Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
STELLA
Hot water cascades down my back as I close my eyes, trying to focus on the simple pleasure of a morning shower rather than the man just down the hall. But Ridge's presence is impossible to ignore, has been since the moment we arrived.
I slide my hand down my stomach, giving in to the fantasy that's been building for days. In my mind, it's Ridge's calloused fingers touching me, Ridge's strong hands cupping my breasts, Ridge's mouth trailing down my neck.
"God," I whisper, leaning against the cool tile as my fingers find the slick heat between my thighs.
Three days in his cabin and I'm coming undone.
My body responds instantly to the image of him in my mind—those green eyes darkening with desire, those strong arms lifting me against him.
I imagine how his beard would feel against my inner thighs, how his mouth would taste, how he would fill me completely.
My movements quicken, pleasure building as I picture him here with me, water sluicing over both our bodies as he presses me against the wall. In my fantasy, he whispers my name like a prayer, tells me he's wanted this for years, that he's never stopped wanting me.
The orgasm catches me by surprise, intense and sudden. I bite my lip to keep from crying out, body pulsing around my fingers as I ride out the waves of pleasure.
Reality crashes back as the water turns lukewarm. I shut it off, shame and need battling for dominance. What am I doing? I came here for safety, for shelter for my daughter. Not to indulge in fantasies about my childhood best friend.
But as I dress, I can't shake the lingering arousal, the sense that something inevitable is building between us. Like a storm front approaching the mountain.
Speaking of storms...
When I emerge from the bathroom, I find Ridge and Chellie in the kitchen, both staring at his phone with serious expressions.
"Weather's changing," Ridge explains before I can ask. "Major system moving in faster than they predicted. We need to make that supply run today, not tomorrow."
I glance out the window where snow already falls more heavily than yesterday. "Will the roads still be passable?"
"For now." He slides a mug of coffee toward me, our fingers brushing in the exchange. The simple contact sends electricity up my arm, my body still oversensitive from my shower activities. "But by tonight, we'll be completely cut off. Forecasting three feet with high winds."
"A real blizzard?" The prospect should frighten me. Instead, I feel a treacherous thrill at the thought of being truly trapped here with him, no escape from whatever is building between us.
"A real blizzard." His eyes hold mine, something dark and promising in their depths. "We'll be fine as long as we prepare properly."
Chellie tugs at my sweater. "Fish, Mama? You promised."
I'd completely forgotten my promise to take her to see the tropical fish at the pet store in town. "I don't know, baby. There's a big storm coming."
Ridge grabs his keys from the hook by the door. "We can do both. Pet store first, then supplies. If we leave now, we'll beat the worst of it."
An hour later, we're pulling into a parking space outside Peggie's Petals and Paws. The snow falls steadily now, already accumulating on the windshield during our brief stop.
"Let's make this quick," Ridge says as he helps Chellie from her car seat. "Storm's moving in fast."
Inside, the shop is warm and fragrant with potting soil and pet food. Chellie immediately spots the wall of illuminated aquariums, tugging us toward the glowing blue tanks.
"Fish!" she squeals, pressing her hands against the glass.
Ridge kneels beside her, large hand resting naturally on her small back. "See that orange one? That's a clownfish, like Nemo."
"Nemo!" Chellie's excitement draws a smile from both of us.
The shop door jingles, and Peggie emerges from the back room, gray pixie cut dusted with potting soil. "Well, look what the storm blew in! Stella Brooks and company, shopping right before a blizzard like everyone else in town."
She peers over her reading glasses, gaze moving from me to Ridge to Chellie and back again. Her eyebrows climb toward her hairline. "And with a little one, no less. When did this happen?"
Heat floods my face. Before I can formulate a response, Ridge's arm slides around my waist, warm and solid.
"We're getting some last-minute supplies before the storm hits," he says smoothly, neither confirming nor denying Peggie's implication. "Chellie wanted to see the fish."
"Well, aren't you the spitting image of your mama," Peggie tells Chellie, who barely glances up from the fish tank. "Would you like to help me feed them?"
While Chellie is occupied with fish flakes, Ridge and I browse the small store, gathering treats for the bluebirds that visit his feeders. His hand finds the small of my back with increasing frequency, guiding me through narrow aisles, each touch lingering longer than strictly necessary.
"Peggie's going to tell everyone in town we're together," I murmur, examining dog brushes we don't need.
"Let her." His voice drops lower, sending shivers down my spine. "Gives Rick one more reason to stay away if he thinks you're with me now."
The protective edge in his tone does something to me, awakens something primal and hungry. I look up at him, finding his green eyes already on me, intense and unguarded.
"Ridge," I start, uncertain what I even want to say.
Before I can continue, the shop door jingles again. A tall blonde enters, stopping short when she sees us.
"Ridge?" Her voice is warm honey, her smile practiced. "What a surprise."
His posture stiffens slightly beside me. "Kimmie. Getting storm supplies?"
"Just some treats for Mr. Whiskers." Her gaze shifts to me, assessment clear in her blue eyes. "And you must be Stella. I've heard about you."
The way she says it makes it clear exactly what she's heard—and who she heard it from. "Nice to meet you," I manage, feeling oddly territorial.
"Ridge was supposed to join me for dinner two nights ago," she continues, a pointed glance between us. "But something came up."
Family emergency. Us. I resist the urge to step closer to Ridge, to stake a claim I have no right to make.
"Sorry about that," he says, voice neutral. "Been busy getting the cabin ready for the storm."
"Well, when things settle down..." she trails off meaningfully, then spots Chellie by the fish tanks. "Is that your daughter? She's adorable."
"Thank you." I smile tightly, disliking the way she's clearly calculating possibilities.
"Speaking of the storm," Ridge interrupts, checking his phone, "we need to get moving. Weather's turning faster than expected."
We make our purchases quickly, including a tiny blue betta fish that Chellie names "Sparkle" on the spot. Ridge carries her to the truck while I manage the fishbowl and supplies, snowflakes clinging to my eyelashes as I climb into the passenger seat.
"Quite the fan club you have," I comment as we pull away, unable to keep the edge from my voice.
Ridge's laugh holds no humor. "Kimmie? She's just persistent."
"And beautiful."
"Not interested." His hand finds my knee, a brief squeeze that feels like a brand through my jeans. "Never was."
The simple declaration shouldn't affect me so strongly, but warmth blooms in my chest nonetheless.
Main Street is eerily empty as we stop at the general store, most residents already hunkered down at home.
We work efficiently, gathering extra batteries, candles, non-perishable food, and medical supplies.
By the time we finish loading the truck, snow coats the windshield in the few minutes we were inside.
"Roads are getting bad," Ridge observes as we carefully navigate back toward the mountain. "Another hour and they'll be impassable."
I glance at the dark clouds hanging low over the valley. "Will we make it back in time?"
"We'll make it." His confidence steadies me. "I know these roads better than anyone."
The drive takes twice as long as normal, the truck occasionally fishtailing on slick patches despite Ridge's careful handling. Chellie falls asleep in her car seat, Sparkle's bowl secure in a cardboard box beside her.
When we finally reach the cabin, the snow is falling so heavily I can barely see the porch from the driveway.
Ridge carries Chellie inside while I manage the fish and a few light bags.
It takes three more trips to unload everything, snow accumulating on our shoulders and hair with each journey between truck and cabin.
"That's the last of it," Ridge announces, stamping snow from his boots. "Just in time."
I settle Sparkle's bowl on the kitchen counter while Ridge gets the fire roaring in the great room. Chellie wakes from her nap, immediately entranced by her new pet, pressing her nose against the glass.
"Gentle," I remind her. "Fish need quiet to be happy."
Ridge appears beside me, handing me a mug of hot chocolate. "Generator's full. Firewood's stacked. We're as ready as we can be."
Our fingers brush during the exchange, and this time neither of us pulls away immediately. Something in his eyes makes my breath catch—hunger barely leashed, a promise of things to come.
"I need to split more wood before the snow gets too deep," he says, voice lower than necessary. "To be safe."
I nod, not trusting my voice. Through the window, I watch him stride to the chopping block at the edge of the yard, already disappearing in the thickening snowfall.
He shrugs off his coat despite the cold, leaving him in a thermal henley that clings to his broad shoulders as he works. Each swing of the axe reveals the play of muscles beneath the fabric, the power in his arms and back. My body responds instantly, heat pooling low in my belly at the sight.
"He's strong," Chellie observes, now standing beside me at the window.
"Yes," I agree, throat suddenly dry. "Very strong."
"Is Widge our family now?"