Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
LEAH
Morning light streams through my window, painting golden patterns across rumpled sheets. I stretch languidly, every muscle pleasantly sore from last night's activities. The space beside me is empty but still warm, the pillow bearing the indentation of Aaron's head.
For a moment, panic flutters in my chest. Did he leave? Regret everything and slip away while I slept?
Then I hear it—the quiet clink of mugs in my tiny kitchen, the rich scent of brewing coffee drifting through the apartment. He stayed. Not only stayed, but he's making coffee.
I allow myself a moment of pure, unadulterated happiness. Last night had been... incredible doesn't begin to cover it. Aaron Wilson, with his gruff exterior and gentle hands, had shattered every expectation, taking me apart and putting me back together with an intensity that left me breathless.
The memory of his weight above me, his voice rough with desire as he claimed me, sends heat rushing through my body. Who would have thought the solitary mountain man would be so passionate, so attentive, so utterly consuming?
Slipping from bed, I pull on an oversized sweater that falls to mid thigh and pad barefoot into the kitchen.
Aaron stands with his back to me, wearing only his jeans, his broad shoulders and muscled back on glorious display in the morning light.
The tattoo between his shoulder blades—what looks like mountains with coordinates beneath—shifts as he reaches for mugs from my cabinet.
For a moment, I simply watch him, drinking in the domesticity of the scene. This powerful man, scarred and beautiful, moving through my kitchen with unexpected grace.
"Morning," I say softly, not wanting to startle him.
He turns, and the sight of his face—relaxed, stubble a shade darker than yesterday, blue eyes warm with sleep—makes my heart skip. He's holding two mugs of coffee, and the slight curve of his lips can only be described as a shy smile.
"Morning." He extends one mug to me. "I hope you don't mind. I figured you'd want coffee."
"Mind? You can make me coffee every morning." The words slip out before I can consider their implication, hanging in the air between us.
Every morning. As if this is going somewhere. As if one night of passion means anything beyond mutual attraction and good chemistry.
His expression shifts, something guarded replacing the openness of a moment ago. I sip my coffee to hide my embarrassment. It's perfect—strong and black, exactly how I like it.
"How did you know how I take my coffee?" I ask, desperate to move past the awkward moment.
"I pay attention." He leans against the counter, his own mug cradled in hands that had mapped every inch of my body last night. "You drink it black at the event. No sugar, no cream."
The fact that he noticed such a small detail makes something warm unfurl in my chest. "You were watching me before we even spoke?"
A flush creeps up his neck. "Hard not to. You're the most colorful thing on the mountain."
The compliment, delivered in his straightforward way, makes me smile. I step closer, into his space, drawn by the heat of his body. "And here I thought you were determined to ignore my existence."
His free hand settles at my waist, warm through the thin sweater. "I tried. Didn't work out so well."
"I'm glad it didn't." I rise on tiptoes to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw, feeling the scratch of his beard against my lips.
He sets his coffee aside and pulls me closer, his large hands spanning my waist. "Last night..." he begins, then pauses, searching for words.
"Was amazing," I finish for him, hoping to ease whatever struggle is playing out behind his eyes.
He nods, relief evident in the relaxing of his shoulders. "Yeah. It was."
"But?" I prompt, sensing there's more he wants to say.
"No but." He shakes his head, his hands tightening slightly on my waist. "Just... I don't do this. Haven't. Not since before Afghanistan."
The admission costs him something; I can see it in the tightening around his eyes. Two years of isolation, of keeping people at arm's length. Two years without touch, without connection.
"Thank you," I say softly, setting my own mug down to place both hands on his chest, feeling his heart beat strong beneath my palm. "For last night. For trusting me with that."
His eyes darken, and he lowers his head to capture my mouth in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly ignites into something hungry and demanding. My body responds immediately, pressing closer, my hands sliding up to tangle in his hair.
When he lifts me onto the counter in one fluid motion, settling between my thighs, I wrap my legs around his waist without hesitation.
"Again?" I breathe against his lips, feeling his arousal pressing insistently against me.
"Again," he confirms, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down my spine. "Is that okay?"
In answer, I pull him back to me, losing myself in the heat of his mouth, the strength of his hands as they push my sweater up my thighs. Last night had been intense and passionate; this morning feels urgent, almost desperate, as if he's trying to consume me before reality intrudes.
The kitchen counter is hard beneath me, but I don't care, not with Aaron's hands and mouth making me forget everything but the pleasure building inside me. My sweater ends up on the floor, his jeans quickly following, and then he's pushing into me, filling me completely as I cry out his name.
"Mine," he growls against my neck, the same possessive claim from last night sending thrills through my body. "Say it again, Leah."
"Yours," I gasp as he sets a relentless pace, my nails digging into his shoulders. "God, Aaron, I'm yours."
We come together this time, his face buried in my neck, my head thrown back in ecstasy. For long moments afterward, we remain locked together, his arms supporting my boneless weight, my heart thundering against his.
"Well," I finally manage when I catch my breath, "good morning to you too."
His quiet laugh vibrates against my skin. "Sorry about the counter. Not the most comfortable."
"Trust me, I'm not complaining." I press a kiss to his shoulder. "Though my neighbors might if we make this a regular thing."
There it is again—the implication of future, of continuity. This time, though, Aaron doesn't tense or pull away. Instead, he lifts his head to look at me, his expression serious but open.
"I'd like that," he says quietly. "Making this a regular thing."
Joy bubbles up inside me, but I try to keep my expression calm. "Yeah?"
He nods, his hands gentle as he helps me down from the counter. "Yeah. If that's what you want too."
"I do." I retrieve my sweater from the floor, suddenly shy despite the intimacy we've just shared. "Though I should warn you, I come with complications."
"Such as?" He pulls on his jeans, his movements casual but his eyes intent on my face.
"I'm not just visiting Grizzly Ridge. I moved here permanently last year." I busy myself with pouring fresh coffee to avoid his gaze. "I'm on the town council now. I organize community events. I'm involved in everything you seem to hate about small town life."
"I don't hate it," he says after a moment. "I just... needed space. After what happened with my team, I couldn't handle people. Questions. Sympathy."
I turn to face him, offering his refilled mug. "And now?"
He takes the coffee, his fingers brushing mine. "Now I'm standing in your kitchen naked. So I'd say something's changed."
The simple honesty of his answer makes me laugh. "Fair point."
"What about you?" he asks. "What are your complications?"
I lean against the counter, considering how much to share. "Besides being the town busybody who organizes events you'll probably hate? Not much. My parents live in Seattle. I work remotely as a graphic designer. I volunteer too much. And I talk a lot when I'm nervous."
"I've noticed." His lips twitch, almost a smile. "The talking part."
"And it doesn't drive you crazy?" I ask, only half joking.
"It did at first." He takes a sip of his coffee, his eyes never leaving mine. "Now I think I'd miss it if you stopped."
The admission, so simple but revealing, makes my heart skip. I step closer, drawn to him like gravity.
"Aaron Wilson, are you saying you like me?"
"I'm saying I spent two years avoiding everyone in this town, and now I'm considering attending the next community event just to see you in action." He sets his mug down to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch gentle. "So yeah, I like you. God help me."
The mock distress in his voice makes me grin. "It's not so bad. Liking someone. You'll get used to it."
"Will I?" There's genuine uncertainty beneath the question.
"I hope so." I rise on tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his lips. "Because I like you too. Grumpiness and all."
He captures me for another kiss, deeper this time, his arms wrapping around me as if he never wants to let go. When we finally break apart, he rests his forehead against mine.
"I should go," he says reluctantly. "I have work waiting at the cabin."
"The cradle?" I ask, remembering him mentioning the commission yesterday.
He nods. "Needs to be finished before Christmas."
"I understand." And I do. Whatever is happening between us is new and fragile. We both need time to process it. "Will I see you again soon?"
"Tonight?" he suggests, surprising me with his eagerness. "I could cook dinner. At my place."
The invitation to his sanctuary feels significant, a barrier being lowered. "I'd like that."
He dresses quickly, efficiently, transforming back into the imposing mountain man I first met. But now I know what lies beneath the gruff exterior—the gentleness of his hands, the heat of his passion, the vulnerability he tries so hard to hide.
At the door, he pauses, turning back to me with an expression that makes my breath catch. Without a word, he pulls me into his arms for a kiss that feels like both a promise and a claim.
"Tonight," he says against my lips. "Six o'clock."
Then he's gone, his heavy footsteps echoing down the stairs to the street below. I close the door and lean against it, hugging myself as joy bubbles up inside me.
The Aaron Wilson who just left my apartment is not the same man who scowled at me from his woodpile days ago. Something has shifted, some wall has begun to crumble. And I'm both thrilled and terrified by what might be emerging from behind those walls.
My phone buzzes from the bedroom, breaking my reverie. Reality intrudes in the form of a dozen messages from Wren about the Winter Wonderland cleanup, questions from vendors, and a reminder about tomorrow's town council meeting.
Life goes on, even when your world has been turned upside down by a blue eyed mountain man with magic hands and a wounded heart.
I shower and dress, my body pleasantly sore, my mind racing with thoughts of Aaron and tonight and what it all might mean. As I respond to messages and prepare for my day, one thought keeps circling back:
I'm falling for him. Fast and hard and probably unwisely.
And I have no idea if his crumbling walls will let me in completely, or if they'll rebuild themselves stronger than ever when he remembers why he sought solitude in the first place.
Only time will tell. And tonight, over dinner in his cabin, I might get my first real clue.