3. Dawson
CHAPTER 3
DAWSON
I haul my suitcases in one by one and brush off the fallen snow as I enter the inn. The wheels drag over the threshold with a dull thud and the snowflakes dissolve into wet spots. I make it up the staircase to the first room and unlock the door to my new home… for now.
The inn smells like cedar and memories I haven’t had time to face yet. As I unpack, I keep one ear tuned to the hallway. My muscles are tight with anticipation. If Rosalie thinks she can slip out without talking to me, she’s dead wrong. I’m not ready to let her go. There’s too much left unsaid and I need to apologize. I need to know she’s okay. More than that, I need her to know that I never stopped loving her.
I yank the heavy curtains open and my pulse is a steady drum in my ears. It’s an idyllic view. The snowy mountains create a backdrop for the endless quiet of the forest that stretches out in front of me. It’s breathtaking even under the heavy weight of my thoughts.
Snow falls in thick, lazy sheets, blanketing the world in white. It should feel peaceful, but it doesn’t. Not without her. How did I manage to screw this up so completely?
My parents didn’t teach me much; except how to survive when the odds are stacked against you. When you’re poor, the world doesn’t care. That was the lesson drilled into me early. No one’s coming to save you. You want out? You claw your own way up.
The military was my way out. The only way. But it came at a cost. One I didn’t understand until it was too late. At work, they loved me because I never said no. Tricky deployment? Yes. Stay late? Yes. Arrive early? Yes. Give more, be more, sacrifice more? Always yes. There was no cost too big to write my ticket for a secure future.
Now I’ve got more money than I ever imagined. But no Rosalie. So what the fuck was the point?
At the time, I never thought I was choosing my job over my wife. But hindsight has a way of cutting straight to the truth. I did. I chose wrong in a million tiny ways until I finally lost her. I exhale, watching the snow morph into sleet. The wind rattles against the glass. I glance toward the driveway. Her car is still there… Good.
I’m not done with her yet.
Being this close to her again has supercharged every nerve in my body. I forgot what she does to me and the way my body reacts to her on auto-pilot. My skin burns and my muscles are tight with the kind of tension that only one thing can ease. I need relief.
I need to take the edge off before I lose my goddamn mind. All the blood in me rushes south, it's thick and demanding. My cock strains painfully against my zipper. I curse under my breath as I lay back on the bed, dragging a hand over my stomach before reaching down to unbutton my jeans.
My mind doesn’t have to wander far. Memories of her flood in, taking hold, making me harder. I can’t take it. I slip my hand beneath the waistband of my boxers, a groan ripping from my throat as I wrap my fingers around my cock.
I picture Rosalie’s wide, innocent eyes looking up at me years ago, her pupils blown with heat. The way her lips parted when I kissed her. The quiet gasp she always made when I deepened it. The feel of her curves pressed against me, soft and warm, the way she used to melt into me like she belonged there.
My tip grows slippery. I can almost hear her breathless little whimper that I pulled from her every time I ran my tongue down her neck. I stroke myself slowly, savoring the fantasy. My grip tightens as I picture her beneath me. Her thighs trembling, her nails digging into my shoulders, and her lips forming my name in a breathless plea.
Fuck. I’m so hard it’s almost painful, my hips lift off the mattress as the need for release builds. It’s sharp and relentless. Rosalie is all I can think about. The way she felt. The way she sounded . The way she came undone in my arms, gasping my name like I was the only man in the world.
My jaw clenches as pleasure coils tight, ready to snap. I bite back her name, the taste of her memory thick on my tongue as I finally give in.
Everything goes white-hot, heat crashing through me in a dizzying wave. And then—nothing. For a split second, I’m weightless, untethered, lost in the bliss of release.
Until a sound outside my window yanks me back to reality.
My eyes snap open, my breath is still ragged and my body thrums… and then I see her. My stomach drops. I yank the comforter over me so fast I nearly roll off the bed, my pulse hammering. She’s still staring, wide-eyed, her mouth slightly open, a flicker of something unreadable in her expression.
Rosalie? What. The. Fuck.
She’s right there. My jaw falls open, and her name tumbles from my lips for a whole new reason. “Rosalie?”
We lock eyes and she blinks. I blink. Time slows to a crawl as my brain catches up to what’s happening. First, the sheer horror hits me. Did she see me? Oh God, did she see me? But then, another realization slams into me like a truck… How the fuck am I making eye contact with her when I’m on the second floor?
I zip up my pants with lightning speed, my heart still hammering in my chest, and fly to the window. But my absolute horror only deepens when I realize Rosalie isn’t even looking at me.
She’s balanced precariously on a damn ladder. A ladder that she’s wedged into the bed of my truck… in the ice storm. Even worse, she’s leaning out too far. She’s reaching toward the massive tree beside my window.
My pulse spikes as my eyes snap to the tree, following her line of sight. And that’s when I see it. A tiny orange cat. No fucking way.
“Of course. Of course, she’s out here in a snowstorm, halfway to breaking her neck, for a goddamn cat.” I grumble to myself until her name escapes my chest in a bark. “Rosalie! What the hell are you doing?” I fumble with the window, but it doesn’t unlock.
I pull on my boots and coat then take the stairs two at a time.
This woman is going to kill me. Or herself. Or both.