Chapter 2
KADE
I'm standing in the middle of three thousand square feet of empty cabin, wondering what the fuck I was thinking.
Actually, I know exactly what I was thinking: silky blonde hair catching the light through the shop window, soft curves in glitter-covered jeans, and a smile that made me forget how to form complete sentences.
I hired a walking temptation wrapped in Christmas sparkles to spend four days alone with me in a mountain cabin.
Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant work, Giles.
It sounds like the premise of one of Sadie’s romance novels I found in her room once.
I pace to the window, looking out at the darkening valley below. Nia left twenty minutes ago to "get organized" and buy supplies, her Jeep kicking up snow as she headed back down the mountain.
How does the cabin already feel too quiet without her wild energy?
That's a problem.
She mentioned graduating recently. Recently as in...this year? Last year? I do the quick math, and my stomach drops.
She's got to be twenty-two, maybe twenty-three at most.
I'm thirty-six.
Fourteen years. More than a decade of life experience, mistakes, lessons learned the hard way.
When she was learning to drive, I was already working patrol. When she was stressing over college applications, I was getting my first commendation.
"Fuck," I mutter, scrubbing a hand over my face.
Whatever. I can handle this. Professional boundaries. Employer and employee. She's here to do a job, I'm paying her to do that job, and that's it.
Absolutely no fantasizing about what those sparkle-covered jeans would look like hanging over my bedpost.
No imagining the sounds she'd make if I backed her against the stone fireplace, pinned her wrists above her head, and—
I cut off that train of thought with the discipline that's served me well for fifteen years in law enforcement.
Control. Focus. The task at hand.
Christmas decorations. That's what matters.
I head upstairs to the primary bedroom I've claimed, change into gym shorts and a t-shirt, and drop to the floor.
I do push-ups until my arms shake. Then planks until my core burns. Anything to redirect this energy instead of picturing how that gold-spun hair would look fanned across my pillow.
By the time I've showered and changed back into jeans and a long-sleeved knit shirt, I've got my head on straight again.
The sound of a vehicle on the drive sends me to the window. Nia's Jeep bounces up the road, its back seat and cargo area so loaded with boxes and supplies that I can barely see through the rear window.
I meet her outside just as she's opening the back hatch.
"Jesus, did you buy out every store in town?"
She grins at me over the top of an overflowing box. "You wanted magical, Deputy. Magical requires lots of stuff."
I reach for part of her load. "And here, let me—"
"I've got it!" She's juggling the box, a bag of ornaments, and a small wooden Christmas tree.
I watch her struggle for exactly three seconds before I simply take everything from her arms. "Nia."
"What? I can carry—"
"I know you can." I gesture to the Jeep with my chin. "But I'm bigger, and there's a lot to unload. Let me help."
Her eyes narrow. "You're very bossy for someone who needs my expertise."
"Call it efficient delegation." I head for the cabin entrance. "Besides, you're the creative director. I'm just the manual labor."
"Ooh, I like the sound of that." She grabs more boxes and follows. "Creative director. Very official."
We make several trips, and with each one, the pristine great room transforms into a Christmas supply warehouse that exploded. Boxes everywhere, tissue paper trailing across the floor, pine needle breadcrumbs marking her path through the space.
My eye twitches.
I know I should leave it. Let her work. But my hands are already reaching for the broom I spotted in the utility closet earlier.
"Oh my god." Nia's voice stops me mid-sweep. "Are you seriously cleaning up right now?"
"There are pine needles everywhere."
"Yes, Deputy Giles. That happens when you bring trees and live garland inside." She props her hands on her hips, looking entirely too amused. "This is what creative mayhem looks like."
I set the broom aside. Sort of. “There's chaos, and then there's..."
"A disaster zone?" She offers.
"I wasn't going to say that."
"But you were thinking it, Deputy Neat Freak." She bends over to open another box, and I force my gaze to the ceiling. "Don't worry, it'll all make sense once I'm done. I swear there's a method to my madness."
I clear my throat. "What do you need me to do?"
"Well..." She surveys the mess with the confidence of a general surveying a battlefield. "There are still some boxes in the Jeep. Can you grab them?"
I head outside, grateful for the blast of cold air. By the time I've retrieved the remaining boxes my head's clear again.
When I come back inside and have to reach up to place them on a shelf she's designated for easy access, I hear Nia gasp behind me.
"Oh my."
I glance down. My shirt has ridden up, exposing my left side and part of the ink that covers my ribs and wraps around my back.
Her eyes are wide, fixed on the exposed skin. "You have tattoos."
"Yeah." I tug the fabric down quickly.
"Can I..." She steps closer, and every muscle in my body tenses. "Can I see?"
This is a bad idea. But something about the curiosity in her expression—no judgment, just interest—makes me nod.
I lift the left side of my shirt, pulling my arm out to reveal the full sleeve that starts at my wrist and covers my entire arm, spreading across my shoulder and down my ribs.
Mountains rendered in black and gray, with dates woven through the peaks.
A compass rose on my inner forearm. A constellation near my elbow that matches the one visible from my childhood home.
"Holy shit," she breathes. "Kade, these are beautiful."
“Thanks. Got them during the police academy." I keep my voice steady even though her being this close to me is doing dangerous things to my focus. "Took a couple years to complete."
"What do the dates mean?" Her finger hovers near my forearm, but not quite touching.
"Birth dates. My siblings." I point to three different points. "Sadie. My brother Harlon and Jayce. Our parents' anniversary. They’re places and moments that anchor me."
She nods and I should step back. But I'm rooted to the spot, watching her study the ink like it's something she wants to explore…further. "Everyone needs reminders."
Her hand finally makes contact—just her fingertips, feather-light on the compass rose. "It must have hurt."
I fight the wave of need at her simple touch. "The ribs were the worst." My voice comes out rough. "But the pain is temporary."
Her eyes lift to mine, and she smiles. "And what you're left with is permanent."
"Exactly."
We stay like that for a heartbeat too long. Her fingers on my arm, the cabin suddenly scorching hot.
I step back, sliding my arm back into my shirt, and clear my throat. "We should probably get started on the actual decorating."
“Decorating. Yes.” She blinks, shakes her head slightly. “That's what we're doing.”
The rest of the afternoon is a constant push and pull between comfort and subtle torture. She directs, I execute. She's up on the ladder hanging garland while I spot her—and do not stare at the curve of her sweet ass in those jeans or think about gripping it while I—
"Kade?"
"Hmm?"
"I asked if you could hand me the wire cutters."
"Sorry." I pass them up, careful not to let our fingers touch. "Got distracted."
"By what?" She secures the garland, then glances down at me with a grin. "Please tell me you weren't chasing perps in your head. We're making Christmas magic here, Deputy.”
"I wasn't." I was picturing you in this exact position, but naked and in my bed.
Man, I need help.
"Just thinking," I add.
"About your family and how much they’re going to love this?"
She’s too much. "Yeah, this will be the first time our parents won’t be here for Christmas, and I wanted to make sure we still had a great time. We’re bummed Jayce won’t be able to make it since he’s training at Quantico. But sometimes life gets busy, you know."
“Yet you make time." She climbs down the ladder, landing beside me with a soft thud.
“Yep, every Sunday we do a video call.” I steady the ladder as she moves it to the next section. "It started after Harlon, our older brother, got his first park ranger position in Wyoming. We didn't want to lose touch."
"That's really sweet." She pauses, pulling another section of garland from its box. "You're close with them."
"Yeah. Sadie's my baby sister—drives me insane half the time, but I'd do anything for her. Jayce is next, the run-straight-into-danger one, then Harlon’s the strong, silent type." I smile despite myself. "They're my people."
"That must be nice." Something flickers across her face…sadness, longing, I'm not sure. But it's there and gone before I can identify it.
"You have your aunt, right?”
"I do." She climbs back up the ladder, focusing intently on the gold ribbon. "She's been amazing. Especially after—" She stops. "Anyway. She's great."
I recognize deflection when I see it. Fifteen years in law enforcement has taught me to spot when someone's avoiding a topic. But pushing now would cross a line to something more personal.
Even though every instinct I have wants to pull her down from that ladder, sit her down on my lap, and find out what put that sudden shadow in her eyes.
Instead, I hand her another section. "You're really good at this."
"At decorating?" She looks down, and her smile is back—bright enough to light up the whole cabin. "Thanks. I love it. Making spaces feel warm and magical. It's like..." She trails off, searching for words. "Like wrapping people up in a warm blanket of holiday happiness."
Interesting. "That's a great image."
She blushes a little and my heart beats a little faster.
We continue working for a while, and it’s surprisingly easy. Despite trying to keep myself in check, I find I'm enjoying this.
The process.
Her company.
"So what's your secret guilty pleasure?” she asks, gathering fasteners. “Everyone has one. Mine's those cheesy Hallmark movies."
"That's not much of a secret. Half of America watches those."
"Deflecting already, Deputy?" She grins. "Come on. Spill."
I hesitate, then figure there's no harm in honesty. "I actually love Christmas. All of it. The music, the decorations, and even the hideous sweaters."
Her eyes light up. "Oh my god, do you have an ugly Christmas sweater?"
"Three."
She nearly falls off the ladder laughing. I reach up to steady her automatically, my hands on her waist.
She's warm under my palms. Soft, like I imagined. And she's looking down at me with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, and I need to let go right now.
So I do. Step back. Put three feet of safe distance between us.
"Careful, you’ll laugh yourself right to the ER if you fall," I manage to say.
"Thanks for the catch." Her voice sounds slightly breathless. "I want to see these sweaters. For quality control purposes."
"Quality control?"
"Exactly. Making sure they're sufficiently hideous." She goes back to securing garland, but I catch her glancing at me. "You're full of surprises, Kade Giles."
If she only knew about the thoughts running through my head right now—how I want to peel those jeans off her, spread her across the huge dining table, and make her forget her own name. Find out if she tastes as sweet as she looks and if she'd pull my hair as I devoured her pussy.
Get a grip, Giles.
I’ve been told by other women I’m "too intense." That my appetites were "overwhelming." That I wanted too much, was too demanding, too everything.
So I've kept that side of myself locked down ever since. Buried it under discipline and control.
But standing here, watching Nia move with guileless grace, laughing at her own jokes, bringing light into this empty space, I feel that careful control starting to crack.
She'd never understand.
Sweet, bright, innocent twenty-two-year-old Nia who calls me “Deputy” and probably thinks making love with the lights on is adventurous.
That thought should cool my interest.
It doesn't.
"It’s getting late," she announces, climbing down and surveying our progress. "But we made good headway! Tomorrow we'll find some trees and—oh!"
She bends to pick up a box, revealing a vintage angel ornament. The kind with delicate glass wings and a painted porcelain face.
Her whole demeanor shifts. She cradles it carefully, and that sadness is back in her eyes, deeper this time, less guarded.
"It’s beautiful," I say quietly.
"My dad loved these." Her voice is soft. "We had a whole collection. He'd spend hours arranging them on the tree, making sure each one was perfect. He'd..." She swallows hard. "He really loved Christmas."
Past tense.
The realization hits me like a fist to the gut.
"Nia…”
She sets the angel down quickly, her sparkle snapping back into place like armor. "I should get going. Make some more lists, check inventory…you know, boring logistics stuff. But is 10 a.m. okay to start tomorrow?"
I want to push. Want to ask about her father, offer comfort, be the person she can lean on.
But that's not my place.
"Sounds great," I agree.
She gathers her bag and coat, chattering away about supply runs and color schemes and things that I'm nodding along to while internally memorizing everything about this moment.
The way a couple of blonde strands have fallen into her eyes.
The delicate shimmering pink blush on her cheeks.
The careful way she's avoiding my eyes.
She pauses at the door. "This place is going to be really special, Kade. I can feel it."
"I think so too."
When she's gone, I stand in the middle of the mess she's created—boxes half-unpacked, tree skirts draped over furniture, tissue paper scattered like snow—and I can't quite bring myself to clean it up.
Not yet, at least.
That's when I notice the glitter.
It's on my hands. My shirt. When I run my fingers through my hair, I feel it there, too.
Somehow, she's already left her mark everywhere.
I take the longest, coldest shower of my life, trying to freeze out the thoughts that won't leave me alone.
It doesn't work. Even clean and exhausted, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, I can still see her on that ladder.
Feel the warmth of her body under my hands.
Smell the Christmas cookie scent that seems to follow her everywhere.
I imagine pulling her down, bending her over the enormous sectional, fisting my hand in all that hair while I—
God dammit.
"You're completely fucked, Giles," I mutter into the darkness.