Chapter 3
Clay
Fuck, it’s cold as I step out of her spare bedroom.
Snow drifts past the windows, thick and steady, and I’d bet my truck that it’s barely ten degrees outside. Doesn’t she have her heat on?
I swear I heard her in the kitchen this morning muttering, clattering, probably cursing me out while she does God knows what. The woman doesn’t stop moving despite the doctor’s orders.
Jo has a real talent for pretending I don’t exist while making sure I know I’m not wanted. That keeps me more interested in her than I probably should be. My gut says that she’s hiding something from the world.
The Jo we see isn’t the real woman underneath. I can’t stop the pull that wants me to know more. It’s part of my work, but I’ve never had anyone create such a strong protective reaction in me. Never.
She keeps telling me to leave, keeps me at arm’s length, but if I actually walked out that door? She’d end up with more injuries by morning. She has zero balance with that damn boot, and she only just got the okay to ditch the sling.
I stop at the thermostat.
Fifty-eight.
Shit.
I turn it off. Back on. Nothing.
Double shit.
How the hell has she not noticed how cold it is in here? I glance around her small apartment. And where the hell is she? I swear I could tie her to a chair, and she’d still find a way to get up. I peer out the window.
Fuck. Me. What is she doing now?
I throw on my jacket and slip into my shoes as I rip open her door to head outside.
She’s sweaty and flushed, shoveling snow like she’s training for the damn Olympics. Her boot slips, the shovel skidding, and I grab her just before her ass meets the ground.
“Jo, what the fuck are you doing?”
She rolls her eyes. “What does it look like I’m doing? It’s called shoveling, Clay. You do it when it snows.”
Jesus Christ, this woman makes my blood boil. And if she knew how much that fire-mouth of hers turns me on, she’d never speak to me again. I keep that little truth locked down tight.
“Jo. Stop.”
She pauses to look at me.
“This isn’t your job.” I take a step closer.
“It’s mine now. I needed something to do.” She lifts her chin, daring me to tell her no again. Oh, how I’d love to tell her that I’m available to do, but she’d kick my balls and run.
She jerks free of my grip. “Have you noticed your heat is out? It’s fucking freezing in there, and it’s only going to get colder.”
“No, but I’m sure it’s fine,” she snaps. “I’ll call my landlord.”
“I already did. They’re slammed, and it’s going to be a while before they can get here.”
She turns back to the driveway, half limping with that boot and shoveling like I didn’t say a word.
“I’ll plug in my space heater,” she says. “No one’s making you stay. I’ve told you a dozen times you can leave. I wouldn’t want you to freeze to death.”
Something in my chest snaps. Protective and unyielding.
“Fine,” I say. “I’m leaving.”
I head inside, and she probably thinks she won. Thinks I’m finally taking the hint.
I pack my bag. Then hers.
Because there’s no universe where I leave her here to freeze. Not happening. Jo doesn’t know me as well as she thinks she does, and that’s about to change.
When I come back out, I go straight for my truck, toss the bags in the back, and fire the engine.
With the snow off my truck, it’s time to get Miss Independent buckled in.
“Well,” she starts, “I see you’re finally taking my—”
I don’t let her finish. I’m done with whatever words she wants to spit at me.
I step into her space, close enough that she has time to feel me there, time to pull back if she wants to.
She doesn’t.
I tilt her chin up with my fingers and seal her mouth with mine. I kiss her slowly at first, deliberately, nothing rushed. Not a claim, but a question.
Her breath catches.
I wait. A second. Two.
Then her lips part on a shaky exhale, and that’s all the answer I need.
I deepen the kiss, my mouth moving against hers in an unhurried slide that makes my pulse kick hard in my throat. She stays right there, frozen and burning all at once, until her hand fists in the front of my jacket like she’s steadying herself.
Fuck.
That’s when I pull back just enough to look at her. Her eyes are wide, dark, searching my face like she’s trying to decide if she should bolt or beg.
She doesn’t do either.
So, I kiss her again. Firmer now, warmer, my thumb brushing her jaw as I keep it grounded, controlled. No teeth. No rush. Just enough pressure to promise I’m not stopping unless she tells me to.
She doesn’t.
When I finally break away, her breath is uneven, lips flushed, gaze locked on mine like she forgot how to look anywhere else. Forgot how to think. Perfect.
Now it’s time to go.
I scoop her up, the shovel clattering to the ground as I carry her to the truck and strap her in.
I straighten and give her a smirk. I’ve won.
For now.
Time to show my husband what’s been keeping me.