Chapter 3
Evie
“Then kiss me.”
The words leave my mouth like a dare I didn’t mean to make.
Like my fear and my want shook hands and decided to ruin my life together.
Wolf’s eyes lock on mine, and the heat in them is the kind that makes my stomach flip. He’s holding my waist, keeping me close, his thumb pressed into my skin like he can feel my pulse racing and wants to make sure it stays right where he wants it.
His jaw tightens.
“Angel,” he says, voice rough, warning threaded through it. “You’re playing with fire.”
I swallow. My mouth is still tingling from his kisses, my body still humming like it’s trying to catch up to what just happened in that bar. I should take it back. I should laugh and pretend I didn’t mean it.
I don’t.
Because I did mean it.
His gaze drops to my mouth for a second, and I can see the fight in him. The part that wants to kiss me again, and the part that’s holding the line.
He steps back.
The air between us turns cold.
Then he turns toward the cabin door, still close enough that his body blocks the night from me.
“Inside,” he says.
It isn’t harsh. It isn’t gentle either. It’s the voice of a man who’s used to being listened to.
I nod, because I don’t trust my voice.
The cabin door opens, and warmth rolls out, carrying the smell of wood and smoke.
The living room is simple. A couch that looks like it’s been slept on more than it’s been sat on.
A fireplace with stacked logs beside it.
A small kitchen tucked off to one side. A narrow hall that probably leads to the bedroom and bathroom.
Everything feels rugged and quiet. Like him.
No clutter. No softness that doesn’t have a purpose. No signs of anyone else living here.
It makes my chest tighten.
He shuts the door behind us and locks it. The click is loud in the silence.
I exhale without realizing I’d been holding my breath.
Wolf watches me for a beat, like he’s reading the way my shoulders drop, the way my hands stop shaking just a little.
I slip my shoes off quickly and place them near the door like I’m trying to behave, like I’m trying to prove I’m not a problem.
Wolf pulls his boots off with a quick, practiced motion and sets them beside mine. The domestic simplicity of it hits me harder than it should.
Then he walks to the kitchen.
“Tea?” he asks.
I nod.
He fills a kettle and sets it on the stove. His hands are steady. Competent. The kind of hands that know how to handle weapons and engines, and apparently kettles too.
I hover near the couch, unsure where to put myself. It’s ridiculous. I’ve been in houses before. I’m not a child.
But this isn’t a friend’s place. This is Wolf’s place. Or whatever his real name is.
His cabin. His quiet.
And I’m standing in it with my heart still racing and my mouth still swollen, and I can’t decide if I’m safe or if I’m about to do something I’ll never recover from.
Wolf glances back at me. “Sit.”
I do.
The couch is firm, worn in the middle like he’s spent a lot of nights here staring at the fire. I fold my hands in my lap to keep them from fidgeting.
The kettle starts to hiss softly.
Wolf pulls a mug from the cabinet. Then another. He sets them down, drops a tea bag into mine, and reaches for honey without thinking.
He turns, catches me watching him, and his eyes narrow a fraction.
“What?” he asks.
My cheeks heat. “Nothing.”
He huffs a short sound. Not a laugh. Close.
“You’re shaking,” he says.
“I’m fine.”
It’s automatic. A lie I’ve been trained to say.
Wolf’s gaze slides over me, not like Voss did. Not like men do when they think your body is for them to judge. Wolf looks like he’s assessing damage.
He steps closer, close enough that I can smell smoke and soap and something that’s just him.
His hand comes to my jaw, thumb brushing lightly over my cheek. The touch is careful, like he’s testing whether I’ll flinch.
I don’t.
My throat tightens.
“You’re safe here,” he says. “For tonight.”
Tonight.
The word has weight. Like he’s already thinking about tomorrow and doesn’t want to promise too much.
It should make me feel better.
It makes me want to ask for more.
The kettle whistles. Wolf lets go of my face and turns it off like he’s glad for the interruption. He pours the water, the steam curling between us. Sets my mug on the coffee table. Sets his own down beside it.
Then he sits in a chair across from me, angled like he can see the whole room without trying.
I wrap my hands around the mug, letting the warmth sink into my fingers. I should drink. I should calm down.
Instead, I stare at him.
He’s bigger in here. Not because the cabin is small, but because he feels like the only solid thing in it. The scar through his brow looks rougher in the firelight. His cut hangs open. His forearms are thick, tattooed, hands relaxed on his knees like he’s holding back by choice.
He watches me watching him.
The silence stretches.
My heart keeps tripping over itself.
I clear my throat. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Do what?”
“In the bar. With that… man.”
His eyes go darker. “You asked.”
“I know.” My voice cracks, and I hate it. “I just… I don’t want trouble for you.”
He leans back slightly, gaze steady on my face. “Trouble came in the door when he did.”
I swallow. The tea smells like chamomile and honey. Safe things. Things that don’t belong in the same night as threats and agreements and being claimed in public.
I take a sip anyway. It’s sweet. Warm.
It makes my eyes sting.
Wolf notices. His jaw tightens.
I look away quickly, embarrassed.
I’m about to say something normal. Something safe.
Instead, jealousy slips out of me like it has teeth.
“Do you bring all girls here?” I ask.
The question is quiet. Shaky. Pathetic.
The second it leaves my mouth, I want to crawl under the couch.
Because why do I care?
Because I have no right to care.
Because I met him tonight, and I’m already acting like something belongs to me when I’m the one who asked for pretend.
Wolf goes still.
The fire crackles in the pause.
I force myself to look at him, and my cheeks burn hotter when I see his expression.
Surprise first. Then something else, slower.
Not amusement.
Something closer to… satisfaction.
He leans forward slightly. “No.”
Just that.
No.
My chest tightens. “No?”
He holds my gaze like he’s making sure I hear him. “You’re the first.”
My breath catches.
I stare at him, trying to find the lie. Trying to find the angle.
There isn’t one.
“And you should know,” he adds, voice rougher, “I don’t bring anyone to my cabin. I don’t bring anyone into my life.”
Life.
The word lands heavy.
I swallow. “Why not?”
His eyes flick to the fire, then back to me. The shift is small, but I feel it. Like he just touched something sharp inside himself.
“I don’t do well with people,” he says.
I blink. That sounds ridiculous when it comes from a man who’s part of a motorcycle club with a reputation that makes men like Voss back away.
Wolf’s mouth twitches like he knows what I’m thinking.
“I’m good at crowds when I have to be,” he says. “I’m better alone.”
The silence stretches again.
Then he exhales through his nose and says it like it costs him nothing, like it’s just information.
“I did three tours.”
My stomach drops.
He doesn’t elaborate right away, but I can see it in the way his eyes lose a little warmth. In the way his shoulders go tight. In the way his hands curl slightly, like he’s gripping something invisible.
“I got out recently,” he continues. “Came here because it’s quiet.”
Quiet.
That makes sense. The cabin. The distance from town. The way he sits like he’s always watching.
I whisper, “Were you hurt?”
His eyes flick to me. “I’m fine.”
It’s the same lie I told him.
He catches himself, then adds, softer, “I’m done bleeding.”
Not the same thing as fine.
I don’t push. I don’t want to pry. I don’t want to turn his pain into a story I get to consume.
But the way he looks at me right now, I know he’s already decided something.
He’s giving me pieces on purpose.
He leans back, gaze on the fire for a second. “I had girlfriends before the Army.”
My throat tightens again.
He looks at me. “One mattered.”
The words are simple. They hit like a bruise.
“She died,” he says. “Car accident. Fifteen years ago.”
My chest aches. “Wolf…”
His jaw tightens like he regrets saying it out loud. “After that,” he continues, voice flat, “I stopped letting people close. The Army made it easier. War does that.”
I wrap my hands tighter around the mug, as if I can hold the warmth and keep it from being swallowed by his cold.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
His gaze snaps to mine. “Don’t.”
It’s sharp enough to make me flinch.
Then his expression shifts, softer at the edges, like he hates that he startled me.
“I don’t want your pity,” he says. “I don’t want you looking at me like I’m broken.”
My mouth opens, then closes.
Because he is broken. I can feel it. The way he holds himself like he’s holding something inside.
But he’s also… here. He’s real. He’s the man who kissed me on his lap and meant it.
“I don’t pity you,” I say quietly. “I…”
I don’t finish.
Because what I want to say is I like you, and that sounds insane.
Wolf watches me, eyes steady. “Good.”
The word comes out rough, but it doesn’t feel like a judgment. It feels like relief.
The fire pops.
The tea warms my throat.
My pulse slows and then speeds up again for a different reason, because Wolf’s gaze drops to my mouth and stays there a beat too long.
I set the mug down because my hands are shaking again.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” I whisper.
“What?” he asks, voice low.
“Then kiss me.”
His eyes darken. “Yeah, you should’ve.”
My stomach flips. “I didn’t mean…”
“You did,” he cuts in, calm. “You just didn’t think about what it means to say that to me.”
I swallow hard. “What does it mean?”
Wolf stands.
The movement is smooth and controlled, but it changes the whole room. He’s taller now, closer, and the air feels thicker. He walks toward me like he owns the space between us.
I don’t move. I can’t.
He stops in front of the couch, close enough that I have to tilt my head to look at him. His hand comes to my jaw again, thumb brushing my cheek.
“You climbed into my lap,” he says, voice rough. “You asked me to claim you.”
My throat tightens. “I needed…”
“I know,” he says, and there’s no anger in it. Only certainty. “And I meant it.”
My heart stutters.
He leans down, mouth close to mine, close enough that his breath warms my lips. “When I told him you’re my woman, I meant it.”
My body goes hot all at once.
“That was supposed to be pretend,” I whisper, and my voice betrays me because I don’t want it to be.
Wolf’s mouth brushes my cheek, not a kiss, just a touch that makes me shiver.
“Angel,” he murmurs, “I don’t do pretend.”
His hand slides from my jaw to my neck, fingers resting there like he can feel my pulse hammering.
“You’re mine now,” he says.
The words should scare me.
They don’t.
They settle in my chest like something I’ve been starving for.
My breath catches. “Wolf…”
His eyes lift to mine, and for a second I see it. The broken man. The cold he built. The control he clings to like it’s life or death.
Then I see something else.
Want.
And it’s aimed straight at me.
He swallows, jaw flexing.
“If I kiss you again tonight,” he says, voice low and rough, “I won’t stop. I warned you before you came inside. You can still back out.”
My heart pounds so hard it hurts.
I should be afraid.
I should be smart.
I lift my chin anyway, meeting his gaze like I’m braver than I feel.
“Kiss me,” I whisper.