CHAPTER SIX
Charlotte
The truck cab felt smaller than it should have.
Maybe it was because Crew took up so much space—not just physically, though God knew he was big enough. No, it was his very presence.
The Henderson order was secured in the truck bed, wrapped and protected. The morning was cold but clear, the roads dry. Everything was going according to plan.
Except for the fact that I could barely breathe with Crew this close.
“Thanks again,” I said, needing to break the silence. “For staying late last night. We wouldn’t have finished without your help.”
“Just doing my job.” His voice was flat, controlled.
Right. His job. Because that’s all this was to him. Just a job. Just paying off whatever debt he owed Race.
I turned to look out the window, watching the Montana landscape roll past. Mountains in the distance, snow-capped and beautiful. The kind of view that usually made me feel peaceful.
Today it just made me feel restless. Restless and needy and far too aware of the man sitting inches away from me. Too aware of how easy it would be to reach over, to touch him, to ask for what I wanted instead of pretending I didn’t want it at all.
“A storm’s supposed to come in tomorrow,” I said, just to have something to say. “A big one. We’ll probably have to close the mill for a day or two if it’s as bad as they’re predicting.”
“Good thing we’re doing this delivery today, then.”
“Yeah.” I fiddled with the zipper on my coat. “Mr. Henderson would have understood if we’d had to delay, but he’s been a customer since before I was born. I like to give him special treatment when I can.”
Crew nodded but didn’t respond, and the silence stretched between us again. Thick and uncomfortable and full of everything we weren’t saying.
Mr. Henderson’s ranch looked like something out of a postcard—sprawling log buildings, split-rail fences, mountains rising in the background. The old man was waiting for us on the porch when we pulled up, his weathered face breaking into a huge grin.
“Charlie girl!” He pulled me into a bear hug the moment I was out of the truck. “About time you came to visit this old man.”
“Good to see you, Mr. H.” I hugged him back, genuine affection warming my chest. “I brought your oak paneling. Just like you ordered.”
“Perfect, perfect.” His eyes slid to Crew, who was already moving to the truck bed to start unloading. His muscles flexing as he lifted the heavy paneling, his coat pulling tight across his shoulders and back. I bit my lip, watching him. “And who’s this strapping young man? New boyfriend?”
My cheeks heated at the image it conjured—Crew as mine, Crew in my bed, Crew’s hands on my body. “He’s our newest employee. This is Crew. Crew, Mr. Henderson.”
“Hank.” The old man shook Crew’s hand. “Any friend of Charlie’s is welcome here. Come on, let’s get that wood unloaded. Then you’re both staying for lunch. Won’t take no for an answer.”
We spent the next hour unloading and inspecting the paneling. Mr. Henderson was meticulous, checking every piece, running his hands over the wood with the appreciation of someone who understood craftsmanship.
“Beautiful work,” he said, nodding approvingly. “You did good, Charlie girl. Real good.”
“Crew did most of it,” I admitted. “He’s got a gift for detail work.”
“That right?” Mr. Henderson studied Crew with new interest. “Where’d you learn woodworking?”
“My grandfather,” Crew said, his voice gruff. “Before I enlisted.”
“Military man. I like that.” Mr. Henderson clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, you’ve got talent. Charlie’s lucky to have you.”
I saw Crew’s jaw clench at that, but he just nodded.
“Now come on inside,” Mr. Henderson said. “Lunch is ready, and I want you to meet my grandson. He’s visiting from Bozeman.”
My stomach sank. I knew exactly what this was. Another attempt at matchmaking. Mr. Henderson had been trying to set me up with his grandson for two years now.
Sure enough, when we walked into the main house, a man in his early thirties stood up from the kitchen table. Tall, clean-cut, wearing designer jeans and a sweater that probably cost more than my truck payment.
“Charlotte!” He crossed the room with a smile that showed too many teeth. “It’s been too long.”
“Hi, Brantley.” I accepted his hug, very aware of Crew standing behind me, radiating tension. “This is Crew. He’s helping out at the mill.”
“Crew.” Brantley shook his hand, the gesture more challenge than greeting. “Interesting name.”
“It’s what I go by,” Crew said flatly. His voice was cold, dangerous, and I watched Brantley’s cocky smile falter slightly at whatever he saw in Crew’s eyes.
The lunch was painful. Brantley dominated the conversation, talking about his finance job in Bozeman, his new car, his condo with mountain views. He kept touching my arm, laughing too loud at his own jokes, making it very clear he was interested.
And Mr. Henderson was eating it up, shooting me encouraging looks every five minutes.
I wanted to crawl under the table.
Crew said almost nothing, just ate his food with mechanical precision, his jaw so tight I was surprised his teeth didn’t crack. Every time Brantley touched my arm, I saw Crew’s hand tighten on his fork.
And God help me, it turned me on. The possessiveness, the barely leashed violence, the clear message in every line of his body that said mine.
“So Charlotte,” Brantley said, leaning closer than necessary. His hand sliding up my arm in a way that made my skin crawl. “I was thinking maybe we could grab dinner sometime? I know this great place in Bozeman—”
“She’s busy,” Crew said, his voice cutting across the table like a blade. Low and rough and absolutely final.
Everyone turned to look at him. He was staring at Brantley with an expression that promised violence if Brantley touched me one more time.
“Busy with what?” Brantley asked, his smile faltering.
“Work.” Crew’s eyes never left him. “She runs a sawmill. It’s a full-time job.”
“I’m sure she could make time—”
“She can’t.”
The tension in the room was thick enough to cut. Mr. Henderson was watching the exchange with poorly concealed delight, while Brantley looked like he’d been slapped.
I should have been annoyed at Crew for answering for me. Instead, I wanted to climb into his lap right there at the table, wanted to kiss him until we both forgot where we were, wanted to show Brantley exactly who I belonged to.
“Actually,” I said, standing up and grabbing my coat, “we need to get back. I just got an alert that the storm’s coming in earlier than expected.”
It was a lie—the sky was still clear—but I needed to get out of there before I did something stupid. Like tell Brantley exactly what I thought of his assumption that I was available. Or kiss Crew right there at the table for defending me.
We said our goodbyes—Brantley looking confused and Mr. Henderson looking way too pleased with himself—and headed back to the truck.
The moment we were on the road, the silence was deafening.
We drove for ten minutes before Crew finally spoke.
“Was that the reason you wanted to do the delivery today?” His voice was tight, controlled. “To see him?”
I turned to stare at him. “Who? Mr. Henderson? He’s one of our oldest clients, I told you—”
“Not Henderson. The grandson. Mr. Finance-With-The-Mountain-Views.”
Was that... jealousy in his voice?
“Brantley,” I said, testing the waters. “His name is Brantley.”
Crew’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles going white. “So that is why you came. To see Brantley. I could have made the delivery by myself.”
“No.” I crossed my arms. “Mr. Henderson has been trying to set me up with him for two years. I’ve told him I’m not interested about a hundred times, but he doesn’t listen.”
“He touched your arm. A lot.”
“I noticed.”
“You didn’t seem to mind.”
The accusation in his voice made anger spark in my chest. Anger and something else—heat, need, frustration at days of dancing around this. “Are you serious right now? I minded. I minded a lot. But I couldn’t exactly slap away the hand of my client’s grandson at his own lunch table.”
Crew’s jaw clenched tighter. His breathing had gone rough, harsh. I could see the pulse hammering in his throat. “He wants you.”
“I don’t want him.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Was I supposed to be rude to a client? Tell his grandson to fuck off? I run a business, Crew. I have to be professional even when men assume I’m available just because I’m single.”
“Are you?”
The question hung in the air between us. “Am I what?”
“Available.”
I thought about my ex. About how he’d made me feel like my success was something to apologize for.
About how he’d wanted me small and manageable instead of strong.
About my non-existent love life since then—three years of putting all my energy into the mill, into proving myself, into being responsible Charlotte who took care of everyone else.
I thought about Brantley and his assumptions. About Mr. Henderson trying to set me up because clearly a woman my age needed someone to take care of her. About all the bossy men in my life who thought they knew what I needed better than I did.
And then I thought about Crew. About the way his hands were gripping the steering wheel right now. About the tension in his jaw. He wasn’t like any other man I’d ever met. He didn’t try to manage me or make me smaller. Instead, he saw my competence and admired it instead of being threatened by it.
My heart kicked hard against my ribs. “That’s not—you don’t get to ask me that. Not after spending days avoiding me. Not after calling our kiss a mistake.”
“I wasn’t the one who walked away, Charlotte.”
“You didn’t stop me,” I shot back.
“Because I couldn’t trust myself not to do it again.” The words burst out of him, raw and honest. “And I’ve avoided being alone with you, because every time I look at you, all I can think about is how you felt in my arms and how badly I want—”
My breath caught. “Want what?”
“You. I want you. And I have no right to. I want to touch you. Taste you. Feel you. I want to strip you out of those jeans and find out if you’re as soft as I’ve been imagining.
I want to make you come on my tongue, on my fingers, on my cock.
I want to hear you scream my name. I want—fuck, Charlotte, I want everything. ”
Before I could respond, before I could process what he’d just said, before I could tell him yes, God yes, take it all, the world outside the windshield changed.
One second, we were driving through clear December air, and the next we hit a wall of white. Snow came from nowhere—thick, heavy, blinding. A snow squall that appeared out of thin air, swallowing the road, the landscape, everything.
“Shit!” Crew cursed as visibility dropped to almost nothing.
He reduced his speed immediately, but I could feel us sliding on the snowy road. My hand gripped the door handle. “Where did that come from?” I breathed, staring at the impossible weather. One second clear, the next a complete whiteout.
“It doesn’t matter. We need to get off this road.” Crew’s voice was controlled but tense. “Where’s the next exit?”
“About five miles up ahead. There’s a hotel—it’s pretty much the only thing there.”
“Hold on.”
Those five miles took forever. Crew drove with the kind of controlled precision that spoke of experience in bad conditions, but even he couldn’t completely prevent the truck from sliding on the ice.
Every time we hit a patch, my hand shot out instinctively to grip his thigh, feeling the hard muscle tense under my palm.
Finally we saw the exit sign through the snow, and Crew carefully guided us off the highway. The hotel appeared through the whiteout. It was part of a chain, catering to highway travelers.
“Thank God,” I breathed.
Crew pulled into the parking lot and killed the engine. For a moment, we just sat there, both of us catching our breath, the snow falling silently against the truck.
“Let’s get inside, before this gets worse.”
We walked through the snow to the lobby, arriving breathless and covered in white. A young clerk looked up from his phone with surprise.
“Two rooms,” Crew said immediately.
The clerk shook his head. “Sorry, man. Only got one left. Road crews booked out most of the hotel because of the storm.”
Of course the universe would do this. Would trap us in one room after that confession in the truck. After days of tension and wanting and barely controlled need.
I pulled out my corporate card. “We’ll take it.”
“Charlotte—”
“It’s a business expense,” I said firmly. “The mill pays for it.”
Crew didn’t say a word, just took the card from my hand and gave the clerk his own credit card instead.
“You don’t have to—”
“Yeah, I do.”
The clerk processed the payment and handed over two key cards. “Room 507. Fifth floor. It’s a suite—our last available. Elevators are just past the breakfast area.”
We headed for the elevator, both of us silent.
The tension between us was back in full force, made worse by what Crew had said in the truck.
The elevator ride was silent, but I could feel him behind me, could feel the heat of his body, could see his reflection in the polished doors—his eyes on me, dark and hungry.
The walk down the hall was silent. And when Crew slid the key card into the lock and pushed open the door.
The room had a sitting area, a desk, even a small kitchenette. A massive bathroom visible through an open door.
And one bed.
One very large, very obvious king-sized bed, dominating the space and impossible to ignore.
I stood in the doorway, frozen, staring at that bed, my body screaming at me to stop fighting this, to give in, to take what we both wanted.
I was tired of being responsible, but I wasn’t quite brave.
“I’ll sleep on the couch,” I said, eyeing the small sofa that would be uncomfortable for anyone, let alone someone Crew’s size.
“No.” His voice was firm. Final. “You’ll sleep on the bed.”
“Crew, I can’t make you—”
“You’re not making me do anything.” He moved into the room, his presence filling the space. “You’ll sleep on the bed, Charlotte. That’s not up for discussion.”
The command in his voice should have irritated me. Should have made me bristle like I did with every other man who tried to tell me what to do. But not this time. No, my panties grew wet, my body going soft and pliant and ready.
“Then where will you sleep?” I asked, even though I could see the answer in his eyes. A sense of inevitability hung in the air. We both knew what was about to happen.
His eyes locked on mine, dark and full of promise. “With you.”
My breath caught. “Crew—”
“I’m done, Charlotte.” He took a step closer, and the look in his eyes made my knees weak. “I’m done with all of this. Done pretending I don’t want you. Done fighting it. Done staying away when all I can think about is touching you.”
Another step closer.
“So yeah, you’ll sleep on the bed. And we’ll sleep. Eventually.”