4. Four
Four
Scarlett
I wake up warm for the first time in what feels like days.
Not just physically, though that's definitely part of it. The fire still glows orange in the hearth, and I'm cocooned in flannel sheets that smell like cedar and woodsmoke and something darker, more complex. Something that's purely him.
But it's more than temperature. It's safety. Contentment. The feeling of being exactly where I'm supposed to be, even though that makes no logical sense whatsoever.
Which should probably terrify me.
Instead, I find myself melting deeper into the warmth, into the solid presence beside me. Because somewhere during the night, the careful distance we maintained became meaningless. There's no space between us now. No pretending this is casual or platonic.
His arm is still around me, heavy across my back. Possessive in a way that should alarm me but doesn't. My hand rests on his chest, rising and falling with each steady breath. I can feel his heartbeat under my palm—strong and steady.
I should move. Extract myself before this becomes awkward. Before we have to acknowledge what’s happening here.
But I don't want to.
Instead, I let myself look at him. Really look, now that he's still and unguarded in sleep.
His face is softer without that perpetual scowl.
His jaw is covered in dark scruff that I want to trace with my fingertips.
His mouth is fuller than I noticed before, surprisingly sensual for someone so hard-edged.
His lashes are unfairly thick, casting shadows on his cheekbones in the morning light filtering through the window.
There's a small scar at the corner of his left eyebrow that I hadn't noticed before. I want to know the story behind it. Want to catalog every mark and imperfection that makes him him.
I want to know everything about him, and that realization should send me running.
Instead, it makes me shift closer.
The movement is subtle, barely perceptible, but it's enough.
His eyes open instantly, like he was only pretending to sleep, locking onto mine with an intensity that steals my breath, dark and fathomless in the gray morning light.
"Morning," I whisper, afraid to break whatever spell has settled over us.
His voice is rough with sleep, gravelly and low. "You stayed close."
It's not a question. Not quite an accusation. Just an observation, tinged with something that might be surprise.
I nod, not trusting my voice. Not sure what I'd say anyway.
He doesn't move away. Doesn't apologize or make excuses. Just watches me like I'm some wild thing that wandered into his territory and he hasn't decided whether I'm friend or foe.
Then, slowly, he lifts his free hand and brushes a curl away from my cheek. The gesture is so gentle, so careful, that it makes my chest tight.
"You're warm," he murmurs, thumb trailing along my jawline like he's memorizing the shape of me.
"So are you."
His eyes drop to my mouth for just a heartbeat, and I feel the intensity of his gaze everywhere. In my pulse. In the sudden heat unfurling low in my belly. In the way my lips part involuntarily, like they're already anticipating his touch.
The air between us charges with electricity. Anticipation. Want so thick I can almost taste it.
"Scarlett…”
"Yes?"
"If you keep looking at me like that…"
I swallow hard, heart hammering against my ribs. "Like what?"
"Like you want me to kiss you."
"And if I do?" I whisper.
He doesn't answer.
Not with words.
Instead, his hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers threading into my curls like he's been thinking about this moment since he first saw me. Like he's been fighting the urge to touch me exactly like this.
And then he kisses me like no man has kissed me before. Greedy. Hungry. Taking and giving in equal measure until I’m breathless and dizzy but dying for more.