Chapter 6 #2
“Apparently he could face down a drunk cattle rustler with a rifle,” Sam says, chuckling, “but if a hen so much as flapped its wings too fast, he’d jump like hellfire was coming.”
I laugh harder now, sinking deeper into the couch, the blanket slipping a little off my shoulder. I pull it back up, feeling the warmth in my cheeks and not just from the fire.
“Thanks,” I say after a beat, softer this time. “I needed that.”
He glances at me. “Everyone needs something to laugh at, especially when it gets too quiet.”
“Or too serious,” I add.
“Yeah. That too.”
“What makes you laugh?” I ask, the question slipping out before I can second-guess it.
“Me?” He sounds genuinely surprised, like it’s not something he gets asked often.
I nod, watching him over the rim of the blanket.
He leans back a little, eyes drifting toward the fire as he thinks. The flames cast shadows along his jawline, flickering in the curve of his mouth.
“Kids,” he says finally. “Little ones, especially when they get real serious about something that doesn’t matter, like stacking blocks or naming every dinosaur they know.
” A small smile curves his lips. “Old movies with bad special effects. Phern when she’s angry baking.
You ever seen someone angrily make a pie crust? It’s something else.”
I laugh softly at that, already picturing it .
He glances at me then. “And dumb stuff. Stuff no one else would probably find funny. Like when a goat slips on ice. Or when my dog used to bark at his own reflection.”
“Sounds like you laugh more than you let on,” I say.
His gaze holds mine a little longer this time. “I used to.”
The words hang there between us, gentle but weighty. Not a confession. Not a cry for sympathy. Just a truth.
“I’m glad you laughed tonight,” I say, my voice almost a whisper.
He nods once, and something in his expression softens like maybe it meant more to him than he’ll say.
He stands. “Well, we should get you back to bed. It’s only going to get colder, and I don’t want you to get sicker than you already are.”
I stand, too, and follow him down the dark hallway to the bedroom.
“Is this your room?”
He glances over his shoulder. “Yeah.”
“No guest rooms?”
“None that are ready.”
“Where are you sleeping?”
“The couch.”
My lips part. “That’s not fair. I can sleep on the couch. Really, I don’t mind.”
“It’s warmer in here, darlin’.”
“Which is why you should stay.”
He shakes his head.
I glance at the bed, the blurt out, “We could sleep in the bed together.”
His lips twitch into something just shy of a grin, eyes glinting in the dark.
“You tryin’ to get me in bed, darlin’?”
“Not like that!” I blurt, horrified and instantly mortified. Heat crawls up my neck, spilling across my cheeks as I fumble for dignity. “I just meant it’s cold, and the bed’s huge. You probably built it for giants, and I wouldn’t even notice you were there, honestly.”
He chuckles, low and smooth, the sound curling in the small space between us. “Sure.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Maybe a little,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck as he glances at the bed. “But I wasn’t raised to put a woman out of her comfort just to spare mine.”
I cross my arms, the blanket still draped over my shoulders like a cape. “What if I’m offering?”
That makes him pause.
His expression shifts. It’s not playful now, but careful. Like he’s considering something heavier beneath the teasing.
“Charlotte…” he starts, his voice lower. “Are you sure?”
I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. “I’m sure I don’t want you freezing to death on that couch while I hog all the warmth in your bed. That’s what I’m sure of.”
We stand there for a beat, the air thick with something unspoken.
Then, quietly, he nods. “Alright. Just sleep, though.”
“Just sleep,” I echo, a little too fast.
I climb into the bed, curling up on one side. Sam closes the door and then settles on the other side. We lie there, a wide, warm space between us, but I feel every breath he takes.
Just sleep. That’s the plan.
But my mind has other ideas.
No matter how hard I try to focus on anything else, it keeps circling back to him.
That photo shoot he did for People where he was shirtless, standing waist-deep in water.
Droplets sliding down his chest like they belonged there, clinging to those sculpted muscles and the faint dusting of hair that trails down his abdomen.
His pants were riding so low I could see the deep cut that some guys have.
I shift, my thighs clenching involuntarily as a slow, insistent ache curls low in my belly.
And then there’s that damn cologne ad. Same vibe—sultry, sinful—but this time he was leaning against a fence like temptation itself. The way those jeans hugged his body showing the definition beneath them, well, I swear I’ve memorized the shape of him through denim.
I move again, trying to subtly press my thighs together, but it only makes things worse.
This is torture. Actual torture. If I were alone, I’d have already given in and slipped my hand beneath the waistband of my panties and chased a little relief.
But he’s right there. Two feet away. Close enough to touch.
My pulse hammers, wild and reckless, and a flush creeps up my neck. What kind of sick cosmic joke is this? Why am I thinking about touching myself while Sam Stone lounges beside me like some sinfully unaware Adonis? God help me. If he so much as looks at me right now, I might combust.
I sigh, which sounds loud in the quietness of the room. It’s the kind of quiet that amplifies everything. Just like the creak of the bed as we shift. The gusts of wind outside. The hum of the generator barely audible through the walls. All of it.
I lie on my side, facing the wall, wrapped in the blanket he gave me, eyes wide open in the dark. My heart won’t stop its low, steady drumbeat. Too aware of him just behind me.
We haven’t spoken since the lights went out. He hasn’t moved. Neither have I.
Until I feel it .
Faint, hesitant fingertips brushing against my arm. Not suggestive. Not bold. Just checking. Like he’s reaching out before he changes his mind.
His hand lingers there for a breath.
“Charlotte,” he murmurs.
The sound of my name in his voice almost undoes me. I swallow hard.
“Yeah?”
“You’re shivering.”
I hadn’t realized I was.
He shifts closer. Just a little. The heat of his body cuts through the chill in an instant, radiating through the space between us.
“Come here,” he whispers.
I hesitate, but only for a second. Then I shift back, slow and cautious, until my spine meets the solid warmth of his chest. His arm moves around me, light but certain, settling at my waist. No pressure. No expectations. Just there.
I exhale shakily, the kind of breath you don’t know you’ve been holding until it’s gone.
“This okay?” he asks, voice rough and close to my ear.
I nod. “Yeah.”
His hold tightens just slightly. Protective. Gentle. Nothing more.
But everything in me feels like it’s been rewired by the way he touches me.
I close my eyes.
Sleep doesn’t come quickly, but when it does, I fall into it with his heartbeat at my back and his warmth seeping into me.