Chapter 6
ROWAN
Portland feels wrong.
My apartment is exactly how I left it. Clean, organized, impersonal. A place to sleep between assignments, not a place to live. I've been back for two days, and every morning I wake up reaching for a body that isn't there.
I make coffee in my single-serve machine. It tastes like nothing compared to the stuff from Ev's ancient drip pot. I sit at my kitchen table and stare at the wall and wonder how I became the kind of woman who ruins her career for a man she's known less than a week.
My phone rings. Greg's number.
I consider not answering. Let it go to voicemail. Delay the inevitable disciplinary meeting where he tells me I'm being reassigned to desk duty or, worse, terminated for ethical violations.
But I've never been a coward. I answer.
"Rowan." His voice is clipped. Professional. "Peterson finished his review."
My stomach tightens. "And?"
A long pause. "Your findings were accurate."
I sit up straighter. "What?"
"Every record, every permit, every environmental assessment. Cole Timber is running one of the cleanest operations in the state." Another pause. "Peterson's words, not mine. He said if he didn't know better, he'd think it was a model operation set up specifically to demonstrate best practices."
I don't know what to say. Relief floods through me, followed immediately by a severe bout of vindication.
"I told you," I manage.
"You did." Greg sighs. "Rowan, I owe you an apology. I jumped to conclusions. The situation looked compromised, and I—"
"You did your job." The words taste bitter, but they're true. "You saw red flags and you acted on them."
"That doesn't make it right."
"No. But I understand."
Silence. Then: "Take a few days. When you come back, we'll talk about your next assignment. Something tells me you'll want to stay away from logging operations for a while."
I almost laugh. "You might be right."
We hang up. I set my phone on the table and stare at it.
Peterson confirmed everything. My reputation is intact. My career is salvageable. I can go back to the office and pretend none of this ever happened.
But the relief I expected doesn't come. Because none of it matters if I'm sitting alone in this sterile apartment, drinking bad coffee, missing a man I walked away from.
I grab my keys.
The drive takes six hours. I don't stop except for gas. The sun is setting when I finally turn onto the dirt road leading to the Cole Timber operation, the mountains painted orange and gold against the evening sky.
His truck is parked outside the cabin. Smoke curls from the chimney. I pull up beside him and kill the engine.
For a moment, I just sit there. Trying to find the words. Trying to figure out what I'm going to say when he opens that door.
It doesn't matter. He's already on the porch.
Ev stands with his arms crossed, watching me through the windshield. He's wearing the same flannel from the day we met. Sawdust on his jeans. Exhaustion carved into the lines of his face.
I get out of the truck.
"Peterson called," he says.
"I know."
"Said the audit's closed. No violations found."
"I know."
He doesn't move. Doesn't come down the steps. Just watches me with those dark eyes that see too much. "So why are you here?"
"Because I'm an idiot." I walk toward the porch, stopping at the bottom step.
Looking up at him. "Because I spent two days in Portland realizing I don't care about my career half as much as I care about you.
Because I drove six hours without stopping to tell you that walking away was the biggest mistake I've ever made. "
His jaw tightens. "You said you needed to salvage your career."
"I did. But it turns out my career's fine." I climb the first step. Then the second. "Peterson confirmed everything. Greg apologized. I could go back to Portland tomorrow and pick up exactly where I left off."
"So again, why are you here?"
"Because I don't want to pick up where I left off." I'm standing in front of him now. Close enough to touch. "I want something different. Something that feels like waking up in your bed. Like coffee before dawn. Like arguing about timber regulations and then—"
He kisses me.
His hands grip my face, tilting my head back. I grab his shirt, pulling him closer. He tastes like rich whiskey.
"I was gonna drive to Portland," he says against my mouth. "Tomorrow. I had a whole speech planned."
"What kind of speech?"
"The kind where I tell you I don't care about the audit or the regulations or any of it. Where I ask you to give us a real chance. Not three days. Something more."
I pull back to look at him. "How much more?"
"However much you'll give me." His thumb traces my jaw. "A month. A year. Forever, if you're crazy enough."
"I might be that crazy."
He lifts me. My legs wrap around his waist, and he carries me inside without breaking the kiss. The cabin is warm, fire crackling in the hearth. He sets me on the kitchen counter, stepping between my thighs.
"I missed you," I say.
"Two days." He unbuttons my shirt, pushing it off my shoulders. "You were gone two days and I couldn't think straight."
"Same."
His mouth finds my throat. My collarbone. The curve of my breast above my bra. I unhook it, letting it fall, and his groan vibrates against my skin.
"Rowan." He cups my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples. "I thought about this every night. Couldn't sleep without imagining you here."
"I'm here now."
He lifts me again, carrying me to the bedroom. We strip off the rest of our clothes between kisses. He lays me on the bed and covers my body with his, skin against skin.
"I want to take my time," he murmurs. "Want to make up for every minute you were gone."
His mouth moves down my body. My breasts, my stomach, the inside of my thighs. When his tongue finds my clit, I arch off the mattress.
"Ev—"
He holds my hips down, eating me slow and thorough. Building me up until I'm shaking. Until I'm begging. Until the orgasm crashes through me so hard I see stars.
He crawls back up my body, reaching for the nightstand. Rolls on a condom. Slides inside me in one smooth thrust. Deep, steady strokes follow that make me feel every inch of him. My nails dig into his shoulders. My legs wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper.
"Harder," I gasp.
He gives me what I need. Harder, faster, his hand slipping between us to work my clit. The second orgasm builds faster than the first. I feel it cresting, feel him swell inside me.
"Come with me," I breathe.
He does. We shatter together, his forehead pressed against mine. His breath ragged in my ear.
We lie tangled in the sheets, his hand tracing lazy circles on my hip. The fire crackles in the other room. My eyes drift to the window, the mountains standing silent in the moonlight.
"So what happens now?" I ask.
"Now?" He pulls me closer, tucking my head under his chin. "Now you stay. We figure out the rest as we go."
"My job's in Portland."
"The county's got an office in Reno. Forty-five minutes away." He kisses the top of my head. "I might know a guy with a cabin who'd let you stay rent-free."
I laugh. "Sounds like a conflict of interest."
"Probably. But the audit's closed." I can hear the smile in his voice. "Guess you'll just have to live with it."
I close my eyes, breathing him in. Pine and woodsmoke. Home.
"I guess I will."