13. Chapter Twelve
Chapter Twelve
Beau
She wants to see my cabin.
That's the thought looping through my brain as I navigate the winding mountain road, my knuckles white on the steering wheel like I'm trying to strangle it into submission.
Molly fucking Jennings wants to see my world. My cabin. The place I built with my bare hands to keep everyone else out.
And now I'm driving her straight into it.
What the hell am I doing?
"Oh my God, Beau, this is gorgeous!" Molly exclaims, and I glance over to see her practically pressed against the passenger window, new phone in hand as she snaps pictures of the forest rushing past. "The sunset is starting to break through the trees!"
I grunt in response because my vocal cords seem to have forgotten how to form actual words.
Did I do laundry this week? When's the last time I changed my sheets? Do I even have food that isn't beer, whiskey, and that frozen rabbit stew I made three months ago when I couldn't face another trip to town?
Christ . She's going to think I'm some kind of feral mountain man.
Which, let's face it, isn't entirely inaccurate.
"Ooh, this phone creates the perfect lighting. Look, Beau," she says suddenly, and before I can process what's happening, she's leaning across the center console, phone held high, her vanilla scent hitting me like a freight train.
Click.
She grins at the screen, and I catch a glimpse of the photo over her shoulder. I look like I've been caught stealing something, eyes wide and slightly panicked.
"Oh my God, you look so grumpy!" she laughs, nudging my shoulder with hers. "But like... adorably grumpy. Like a really sexy mountain troll."
"I'm not grumpy," I mutter, which only makes her laugh harder.
"Right. And I'm not completely out of my element up here." She settles back into her seat, still grinning. "This is going to be my first photo on my new phone. Historic moment."
Historic moment.
The way she says it, like this matters. Like I matter. It does something to my chest that I don't want to examine too closely.
"You don't have to—" I start, then stop. Don't have to what? Document this? Remember it? Want to be here?
Isn't that why I bought her the damn phone?
So I could text her, call her, reach her whenever I wanted?
Because the thought of dropping her off and not hearing from her until tomorrow made my chest feel like someone had shoved a vise around it.
It was the idea of silence stretching between us pushed me into that electronics shop and cost me a small fortune I don't regret spending for a second.
"Never mind," I mutter, turning onto the final stretch of road to my cabin.
"Everything okay?" she asks softly, blinking at me in a way that tells me everything I need to know.
She's thinking about whether I'm regretting this. About whether I'm having second thoughts about letting her come up to my cabin.
Because that's what Molly does.
That's what she's been groomed into doing by my brother. Well, not anymore. Riley might have trained her to doubt herself, but I'll be damned if I let his ghost follow her here.
"Nothing. Just... my place isn't exactly built for company."
"Good thing I'm not exactly company then."
I risk another glance at her, and she's looking at me with those green eyes. Not exactly company. What the hell does that mean?
Focus on the road, Callahan. Don't crash your truck because a woman smiled at you.
The forest opens up ahead, and there it is. My cabin, nestled into the mountainside like it grew there naturally. Two stories of cedar and stone, wraparound deck gleaming in the afternoon sun, the hot tub waiting in the corner like a promise.
I built every inch of it myself. It's the only thing I've created that hasn't been tainted by blood or regret.
And now Molly's going to see it.
Judge it. Judge me .
"Holy shit," she breathes as I pull into the driveway.
My hands freeze on the steering wheel. "What?"
"Beau, this is... this is incredible." She's staring at the cabin like it's some kind of miracle. "You built this? All of this?"
"Took me about two years," I say, trying to sound casual while my heart hammers against my ribs.
"It's beautiful," she says simply, and the wonder in her voice makes something tight in my chest loosen.
I give her the tour, but I can't stop watching her face. Maybe she won't think I'm just some hermit playing house in the woods after all.
She runs her fingers along the kitchen island, eyes wide with appreciation. "You made this?"
"Fell during a storm my first year here. Seemed a shame to waste it."
She moves to the stone fireplace, trailing her hand over the river rocks I spent weeks selecting and fitting. "Beau, all of this… it must have taken forever."
"Sometimes waiting forever is worth it," I say, and I'm not just talking about the fireplace.
Every room, she finds something to marvel at.
The built-in bookshelves. The hand-hewn beams. The massive windows that frame the valley view like living paintings.
"And this is the bathroom," I say, pushing open the door to reveal the deep clawfoot tub positioned perfectly to catch the sunrise. "And the view from here..."
She steps past me to look out the window, and I catch another hit of that vanilla scent that's been driving me crazy for days.
"God, Beau. This is like... paradise. How do you ever leave this place?"
I raise a brow at her and laugh. "I don't. Not unless I have to."
She turns to look at me, and we're standing close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in her green eyes. Close enough that if I leaned forward just slightly...
"Come on," I say roughly, stepping back before I do something stupid. Something that might her feel uncomfortable in a cabin in the middle of nowhere. "I'll show you where you can stay."
I lead her down the hall to the spare bedroom, which is exactly as neglected as I feared. Unmade bed, a thick layer of dust on the nightstand, a pile of clean laundry I never bothered to put away dumped in the corner chair.
"I'll get this cleaned up for you," I say, already mentally cataloging everything that needs to be done.
"Beau…"
"Fresh sheets, at minimum." I start gathering the laundry in my arms, but drop it when I think of something else. "Maybe I can find some of those fancy towels Betty gave me once as payment for a favor I helped out with."
When I turn around, Molly's not looking at the room.
She's looking at me.
And then she's closing the distance between us, her arms sliding up around my neck like she belongs there.
"Beau, stop. I don't want to sleep in the spare room," she says, her voice soft but steady.
"What?" My brain stutters. "You want me to take you home?"
She smiles and shakes her head, the movement gentle but still aa piece of golden hair falls across her face.
"I want to sleep in your room." She leans up on her toes, the tip of her nose touching now sliding across my chin. "With you. "
Before I can think or breathe or remember why that might be a terrible idea, she's kissing me.
Not the gentle, tentative kiss from last night. Not the one I initiated down in the town when I did it to calm her down.
No.
This is pure heat and need and tongues and the taste of her driving me absolutely insane. Her body presses against mine, soft curves molding to hard angles, and I can feel every inch of her through our clothes.
I wrap my arms around her, lifting her off the ground, and she makes this small sound that goes straight to my cock. My hands find her waist, her back, the curve where her spine meets her ass, and she arches into me like she can't get close enough.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. Her eyes have blown wide, her pupils dilated with craving and want that would drive a worthier man into a feverish state.
"Molly," I start, but she's already stepping back, her hands going to the hem of her sweater.
"What are you doing?" I manage to ask, though the words come out strangled.
She smiles, slow and devastating. "What do you think I'm doing?"
With one swift, confident movement, she pulls her sweater over her head.
Fuck.
She's wearing a black lace bra that does absolutely nothing to hide the fact that her nipples are hard, pressing against the delicate fabric like they're begging for attention.
Her skin is pale and perfect, a light flush spreading across her chest, and I want to trace every inch of it with my tongue.
"Molly," I say again, but it comes out more like a groan.
She reaches behind her back, and the bra comes undone with a soft click .
The fabric falls away, and I forget how to breathe.
Her breasts are perfect. Full and soft with pale pink nipples that are tight from the cool air, or arousal, or both. There's a light dusting of freckles across her chest that I want to map with my mouth.
Goddammit.
The way she's looking at me right now. All confident and shy and fucking gorgeous… the sight makes my cock strain against my jeans.
The bra drops at my feet, and she notices the way my eyes track its path. The way I'm staring at her like I'm starving and she's the first meal I've seen in weeks.
Because that's exactly how I feel.
I'd been telling myself I didn't remember her—the girl my brother used to parade around.
But that was bullshit.
I remembered everything. Her smile. Her laugh. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear when nervous. Standing here now, with her half-naked and perfect, I realize I've been waiting for this moment since I was seventeen.
"You're staring," she says, but there's no accusation in it. Just heat.
"Hard not to," I manage, my voice rough as gravel.
She bites her lip, and the small action sends another surge of blood south. Her hands move to the button of her jeans, and I realize this isn't going to stop.
She's going to strip completely, right here in my spare bedroom, and I'm going stand here with a throbbing boner and watch every second of it.
The jeans slide down her legs, revealing miles of smooth skin and black lace panties that match the discarded bra. She steps out of the denim, kicking it aside, and I have to clench my fists to keep from reaching for her.
"These too?" she asks, hooking her thumbs in the waistband of her panties.
I can't speak. Can barely think. All I can do is nod.
She takes her time with it, sliding the lace down inch by agonizing inch, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to die. I can't look away. I don't want to.
This moment, with Molly Jennings standing before me, is a kind of perfection I never thought I'd experience again.
The fabric clings to her hips, her thighs, and when it finally falls to the floor, I nearly drop to my knees just to steal them so I can remember this moment forever.
She's completely bare, standing in a shaft of afternoon sunlight that turns her skin to gold. The soft curve of her waist, the flare of her hips, the triangle hint of honey-blonde hair between her legs that makes my mouth water.
I've never seen anything so beautiful in my entire life.
"Beau?" she says with soft and velvety tones.
I manage to drag my eyes back to her face, and what I see there nearly undoes me. Want. Need. Pure desire. The same desperate hunger that's clawing at my insides, making every nerve burn with a possessive need to claim this woman right here, right fucking now.
"What kind of girl," she says, taking a step toward the door, "sees a hot tub like that and doesn't get straight in?"
And just like that, my brain reboots.
Hot tub?
She's not stripping for sex. She's stripping for the hot tub.
Which should be disappointing, but somehow isn't. Because watching Molly walk naked through my cabin toward my deck is possibly the most erotic thing I've ever experienced.
"I'll get the wine," I say, my voice coming out like I've been gargling gravel.
She glances back over her shoulder, and the smile she gives me is pure sin. "Better make it good wine. I have standards."
I watch her walk away, the gentle sway of her hips, the perfect curve of her plump round ass, and I have to grip the doorframe to keep from following her.
Wine. I need wine.
I stumble toward the kitchen, my brain trying to catalog my alcohol inventory while my cock throbs in my jeans. Do I have wine? What counts as wine? There's that bottle of red I bought three years ago when I thought I had my life back on track. Is it still good? Does wine go bad?
Focus, Callahan.
I'm rifling through cabinets when I hear the soft splash of water and a contented sigh that carries through the open sliding door.
Don't look. Don't look. Find the wine and don't—
I can't help but look.
Molly's settled into the hot tub, arms stretched along the edge, head tilted back to catch the last rays of the setting sun.
Steam rises around her like something out of a fantasy, and the water laps just high enough to cover her breasts while leaving her shoulders and the tops of her curves visible.
She looks like a goddess.
A sexy, wet goddess in my hot tub, waiting for me to join her.
Shit.
I should hurry up and get the wine.