Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
The cabin belonged to a retired fire captain Brian had trained under fifteen years ago. Set back from the road on eight acres of coastal pine, with a locked gate and no visible neighbors. The kind of place you could disappear into.
Brian hadn't asked permission. He'd called Walt from the truck, explained the situation in short, clipped sentences, and Walt had given him the gate code without hesitation.
That was the thing about people who'd spent their lives running into burning buildings.
They understood when someone needed a safe place to land.
Tessa hadn't spoken since they'd left the beach.
She sat in the passenger seat with her hands folded in her lap, staring out the window at the dark trees sliding past. Her face was pale in the dashboard light, and he could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she held herself like she was bracing for impact.
He reached over and covered her hands with his.
"We're almost there."
She turned her hand under his, lacing their fingers together. "I hate this. I hate that he's making me run."
"It's not running. It's being smart." He squeezed her hand. "Diaz is putting out a bulletin. Hank's got eyes on the cottage. Webb shows his face anywhere in Copper Moon, someone will see him."
"And if he doesn't show his face? If he just keeps watching, waiting?"
Brian pulled up to the gate and punched in the code. The metal arm swung open, and he drove through, watching it close behind them in the rearview mirror.
"Then we wait him out. We don't give him what he wants."
"What does he want?"
"You, scared. You, alone. You, doubting yourself." He glanced at her. "None of which is going to happen."
The cabin came into view, a low structure of weathered cedar with a wide porch facing the trees. Motion lights clicked on as they approached, flooding the clearing with yellow light. Brian parked next to a woodpile and cut the engine.
Neither of them moved.
"Brian." Her voice was quiet. "Thank you. For all of this. For not making me feel like I'm overreacting."
He turned to face her fully. "You're not overreacting. A man followed you across state lines. He's been watching you for weeks. He showed up at a public concert and made sure you saw him." He reached out, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "That's not nothing. That's a pattern."
She leaned into his touch, just slightly. "I spent so long convincing myself I was imagining things. That I was being paranoid. My colleagues in Chicago thought I was losing it."
"Your colleagues weren't paying attention."
"And you are."
"I see you, Tessa." His thumb traced along her jaw. "I've seen you since the day you walked into my cottage with a door code and a suitcase and turned my whole damn life upside down."
She laughed, a small, surprised sound. "I ruined your peace and quiet."
"You ruined everything." He was smiling, and he couldn't remember the last time that had happened so easily. "I was perfectly content being miserable, and you had to come along and make me want things."
"What things?"
He didn't answer with words. He leaned across the console and kissed her, one hand sliding into her hair, the other cupping the back of her neck. She made a soft sound against his mouth and kissed him back, her fingers curling into the front of his shirt.
The gear shift was digging into his ribs. He didn't care.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing harder than they should have been, Tessa's eyes were dark. "Inside?"
"Yeah." His voice came out rough. "Inside."
---
The cabin smelled like cedar and dust and something faintly smoky, the way places did when they'd been heated by wood fires for decades. Brian found the light switch, and a lamp in the corner flickered to life, casting warm shadows across the knotty pine walls.
There was a stone fireplace on one wall, a worn leather couch facing it. A small kitchen with a propane stove. A doorway leading to what he assumed was the bedroom.
Tessa stood in the middle of the room, arms wrapped around herself. Not from cold. From something else.
"Hey." He crossed to her, tilted her chin up with two fingers. "We don't have to do anything. We can just sleep. I'll take the couch."
"I don't want you to take the couch."
"Okay."
"I don't want to sleep, either."
His pulse kicked up. "Okay."
She reached up and laid her palm flat against his chest, right over his heart. He wondered if she could feel how fast it was beating.
"I've been running for so long," she said quietly. "From Chicago. From the hospital. From everything that happened. And then I came here, and I thought I'd keep running. But I don't want to run from this." Her eyes met his. "From you."
Brian covered her hand with his, pressing it harder against his chest. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
She rose up on her toes and kissed him.
This kiss was different from the ones in the truck. Slower. More deliberate. She traced the seam of his lips with her tongue, and he opened for her, tasting coffee and something sweet. His hands found her waist, fingers sliding under the hem of her shirt to touch warm skin.
She inhaled sharply at the contact.
"Okay?" he murmured against her mouth.
"Don't stop."
He walked her backward toward the bedroom, one slow step at a time. His mouth found the curve of her neck, and she tilted her head to give him better access, her fingers threading through his hair. Her nails scraped lightly against his scalp, and heat pooled low in his belly.
The back of her knees hit the bed. She sat down on the edge, looking up at him with those green eyes that had undone him from the very first moment.
"You're still dressed," she said.
"So are you."
She reached for the buttons of her flannel shirt and undid them one by one. He watched, his mouth going dry, as she shrugged it off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Underneath, she wore a simple white tank top, and he could see the outline of her bra through the thin fabric.
"Your turn."
He pulled his Henley over his head in one motion.
She inhaled audibly, her gaze traveling over his chest, his stomach, the trail of hair that disappeared below his waistband.
He'd never been self-conscious about his body, but under her eyes he felt laid bare in a way that had nothing to do with skin.
She reached out and traced the edge of his hip with her fingertips. Light. Exploratory. He shuddered.
"Come here," she said.
He knelt on the bed, one knee on either side of her hips, bracketing her body with his. She lay back, pulling him with her, and he braced himself on his forearms so he wouldn't crush her with his weight.
"Hi," she whispered.
"Hi."
He kissed her again, deeper this time. Her hands ran down his back, nails dragging lightly along his spine, and he groaned into her mouth. She arched up against him, and he could feel the soft press of her breasts through the thin cotton of her tank top, the heat of her body seeping into his.
He wanted to take his time. Wanted to learn every inch of her. But she was pulling at his belt, her fingers clumsy with urgency, and he understood. Sometimes you didn't need slow. Sometimes you needed to feel alive.
He helped her with the belt, then with the button and zipper of his jeans.
She pushed them down over his hips, and he kicked them off the rest of the way, leaving him in just his boxer briefs.
Her tank top came next, pulled over her head, and tossed somewhere behind them.
Then her bra, a simple nude thing that he unclasped with fingers that weren't quite steady.
For a long moment, he just looked at her. The soft curve of her breasts, the way her chest rose and fell with each quick breath, the flush spreading down from her cheeks to her neck to her collarbone.
"You're beautiful," he said. The words felt inadequate, but they were true.
"So are you." She reached up and touched his face. "I never told you that. That first day, when you came out of the bathroom in that towel. I couldn't think straight."
He laughed, low and rough. "Neither could I. You were standing in my hallway with that suitcase, looking at me like I was a problem you needed to solve, and all I could think was that you were the most beautiful problem I'd ever seen."
"Brian."
"Tessa."
She pulled him down and kissed him, hard and hungry, and he stopped thinking about words altogether.
He worked her jeans down her legs, taking her underwear with them.
She lifted her hips to help, and then she was bare beneath him, all smooth skin and soft curves.
He pressed his mouth to her shoulder, her collarbone, the hollow of her throat.
She smelled like that lavender body wash she used, and underneath it, something that was just her.
His hand slid down her body, over the flat of her stomach, lower. She gasped when he touched her, her hips jerking up off the mattress.
"God." Her voice was breathless. "Brian."
He watched her face as he stroked her, learning what made her breath catch, what made her fingers tighten in the sheets. She was wet and warm, and the sounds she made, small, helpless sounds that she seemed to be trying to hold back, were driving him out of his mind.
"Don't hold back," he said against her ear. "I want to hear you."
She let out a shaky exhale and stopped trying to be quiet. Her moans were low and throaty, and each one sent a jolt of heat straight through him. He added a second finger, curling them just so, and she cried out, her back arching off the bed.
"That's it," he murmured. "Just let go."
He could feel her getting close, the way her inner muscles clenched around his fingers, the way her breath came faster and faster. He pressed his thumb against her clit in small, tight circles, and she shattered, her whole body going taut and then trembling, his name on her lips.
He worked her through it, gentling his touch as the aftershocks rippled through her. When she finally opened her eyes, they were glazed and dark, and she was smiling.
"Your turn," she said.
She pushed at his shoulder, and he rolled onto his back. She straddled him, her thighs warm against his hips, and leaned down to kiss him. Her hair fell around them like a curtain, closing out the rest of the world.
Her hand slid between their bodies, wrapping around him through the thin cotton of his boxer briefs. He groaned, his hips lifting into her grip.
"Off," she said, tugging at the waistband.
He helped her pull them off, and then there was nothing between them. She took him in her hand, skin to skin now, and stroked slowly from base to tip. He watched her face as she touched him, saw the fascination there, the want.
"Tessa." His voice was strained. "If you keep doing that, this is going to be over before it starts."
She laughed, a low, pleased sound. "Then maybe you should do something about it."
He flipped them in one smooth motion, settling between her thighs. She wrapped her legs around his hips, and he could feel the wet heat of her against him.
"Wait." He paused. "I have a condom in my wallet. In my jeans."
"I'm on the pill." Her hands were on his back, fingers pressing into his shoulder blades. "And I trust you."
"I'm clean," he said. "I haven't been with anyone since I moved here."
"Neither have I. It's been over a year."
He searched her face. "You're sure?"
"I'm sure."
He reached down between them, positioned himself at her entrance. Pressed forward, slowly, inch by inch, watching her face the whole time. Her lips parted, her eyes fluttered closed, and she let out a long, shaky breath as he sank into her.
The heat of her surrounded him. Tight. Perfect. He had to stop for a moment, buried to the hilt, just to breathe.
"Okay?" he managed.
"More than okay." Her heels dug into the small of his back. "Move."
He moved.
Slow at first, long strokes that drew gasps from both of them. Her nails raked down his back, leaving trails of heat in their wake. He braced himself on one forearm and slid his other hand beneath her, gripping her hip, changing the angle.
She cried out, louder this time. "Right there. God, right there."
He did it again, and again, finding a rhythm that made her toes curl, and her breath come in ragged sobs. The bed creaked beneath them, the headboard tapping against the wall with each thrust.
"Harder," she whispered.
He gave her what she wanted. His control was fraying at the edges, the pressure building at the base of his spine, but he held on. He wanted her to come again. Wanted to feel her shatter around him.
He slid his hand between their bodies, found her clit again. Pressed and circled in time with his thrusts. Her breath hitched, her inner muscles clenching around him, and then she was gone, crying out his name as the orgasm tore through her.
He followed her over the edge, burying himself deep as the release crashed through him. His vision went white at the edges, every nerve ending lighting up at once. He groaned her name into the curve of her neck, his whole body shuddering.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. He was still inside her, their bodies slick with sweat, their breathing slowly evening out. She ran her fingers through his hair, gentle and soothing, and he turned his head to press a kiss to the inside of her wrist.
"That was..." She trailed off.
"Yeah." He lifted his head to look at her. "It was."
She laughed, a little breathless. "I was going to say something more eloquent, but my brain isn't working."
"Good." He kissed her, slow and sweet. "That's how it should be."
He rolled off her carefully, lying on his side and pulling her against him. She fit perfectly into the curve of his body, her back against his chest, his arm draped over her waist. He could feel her heart still beating fast, slowing gradually to match his own.
"Brian?"
"Mm."
"I'm glad I walked into your cottage."
He smiled against her hair. "I'm glad you did, too."
Outside, the pines whispered in the wind, and the motion lights had long since gone dark. The locked gate stood between them and the world, and for tonight, that was enough. The threat would still be there in the morning. Marcus Webb would still be out there somewhere, watching, waiting.
But for now, Tessa was warm in his arms, and her breathing had evened out into the slow rhythm of sleep, and Brian felt something he hadn't felt in a very long time.
Peace.
He pressed his lips to her shoulder and closed his eyes. Tomorrow, they would figure out the next step. Tomorrow, they would deal with police reports and patrol cars and a man who wouldn't leave her alone.
But tonight, she was safe. And she was his.
That was all that mattered.