7. Griff
CHAPTER 7
GRIFF
The rain started halfway up the mountain.
Not a soft drizzle, either—this was the kind that hit like gravel, blown sideways by the wind and splattering against the windshield in an angry assault. My wipers fought to keep up as I gripped the wheel tighter than necessary, my eyes on the barely visible road ahead.
Juniper hadn’t said much since lunch, and I didn’t blame her. If I were in her position, I wouldn’t want to talk to me either. I didn’t bother trying to fill the silence. Her words at lunch— “And now he’s dead” —echoed in my head like a bullet bouncing around with no place to land. I deserved her anger. I should’ve told her about Deever. Should’ve told her about the offer. Hell, I should’ve told her everything the moment we met.
But I’d spent too many years trying to survive by keeping people at arm’s length. I didn’t know how to hold someone close without destroying them.
She sat with her arms folded, watching dark shapes slide past the fogged-up window, her face an unreadable mask.
I glanced at her. “You cold?”
She shook her head. “I’m fine.”
She wasn’t. Neither one of us were.
When we reached the clearing, I pulled up to the cabin. Her SUV still sat in the drive, and everything looked the same, but I wasn’t taking any chances.
“Stay here and lock the doors. I want to make sure the cabin’s safe before you come inside.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for the door handle.
I gently grabbed her arm. “I’m not. Just let me do this.”
“Fine.” She frowned but settled back against the seat.
“I’ll only be a minute.” I got out and headed to the porch. The door was locked, and I could hear Scout on the other side. I walked through the cabin and made sure nothing had been disturbed. I hadn’t been able to protect Caleb, but I wouldn’t fail his niece. Satisfied everything was just as we’d left it, I jogged back out to the truck and pulled open her door.
“It’s clear. Go inside and stay with the dog. I want to check the lodge and the perimeter before we settle in for the night.”
She didn’t move right away. “Do you think someone’s been back?”
“I think it’s smart to assume they have.” I held her arm as we raced for the shelter of the porch. “I won’t be long.”
She hesitated, her hand on the doorknob. “Be careful.”
The word dug into me. Not because I needed the reminder—but because no one had cared enough to say it to me in a long damn time. Nodding, I left her standing in the doorway and took off into the woods.
I did a full sweep of the lodge and the woods behind it, checking for signs that someone had gotten too close. Thanks to the rain, it was impossible to see any new prints, but everything else looked the same. Still, my gut twisted with unease. I doubted whoever left the rabbit had finished what they started.
By the time I got back to the cabin, I was soaked to the skin.
Juniper opened the door before I could knock. She stood there with a towel in her hands, waiting like she’d been listening for the sound of my boots on the porch.
“Here,” she said, holding out the towel. “You’re soaked to the skin.”
The light from inside glowed behind her. Her hair was pulled back, her feet bare, and my flannel shirt from the night before hung down past her thighs. She looked warm. Soft. Like how I imagined coming home might look.
I stepped inside, shut the door behind me, and let the warmth of the fire thaw my frozen fingers. She reached up to press the towel to my shoulders, her fingers brushing my neck, and the air between us snapped tight.
“You didn’t have to wait for me,” I said, my voice low.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come back.”
I looked down at her, my chest rising and falling faster than it should have. “I’d never leave you unprotected.”
Her gaze flicked to my mouth, then back to my eyes. “Tell me you don’t want to kiss me again.”
“I can’t,” I said.
The towel hit the floor, along with all my good intentions.
I reached for her, wrapping a hand around the back of her neck and pulling her mouth to mine. Her lips parted instantly, like she’d been holding her breath, waiting for this moment as long as I had. I kissed her like I meant it—because I did. My other hand found her waist, then her lower back, tugging her closer until there was nothing between us but heat.
She clutched the front of my wet shirt, her fingers digging in like she needed to feel me, not just touch me.
“Griff,” she breathed against my mouth, a whisper that sounded more like please than stop .
I didn’t stop.
I couldn’t.
She was warm, willing, and soft everywhere I was hard. When I lifted her, her legs wrapped around my waist, her core hot against my belly, and I turned us toward the hallway.
“I should put you down,” I said, brushing my mouth along her jaw.
“You better not.”
I laughed—a real one, low and surprised—and carried her to my bedroom.
Once we were inside, I dropped to my knees on the edge of the bed with her still in my arms. My hands slid up the backs of her thighs, dragging the flannel up with them. I wanted to take my time, to learn her body like I’d carved one of my knives—deliberate, patient, reverent—but I was on fire. And having her there—in my personal space, my sanctuary—was like adding a can of gasoline to the flames.
Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of my shirt. “You’re still freezing.”
“Then warm me up.”
Her lips curled into a smile as she peeled my shirt off my shoulders, then ran her hands across my chest like she’d been dying to do it since day one.
“You’ve got scars,” she whispered.
“Yeah.”
She didn’t shy away. She traced each one like it mattered, like they were chapters in a story she wanted to memorize.
I couldn’t take it. I reached between us and slipped my fingers under the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head. Her breasts were bare, her chest flushed, nipples already hard and waiting for my mouth. She arched into my touch as I leaned forward and swept my tongue over the tight bud, her hands threading into my hair as she let out a breathy moan.
She tasted like skin and mountain air and something sweeter I hadn’t let myself crave in a long damn time.
We fell to the bed together, tangled in each other, mouths meeting over and over. She pushed my pants down, her fingers brushing against me, bold and curious, while I grabbed a condom from the drawer. I nearly dropped it, distracted by the way she looked up at me—her eyes wide, pupils blown.
“You sure?” I asked, kneeling between her thighs.
She nodded, then pulled me down with a hand on my shoulder. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
When I slid into her, everything else disappeared. My past. Her uncertainty. The storm outside. Nothing else fucking mattered.
She gasped, back arching as her core adjusted around my cock. I stilled, fighting to hold back, but she rocked against me with a slow roll of her hips.
“Griff,” she whispered, and I kissed her like that was the only name she’d ever need to say.
We moved together, a rhythm that built slowly, then crested, the strong waves breaking over both of us. When she came, it was with a soft cry and nails digging into my shoulders. I followed seconds later, burying my face in her neck, every defense mechanism I’d built around my heart crumbling like walls of a sandcastle in the surf.
I didn’t say anything after. Just held her, my nose buried in her hair, her body curled into mine, our breathing syncing like we were already learning how to exist together.
The storm had quieted outside, but inside the bedroom, the air was still charged. Juniper tucked against my side, one bare leg draped over mine, hair tangled and skin warm. Her breath had evened out, but I could tell she wasn’t asleep. Her fingers traced slow, lazy circles over my chest, and I couldn’t bring myself to stop her.
I wouldn’t be able to sleep. Not with her body pressed to mine and a thousand unspoken things hanging heavy in the sliver of space between us.
“You okay?” I asked, my voice rough from the weight of what we’d just shared and everything else we hadn’t said yet.
She nodded, then tilted her face up toward mine. “Yeah. Just... thinking.”
“About?”
She hesitated, then sat up slightly, pulling the sheet with her to cover her chest even though I’d already seen and touched every inch of her and planned to do it again and again.
“I never meant to come here,” she said, her voice soft and low. “Misty Mountain wasn’t ever part of my plan.”
“Then why did you?” I kept my tone even, giving her space to decide how much she wanted to give and hoping like hell she wasn’t having second thoughts.
She let out her breath and glanced toward the dark window. “Because everything else fell apart and this felt like the escape I needed.”
She shifted, reaching up to brush her hair back behind her ear. “I was supposed to get married this spring. Downtown Chicago venue with a view of the lake. Designer lace dress. Custom wedding hashtags. The whole nine yards.”
My stomach clenched. The thought of some other man putting his hands on her had me seeing red. But I wanted to hear what she had to say, so I bit my tongue and waited.
“He cheated on me,” she added, her voice quiet and flat. “With someone from his office. Someone he hired. I walked in on them in our apartment, on the Italian leather sofa we’d picked out together.”
I stared at the ceiling, fury flickering hot in my chest. I didn’t know the guy, but I wanted to put a fist through a wall just thinking about it. Then I wanted to wrap her in my arms and promise her I’d never let anyone hurt her again.
“He begged for forgiveness. Said it would never happen again and even bought me a diamond necklace.” She let out a dry laugh. “My first piece of apology jewelry. My whole family told me I should forgive him, but I needed out. Out of the city. Out of that life. My uncle left me this place, and it was all I could think about.”
Her voice wavered, just enough that I slid a hand up to cup the back of her neck and guide her back down to my chest.
“I’m sorry,” I said, meaning every damn word.
She let out a bitter little laugh. “Don’t be. It sucked, yeah, but I think maybe it was the best thing that could’ve happened to me.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because it brought me here. To you.”
Her voice was soft, but the words landed like a sniper’s shot. Sharp, fast, and right where it hurt. My throat tightened, and for a second, I couldn’t breathe past the ache expanding in my ribs. No one had ever said anything like that to me. Not me, the broken-down man who lived on top of a mountain to avoid feeling anything.
I wanted to say something back. Anything. But all I could do was hold her a little tighter, like she might disappear if I let go.
A beat passed. Her finger started moving across my chest again, slower this time.
“I don’t know what I’m doing, Griff. Not just with the lodge—with you, with this.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “But it doesn’t feel wrong.”
I tightened my hold on her. “It’s not.”
She looked up again, her eyes shining in the low light. “Why are you here? What brought you to Misty Mountain and why do you keep everyone away?”
I stiffened.
She must’ve felt it, because she pressed her palm to my ribs and added, “You don’t have to tell me. I just want to understand.”
I stared up at the exposed beams above us and swallowed. “I lost my unit. In Afghanistan.”
Juniper stilled.
“It was a routine mission—should’ve been, anyway. I was point. We were moving through a tight valley and the intel was bad. Real bad.” My voice grew quieter. “Ambush. No way out. Five of my guys were gone in minutes.”
“Griff…” she whispered, her hand sliding up my chest.
“I made it out. Barely. But I shouldn’t have.” I forced the words out, each one like shrapnel still buried under my skin. “I should’ve seen it coming. Should’ve done something different. I play it over in my head every night, trying to figure out what I missed.”
Her fingers curled gently into my side, anchoring me.
“I left the Army, moved back to Texas. But even there, I couldn’t breathe. Mama Mae—my foster mother—she saw it. She knew I needed something different. Something quiet.” I finally looked at her. “The mountain’s the only place I’ve ever been where the silence didn’t feel like punishment.”
Juniper’s eyes were glassy, but she didn’t cry. She just nodded and leaned in to press a kiss over my heart. “You don’t have to carry it alone anymore.”
The words were simple. But they wrecked me.
Because I didn’t realize how badly I needed to hear them until she said them out loud.
We stayed like that for a long time—her head on my chest, my arms around her, our secrets laid bare. And when I finally closed my eyes, I didn’t see blood or sand or gunfire.
I only saw her.