“It’s not charity,” I mutter. “They’re good people.”
“I didn’t say it was charity,” she replies. “I said it was sweet.”
I take a breath through my nose and go back to my steak.
Nova takes another bite too, then asks softly, “Do you have family here?”
The air changes.
Not because she did anything wrong.
Because that question has teeth.
I keep my expression flat. “No.”
Her fork stops halfway to her mouth. “No?”
“My parents died,” I say, simple, because if I dress it up, I’ll taste it.
Nova’s eyes widen, then soften instantly. “I’m sorry.”
I shrug like it’s nothing, because it’s easier to act like it’s nothing than admit that sometimes I still hear my mother’s laugh in my head and it ruins me for an hour.
“They were in a car accident,” I add, because silence will make her fill in worse things. “Happened while I was deployed.”
Nova’s lips part. “Oh.”
I nod once.
“Do you have siblings?” she asks, quieter now.
“No.”
Her throat works. “So it’s just you.”
I don’t answer.
Because yes.
Because I don’t know how to live any other way.
Nova shifts in her chair like she wants to reach across the table and touch my hand, but she doesn’t. She keeps her hands in her lap like she’s afraid of taking.
Then she says softly, “That’s why you’re… like this.”
I lift my gaze.
She holds it, nervous but steady.
“Like what?” I ask.
She swallows. “Quiet. Like you’re… used to carrying things alone.”
My chest tightens again.
She sees too much.
I don’t like it.
Or I like it too much.
I lean back slightly and force the conversation somewhere safer. “What about you?”
Nova’s shoulders go stiff.
There it is.
The flinch.
The reflex.
I watch it happen and my protective instincts stir again, low and angry.
She takes a breath. “I don’t really have family.”
“What do you mean,” I ask.
She shrugs, but it’s a thin shrug. A practiced one. “They exist. They’re just… distant. Busy. Not the kind of people who call.”
My jaw tightens.
I know that kind of family.
The kind that leaves you to raise yourself and then acts surprised when you don’t ask for help.
Nova’s fingers twist together. “I work as a personal assistant,” she says, like she’s offering a safe fact. “In a marketing office.”
She looks down at the table, then back up, and I can see the moment she decides whether to lie.
She doesn’t.
“I was… engaged,” she says, quiet.
My body goes still.
Engaged.
Her voice gets tighter. “We took a loan together.”
My jaw clenches.
“In my name,” she adds, like it tastes bad.
I feel heat rise up my spine, slow and violent.
She swallows. “He convinced me it was for a house. For us. We put it into a shared account.”
My hands curl around my fork.
“And then,” she continues, eyes shiny but not crying, “I heard him on the phone. Talking about using it to cover his gambling debt.”
My chest tightens so hard it hurts.
“He said…” Her voice wobbles once, then steadies. “He said I wouldn’t do anything. That I never push back.”
My teeth grind.
“And he…” She hesitates, shame flickering over her face. “He said something about my body. Like I should be grateful he proposed.”
My vision narrows.
The room feels smaller.
Nova looks down like she expects me to agree with him.
Like she expects disgust.
Something in me snaps hot and sharp.
“No,” I say.
Her eyes lift.
“That,” I repeat, voice rougher now, “was not about you. That was about him.”
Nova’s throat works. “I took the money.”
My gaze locks on her.
“From the account,” she says quickly. “Before he could. I withdrew it. All of it.”
Good, I think. Good.
She flinches like she can hear the thought anyway.
“I didn’t steal it,” she whispers. “It was my loan. My name. My debt.”
“I understand,” I say.
Nova’s eyes widen slightly, like she didn’t expect understanding.
I lean forward a fraction, my voice lower. “You didn’t deserve any of that.”
Her lips part.
The room goes very still.
Nova looks like she might shatter.
And for one second, all I want is to get up, pull her into my arms, and keep her there until she believes she’s worth more than what some idiot said into a phone.
I don’t move.
I don’t touch her.
I should not touch her.
Because I won’t stop.
Nova whispers, “You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough,” I say, and my voice comes out raw.
Her eyes flick to my mouth.
My body reacts like it’s been waiting for permission.
Nova stands so fast her chair scrapes softly against the floor.
I stand too, not thinking.
And then she’s in front of me, close enough that I can feel heat rolling off her skin.
Her hands grip the hem of her shirt like she needs something to hold.
“Why are you being kind to me,” she asks, voice shaking. “You don’t have to. You bought me flowers. You cooked. You let me have your bed.”
I swallow hard.
Because if I answer honestly, I’ll say, because you looked at me like you needed someone and my body decided it was me.
Instead, I say the only safe truth I have. “Because you seemed like you needed it.”
Nova’s breath catches.
Her gaze drops to my mouth again.
I feel it like a pull.
Like gravity.
I should step back.
I don’t.
Nova’s voice goes tiny. “I’m going to do something stupid.”
My chest tightens.
“Nova,” I warn, but it comes out like her name is a prayer.
She rises onto her toes and kisses me. It is desperate and hot and messy in the way that makes my control go white around the edges.
My hands come up without permission, one at her waist, one at her back, holding her like she might fall.
My body surges with need so hard it makes my head spin.
I kiss her deeper, hunger snapping loose, and she makes a sound that cuts straight through my chest.
She’s warm. She’s real. She’s here.
And I want.
I want too much.
I force myself to slow, to breathe, to keep it from turning into something I can’t take back. I keep my hands where they are, firm but careful, because she’s not a thing to consume. She’s a person.
And she’s vulnerable.
Nova pulls back a fraction, breathless, eyes wide.
My mouth is still on hers, barely. My forehead rests against hers like I need the contact to stay upright.
I close my eyes.
This is a mistake.
A beautiful one.
A deadly one.
But my body already knows.
This woman is going to ruin me.
And I’m not sure I have the strength to stop it.