Chapter 4
Jess
I woke to the feeling of being watched. My eyes flew open to find Sam sitting on the edge of my bunk, two steaming mugs in his hands. He was studying me with an intensity that should have felt intrusive but instead felt intimate.
"Morning," he said, offering me one of the mugs. "Figured you could use this."
I pushed myself up to sitting, acutely aware that I was still in the clothes I'd fallen asleep in.
My hair was probably a disaster. The old Jess would have been mortified to be seen like this.
The new Jess—the one who was apparently emerging on this mountain—couldn't bring herself to care when Sam was looking at her like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
"What time is it?" I asked, accepting the coffee. Our fingers brushed, and that now-familiar electricity sparked between us.
"Just after six. Storm's still going, but it's calmer than yesterday." His eyes never left my face. "How'd you sleep?"
"Better than I should have, considering." I took a sip of coffee and nearly moaned. It was strong and hot, exactly what I needed. "How long have you been up?"
"Couple hours. I checked the perimeter, made sure everyone was okay, monitored the weather." He paused. "and spent the last thirty minutes watching you sleep."
My pulse kicked up. "That's kind of creepy."
"Yeah." His smile was unapologetic. "Don't care. You're mine now. I'm allowed to be creepy."
The casual way he said it—like it was simply fact, not up for debate—should have set off alarm bells. Instead, it sent warmth flooding through my chest.
"Sam—"
"You have a dimple," he said, reaching out to trace a spot on my cheek. "Right here. Only shows up when you smile for real, not when you're performing."
I froze. "What?"
"I've been watching you since yesterday.
Watching you smile at your coworkers—tight, professional, not reaching your eyes.
Watching you smile at your boss—even tighter, trying to prove something.
" His thumb brushed the spot again, and my skin tingled.
"But just now, when you took that first sip of coffee? Real smile. Real you."
"That's..." I struggled to find words. "That's kind of intense."
"I'm an intense guy. Better get used to it, because I plan on learning everything about you." His gaze held mine. "What makes you smile for real. What makes you laugh. What makes you scream my name. Starting with this dimple."
"You can't know all that from watching me sleep."
"No," he agreed. "But I know you're exhausted in ways that have nothing to do with this trip. I can see the tension in your jaw. I know you flinch every time Belinda says your name, like you're expecting criticism even when you've done everything right."
How did he see all that? How could he possibly see all that when my own colleagues—people I'd worked with for years—thought I had everything under control?
"Don't," I said, my voice cracking.
"Don't what? Don't see you?" He leaned closer. "Too late. I see you. The real you. And I'm not looking away."
"I can't—" I didn't know how to finish that sentence. Can't handle this? Can't believe you? Can't accept that someone sees through my armor and wants me anyway?
"Yes, you can." His certainty was absolute. "You just need someone who sees you to help you believe it. So that's what I'm going to do. Starting right now. Now drink your coffee before it gets cold. We've got a long day ahead."
"What kind of long day?"
His smile turned wicked. "The kind where I push you past every limit you think you have. Where you learn to trust your body and your instincts instead of that overthinking brain. Where I show you exactly what you're capable of when you stop trying to control everything."
The promise in his words made me very aware that we were alone in a quiet corner of the lodge, that his hand was still cupping my face, that it would be so easy to close the distance between us and—
"Sam? We've got a situation."
We both turned to see Richard standing a few feet away, looking uncomfortable at having interrupted whatever moment he'd walked in on.
Sam's jaw clenched, but he didn't try to create distance or pretend this was anything other than what it was.
"What kind of situation?" he asked.
"Belinda's having a meltdown. Something about needing to get back for a client emergency. She's demanding we leave immediately, storm or no storm."
Sam stroked my cheek before he finally pulled away, standing. "Tell her I'll be there in five minutes."
Richard nodded and retreated, though not before shooting me a knowing look.
Great. That was going to hit the office gossip mill fast.
THE SITUATION WITH Belinda was every bit as dramatic as I'd expected.
She stood by the fireplace, perfectly coiffed despite the storm and sleeping in a lodge. Around her, the other lawyers were in various states of dishevelment and discomfort, clearly ready to get back to civilization.
"Mr. Edwards," Belinda said with the particular tone she used when she expected immediate compliance. "I need to speak with you about our departure timeline."
"We're not departing until the storm clears enough to travel safely," Sam replied, his voice implacable. "That's non-negotiable."
"I have a client emergency that requires my immediate attention. The WiFi isn’t reliable here.”
“We’re in the middle of a storm.”
Belinda waved her hand dismissively. “Surely we can make it back to the parking area at the foot of the mountain. It’s all down hill from here, right?"
"No."
The single word landed like a hammer. Belinda blinked, clearly unused to being shut down like that.
"No, it’s not down hill?”
“No, it’s not save to descend the mountain in these conditions.”
“I'm sorry, but I don't think you understand the urgency."
"I understand that you want to leave," Sam interrupted, crossing his arms over his chest. "I also understand that attempting to evacuate in current conditions would be suicide. So no, Ms. Sorento, we're not leaving. Not until it's safe. Your client emergency will have to wait."
Belinda's face flushed with anger. "I could have your business license revoked for this."
"You could try." Sam's smile was sharp. "We stay until the conditions improve. End of discussion."
I felt an absurd surge of attraction watching him shut down Belinda's power play without flinching. He wasn't intimidated by her position or her threats. He simply knew what he was doing and refused to compromise safety for convenience.
"Ms. Madison." Belinda turned her attention to me, and I saw the calculation in her eyes. "Perhaps you could speak with Mr. Edwards about the importance of client service."
The implication was clear: prove your loyalty to the firm by fixing this situation. Use whatever influence you might have with Sam to get what we want. A day ago, I might have tried. Might have pulled Sam aside and attempted to negotiate some kind of compromise that would satisfy Belinda.
But that was before Sam had told me about my dimple. Before he'd seen my performance smiles and my real smiles and known the difference. Before I'd realized how much of my life had been spent trying to please people who would never be satisfied.
"Actually," I heard myself say, "I think Mr. Edwards is right. Client emergencies aren't worth dying over. We have staff in the office that can handle things until we get back in three days, especially since two of those days are Saturday and Sunday."
The silence that followed was profound. Belinda stared at me like I'd grown a second head. Around the room, my fellow lawyers watched with expressions ranging from shock to approval to barely concealed glee at the drama.
And Sam looked at me like I'd just given him the world.
"Well," Belinda said icily. "I see where your priorities lie. We'll discuss this when we return."
The threat was implicit: this would affect my partnership prospects. This was career suicide for the sake of... what? A man I'd known for a week?
But looking at Sam's face, seeing the pride and possession in his eyes, I couldn't bring myself to care.
"Looking forward to it," I said.
Belinda stalked off to one of the back rooms, slamming the door behind her. The other lawyers dispersed, some heading for the kitchen, others returning to their bunks.
Sam crossed to me in three long strides, his hand coming up to cup the back of my neck, pulling me into an empty side room. The moment the door closed behind us, his mouth was on mine—not gentle, not asking, just claiming.
"You just chose me over your career," he said when we both needed air.
"I chose not to die in a blizzard."
"You chose me, Jess." His hands framed my face. "You could have stayed quiet. Could have let me be the bad guy. But you backed me up in front of your boss, knowing it would cost you. Why?"
"Because you were right."
"That's not why." His eyes searched mine, intense and demanding. "Tell me why."
"Because..." I struggled to put it into words, but he deserved the truth.
"Because for the first time in years, someone was trying to keep me safe instead of useful.
You weren't thinking about productivity or client service or what looked good professionally.
You were thinking about keeping people alive. Keeping me alive."
Something fierce and possessive flashed in his eyes. "Always. I will always choose keeping you alive over making you useful to someone else. You understand that? You're not a resource to be managed or a problem to be solved. You're mine to protect."
And that—that was when I felt it. The moment when like became something deeper. When attraction became something that felt close to free falling off a mountain.
"I don't know how to be protected," I admitted. "I've spent my whole life being useful."
"Then it's time you learned the difference." He kissed me again, softer this time. "And I'm an excellent teacher."