Chapter 12 #2
"But I did." His thumb strokes my cheek again, softer now but just as possessive. The callus on his thumb catches slightly on my skin, sending shivers down my spine.
"You did." My voice emerges as barely more than a whisper, the two simple words carrying the weight of surrender.
"I don't regret it, but you need to be careful." His jaw tightens, a muscle there jumping beneath his skin as he fights some internal battle.
"Of what?" I lean back just enough to search his face, my fingers unconsciously tightening on his shirt, pulling him closer even as I create space between us.
He dips his head, lips brushing the shell of my ear as his voice drops to a rough whisper. "Because what I want is to back you against that counter, lift you onto it, and ravage you the way I have every night in my dreams."
His breath catches, warm against my skin.
"I want to worship every inch of you until you're singing my name like a prayer.
" His fingers tighten fractionally at my waist, the tremble in them betraying how tightly he's holding onto his control.
"But I should warn you—I'm not good at denying myself what I want.
If you say yes..." His voice roughens, breaking slightly on the next words.
"I'll take everything you're willing to give. And I've imagined so much."
I feel his words everywhere—heavy, electric, promising things that make my pulse stutter.
For a heartbeat, all I can do is stare up at him, breathless, savoring the sharp, wild ache he's kindled inside me.
I press my hips a little closer, making sure he feels my answer in the flush of my body against his.
"Yes." The word escapes before I can think better of it, and my voice is unsteady, wrecked with wanting. I swallow hard, then meet his gaze directly. "What exactly have you fantasized about?" My question carries surrender in its edges, an offering.
"Your back against this wall." His eyes darken impossibly further, and his voice roughens.
"My hands exploring every inch of you, taking you right here where anyone could walk in.
" He studies my reaction carefully. "I've imagined you sprawled across this counter, on the desk in your back office, in my shower with steam rising around us.
" He pauses, gauging me. "And yes, on your knees, looking up at me.
" His thumb traces my lower lip. "Too much? Or not enough?"
A shiver runs through me, not from fear but anticipation. My breath comes faster, my skin flushing hot beneath his gaze.
"Not enough," I whisper, surprising myself with my boldness.
His grin turns wicked, his hand flexing on my waist. The promise between us, old as the storm outside, is no longer just a maybe.
His eyes darken to obsidian as they lock with mine, raw hunger barely contained beneath his careful control.
The tension in his shoulders shifts from restraint to purpose, his body coiling like a predator finally given permission to hunt.
When his thumb traces the curve of my lower lip, the callused pad catches slightly, sending lightning down my spine that pools molten in my core.
"Good," he breathes, the single word carrying the weight of every night he's spent wanting this—wanting me.
"That was just the prelude." His grip tightens, possessive.
"I have desires that would make you blush in places no one can see, appetites that would leave marks on your skin for days.
" His voice drops to a near-growl. "I want to push you to edges you didn't know existed, then catch you when you fall.
" His breath caresses my ear. "The question is whether you're brave enough to discover them.
" His challenge hangs between us, a door opening to something both frightening and irresistible.
His other hand slides to the small of my back, pressing me impossibly closer while his fingers slip beneath the hem of my shirt to find bare skin.
He makes a sound—half groan, half sigh—as though touching me has unlocked something primal within him.
His palm splays wide, claiming territory as he bends to recapture my mouth.
Outside, winter rages. Inside, with him, I am already burning.
Before I can respond, my phone rings—the emergency tone I've assigned to official calls. The harsh electronic sound slices through the heated air between us. For a moment, we freeze, connected at every point, neither willing to be the first to break away. The phone rings again, insistent.
Reluctantly, I extract myself from Max's embrace, pulse still racing as I answer. His hands linger until the last possible moment, fingertips trailing across my skin like a promise postponed rather than broken.
"Lily, it's Sheriff Donovan." His voice crackles with static. "Just checking you're safe at home."
"I'm still at the shop." I try to steady my breathing, acutely aware of Max watching me, his eyes still dark with unresolved hunger.
"The shop? Dammit, Lily, I thought… I told you to head to your cottage hours ago."
"Sorry, but I got caught up with closing procedures." It's not entirely a lie. My free hand unconsciously touches my lips, still swollen from Max's attention.
"Well, you're staying put now. Roads are completely impassable, and we've got power lines down all over town.
Not to mention, it's blizzard conditions out there.
Complete whiteout. Whatever you do, please do not leave your shop until this blows over.
" The sheriff's tone brooks no argument.
"The shop's sturdy, and you've got that old generator, right? "
"I do." However, I've failed to do its annual maintenance for two years now. Not that I'll admit that to him.
"You'll be fine there until morning when my crews can clear the main roads."
"I will."
"Anyone else stuck there with you?"
I glance at Max, who has returned to his spot by the counter, leaning against it with deceptive casualness. The intensity in his gaze belies his relaxed posture. "Max Lawson. He came in before the worst hit."
"Well, that's lucky, at least. Two is better than one in these situations. You've got food, water?"
"Enough cookies, biscuits, and coffee to manage." My voice sounds strained even to my own ears.
"Good. Check-in if anything changes; otherwise, sit tight. This system should blow through by morning."
After hanging up, I stand frozen in the middle of the shop, reality crashing down.
Trapped overnight.
With Max.
After that kiss.
"I take it we're stuck here?" Max asks, expression unreadable, though his eyes still smolder like banked coals.
"Until morning at least." I run a hand through my hair, trying to regain composure.
The space between us feels electrified, charged with potential energy. Every movement seems magnified—the rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers tap against the counter edge, the slight shift of his weight. The few feet separating us might as well be a minefield of unspoken promises.
"I should check the generator." I clear my throat, but it does nothing to dispel the thickness in the air.
"What can I do to help?" His voice has a ragged edge that sends a shiver down my spine. When I hesitate, he adds, "Put me to work."
"You could..." My mind scrambles for a task, anything to create distance. "Check the storage room for extra blankets? Second door on the left, past the restrooms."
He nods, pushing away from the counter. As he passes me, our shoulders nearly touch, and I swear I can feel heat radiating from him like a furnace. The ghost of his touch lingers on my skin.
An awkward silence descends, the air still charged with the energy of our interrupted moment.
I busy myself checking the generator, assessing supplies, anything to avoid addressing what just happened.
But when he returns with an armful of blankets, I can't avoid looking at him—the way his arms flex under the weight, how his eyes never leave mine as he sets them down on a nearby table.
With the Sheriff's words of caution, it's clear this storm has shifted from an inconvenience to a potential danger.
I move purposefully through the shop, gathering flashlights and candles from behind the counter.
All the while, the heat between us remains palpable, an invisible current that makes the hair on my arms stand on end whenever we pass too close.
His words echo in my mind—desires that would make me blush, appetites that would leave marks—and I fumble a stack of emergency candles, sending them clattering to the floor.
Max is there in an instant, helping me gather them. Our fingers brush, and we both freeze, the contact burning like a brand.
"Sorry," I mutter, though I'm not sure what I'm apologizing for.
His expression softens slightly. "Don't be." The words carry weight beyond this moment, a reassurance about everything that passed between us.
Max gathers the remaining candles with efficient movements, his hands steady where mine had trembled. He arranges them in a neat row on the counter, then pauses, watching me fumble with the matches.
"Here," he says quietly, taking them from my unsteady fingers. His hands close over mine for just a moment, warm and grounding. "You're shaking."
I pull back, crossing my arms. "Just cold," I lie.
His mouth quirks up at one corner, seeing through me instantly. "Lily." Just my name, but spoken with such certainty that I have to meet his eyes. "Take a breath. Nothing's going to happen tonight that you're not ready for."
The tension in my shoulders eases slightly. "I didn't think—"