Chapter 4
FOUR
HAYES
The storm picked up again overnight.
We’re good and stuck, without even the promise of walking through the woods or tackling the wood pile for physical activity.
There is one form of physical activity that would no doubt satisfy us both. But I meant what I said.
If I’m going to be an asshole who betrays my friend, I at least need to do it the right way.
I busy myself making us coffee. Anything to keep my hands occupied and my thoughts from wandering to the way Elise had felt pressed up against me last night. Soft, warm, and inviting.
But it’s no use. I’m painfully aware of her with every breath I take. Her scent is still clinging to my shirt.
When I glance over my shoulder, she’s sitting at the small table, wrapped in that blanket. Her hair is messy from sleep, but her eyes clear and watchful. She looks cozy, and sexy as hell. All rumbled and cuddly.
“Are you always this broody in the morning?” she asks.
I grunt, setting a steaming mug in front of her.
“I’ll take that as mountain man for ‘yes, yes I am.’” She grins and takes a sip. “Thanks.”
I can’t help but grin at her joke. No matter how hard I try to be strong and stoic around her, I just can’t.
Not when her presence is a constant reminder of how badly I want her.
After breakfast, she sits by the window with the blanket draped around her shoulders. She’s reading one of the old books I keep on the bookshelf. It’s a battered novel about the Alaskan frontier.
I built the shelf with her dad a few summers ago. I frown at the thought. I should feel guilty about the lusty thoughts I’m having about his daughter.
But it’s getting harder to care about what’s wrong with this situation when everything else about her feels so right.
We have lunch—canned soup, the best the pantry has to offer—and even that feels oddly intimate as we sit at the small table, knees bumping under the surface, stealing quiet glances at each other.
Afterward, as I’m cleaning up, I rummage through a chest near the fireplace and pull out one of my old flannel shirts—soft from years of wear, the fabric thin at the elbows.
“Here.” I toss it to her. “If you’re going to be a mountain woman for the day, you might as well look the part.”
She catches it and holds it up with an amused smile.
“Thanks.” She briefly disappears into the bedroom. .
When she reemerges, she’s wearing nothing but black leggings and my shirt, and I almost swallow my tongue.
The hem falls mid-thigh, the sleeves are too long, swallowing her hands. She looks so damn tempting it hurts.
“Much better.”
“I know, right?” She strikes a pose and I chuckle.
Letting down her arms, she turns back to study the bookshelf.
I add another log to the fire, listening to the crackle and pop of the wood as the flames catch. Elise is poking around my shelves, her fingers trailing along the worn spines, head tilted as she scans the titles.
“I don’t suppose you have any board games hidden around here?” she says.
“I’m not much for games.” I smirk. “At least not board games.”
Her eyebrows arch at that. “You don’t even have Monopoly?”
I shake my head. “Too many damn rules.”
“You know, some rules are meant to be broken.”
“Believe me. I’m learning that first hand.”
She laughs, turning back to her search. A few seconds later, she lets out a triumphant noise and pulls out a battered box from the bottom shelf.
She holds it up as if she’s discovered a grand prize. “Checkers.”
I raise a brow. “I didn’t know I had that.”
“Well, today’s your lucky day,” she says, already moving toward the low table near the fire.
She sets the board up quickly, dusting off the pieces and arranging them. Her tongue sticks out of the corner of her mouth in concentration.
“What’s the wager?” I ask, moving to sit across from her.
She grins, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Loser has to make dinner.”
I snort. “Pretty sure that’s gonna be you, sweetheart.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
She laughs, the sound bright and easy, and it loosens the tightly wound tension in my chest.
We start the game, and it doesn’t take long for her competitive prowess to show. She’s relentless. Determined. She studies the board with a furrowed brow, biting her lip when she contemplates a move.
A lip I’d like to bite myself.
Fuck me. It’s distracting as hell.
I try to focus on the pieces and my strategy. But every time she smiles or laughs or brushes her hair behind her ear, I lose track of my strategy.
It’s no surprise when she clears the board and pumps her fists in the air. “Victory is mine.”
I scowl and start resetting the board. “Best two out of three?”
“Aren’t you afraid to lose twice?”
“I’m not afraid of anything.”
The sassy smirk she gives almost has me clearing the board. So I can throw her on the table and claim a victory of my own. Instead, I give the board more consideration.
She wins again.
This time, she leans back in her chair and arches an eyebrow. “Well, well, well. Looks like you’re on lunch duty, Carter.”
I shake my head. “Hope you like canned soup and grilled cheese.”
“Like it? I love it.”
I move around the small stove, pulling out supplies from cupboards. Elise leans against the counter, watching me with open curiosity.
“Do you always cook like this?” she asks.
“Like what?”
She lifts a shoulder. “With such quiet determination.”
I flash her a grin. “Only when the stakes are high.”
She laughs, and I realize just how easy it is to be around her—how natural it feels. Like I could do this every day and never get sick of it.
While the sandwiches grill, she wanders back to the table and picks up a carving of a bird I was working on earlier. She turns it over in her hands.
“Do you ever sell any of the things you make?”
I shake my head. “They’re just for me. The streaming sucks up here. It passes the time.”
She smiles, setting the bird back down. “You’re good at it.”
“Thanks.”
We eat lunch sitting on the floor by the fire, plates balanced on our knees. The heat from the flames making the air heavy and warm.
She chatters about her plans for the fall, about the classes she’ll be teaching. I listen, letting her voice wash over me, soaking in every bit of it.
Because I know, deep down, that this can’t last.
Not with who I am. Not with who her father is to me. Not with the life she has waiting for her.
But sitting here, watching her laugh, her hair tumbling around her face, it’s easy to forget all the reasons I should stay away.
It’s too easy to imagine a different life. One where she’s here, not to shelter from a storm, but for good.
One where mornings are filled with her laughter, where days are spent playing checkers and sharing quiet meals by the fire.
One where she’s mine.
I set my empty plate aside and lean back on my hands, watching her.
She catches me staring and raises a brow. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say, my voice rough.
But it’s not nothing.
It’s everything.
And it terrifies me how much I want it.
The fire crackles low, the flames casting a soft orange glow over the cabin.
I glance back at the abandoned half-finished wooden bird.
“Have you ever tried whittling?”
She tilts her head. “No. Is it hard?”
“It depends.” I lean closer. “Want me to show you?”
She grins and sets her book aside. “Sure.”
I grab the knife and the block, handing them to her carefully.
“Start with a simple shape,” I say. “Something easy. Like a heart.”
She snorts. “A heart? That’s your idea of easy?”
“Trust me.” I settle beside her. “It’s about steady hands and patience.”
I guide her fingers, showing her how to hold the knife, and how to angle it just right.
“Like this,” I murmur, my voice low as I move behind her, bracing her hands with mine.
She leans slightly in toward me. Her hair brushes my jaw. I fight the urge to bury my face in it.
I clear a lump from my throat. “Slow, controlled strokes. Don’t force it.”
She follows my lead, her brow furrowed in concentration, her tongue peeking out slightly at the corner of her mouth.
“Good,” I say. “You’ve got it.”
She looks up at me, her smile soft and proud, and something shifts in my chest.
This—her, here with me, focused and determined and full of joy—is everything I didn’t know I was missing.
Everything I could have if only.
I swallow hard, easing back slightly to give her space. “Try it on your own.”
She nods and turns her attention back to the wood, carving careful, deliberate strokes.
I watch her, the way the firelight catches in her hair, the delicate curve of her jaw, the sure set of her mouth.
“How am I doing?” she asks after a few minutes, holding up her work.
I lean in, inspecting the rough heart shape she’s managed. It’s crude but recognizable, and it tugs a grin from me.
“Pretty damn good.”
She beams with pride.
“Your turn,” she says suddenly, thrusting the block and knife toward me.
I give her a dubious look. “I already know how.”
“Humor me.”
I take the block and knife, my fingers brushing hers, and start carving. She leans in close, her shoulder pressed against mine, and for a long moment, we work in comfortable silence.
When I finish, I hold up the second carving—a simple heart, slightly smaller, neater.
She takes it, turning it over in her hands.
“What’ll you do with it?” I ask.
She smiles. “I’ll keep it a souvenir.”
“It’d be a shame to forget your first summer blizzard in Alaska.”
She lifts her gaze, her expression softening. “It would be a shame to forget this time here with you.”
The air shifts, charged with more power than the storm outside. She sets the carvings down carefully and turns back to me, her gaze serious.
“Hayes,” she says softly.
“Elise.” I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear.
Her breath hitches. “Please.”
“Please what?”
“Don’t stop.” She’s in my lap, her hands on my face, her mouth on mine.
I should move. I should put distance between us.
But I don’t.
I cup her face in my hands and kiss her back. Slow and deliberate.
The kiss is different this time—not rushed, not desperate. It’s deep, claiming, possessive. She melts into me with a soft sound, her hands sliding up my arms to grip my shoulders.
I pull her closer, one hand moving to her waist, the other tangling in her hair.
She shifts, straddling my lap as the kiss turns hungrier. Our mouths moving against each other in a rhythm that’s all heat and want.
My hands roam, sliding under the hem of the flannel to find bare skin. She’s soft and warm, and when I trail my fingers up her sides, she shivers.
She pulls back just enough to tug the shirt over her head and toss it aside.
I groan at the sight of her—beautiful and bare above me, her skin flushed, her chest rising and falling with every ragged breath.
I trail kisses down her neck, her collarbone, lower.
Her hands find the hem of my shirt, tugging, and I help her remove it.
Skin to skin, I suck in a breath. This is it: perfection. As we come together again, the heat between us is so good, it’s almost too much to take.
I shift, laying her back on the rug, covering her body with mine.
Our mouths meet again, desperate now, and my hands explore her freely, memorizing every curve, every gasp.
I pause, leaning my forehead against hers, both of us breathing hard.
“Are you sure?” I rasp.
She nods, threading her fingers through my hair. “Yes. I’m sure.”
I kiss her again, slower this time, taking my time, savoring her.
Just as I’m about to slide my hand lower, below the waist of her leggings, a loud crack splits the air.
The lights flicker before going out, plunging the cabin into darkness.
Elise tenses beneath me.
“It’s just the power,” I murmur against her skin. “Stay here.”
Reluctantly, I pull away and grab a flashlight from the shelf. I check the old generator outside, swearing under my breath as the wind slices into me. We won’t be able to do much with this tonight.
Inside, I grab a few battery-powered lanterns.
She’s sitting up, wrapped in a blanket, watching me with wide eyes as I set them around the cabin.
“We’re good.” I crouch down, cupping her cheek. “Where were we?”
Her answering smile is slow and devastating.
I lean in, kissing her deeply, and this time, there’s no hesitation.
Only her.
I lift her into my arms, and carry her to the bedroom.
I lay her down gently on the, bracing myself above her.
“Hayes,” she whispers, her fingers tracing the lines of my jaw.
“I’ve got you.”
She pulls me down, and as our bodies come together, everything else—the storm, the cold, the world—fades away.
It’s just her.
Just us.
And I know, without a doubt, there’s no going back now.