Chapter 15
Jane
I wake up with my cheek pressed against Tex’s chest; the fire reduced to glowing embers in the hearth.
For a moment, I’m disoriented. Then clarity strikes.
Cabin. Havenridge. Quiet. Warmth. Tex’s arm wrapped around me as if it belongs there. As if I belong here.
My body is heavy with sleep, but my heart races, pounding with memories of last night: cow shit, humiliation, his voice in the bathroom, the towel around me, the way he spoke without flinching.
I want you exactly the way you are.
I go still, listening. His breathing is even. Slow. He’s asleep—really asleep—not the half-awake vigilance I’ve seen in men who never fully come down from whatever they survived. His chin rests lightly against my hair. One hand is splayed over my shoulder, warm through the thin fabric of his shirt.
It should feel safe. It does. And that’s the terrifying part because I don’t know what to do with safe when it comes from a man. The kind of safe that wraps around you and makes you stop fighting.
I shift carefully, trying not to wake him. His arm tightens reflexively, as if he’s anchoring me without opening his eyes.
“Tex,” I whisper.
His hand loosens slightly, and he exhales against the top of my head. “Mm?” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep.
I tilt my face up, studying him in the firelight. The lines of his face are softened in sleep, but the strength is still there in his jaw, cheekbones, and the slight shadow of stubble that makes my fingers itch to touch him.
Everything about him feels… solid.
My stomach flips, slow and hot. Last night wasn’t just comfort or care. It was him saying, in a hundred quiet ways, I’m here. I’m not leaving. I’m not scared of you.
My heart throbs with something that feels dangerously close to devotion. My body, meanwhile, has a different agenda because I’m warm and held and half-draped across the most amazing man I’ve ever met.
I want him. All of him.
The thought is so sharp it steals my breath. I freeze, bracing for the shame to wash over me, but it doesn't come. Instead, I feel an unexpected clarity, as bright as cold air:
I’m twenty-six years old. I've spent my life in a male-dominated world, keeping this part of myself locked away, as if it were too dangerous to reveal. But Tex doesn't make me feel dangerous. He makes me feel... wanted.
Chosen.
My gaze drops to his mouth, and my pulse stumbles. I inch closer without thinking, as if gravity is stronger than sense.
Tex shifts, his eyes still closed as his hand slides up my back. His fingers spread between my shoulder blades. A claim. A steadying touch.
I hold my breath.
His eyes open slowly, green and heavy-lidded. They meet mine, and the world narrows.
For a second, he just looks at me like he’s not sure if I’m real, like he fell asleep holding something he didn’t deserve and woke up still holding it.
Then his gaze drops to my bare legs curled against him beneath his shirt.
His eyes darken. “Morning.”
My throat goes dry. “Morning.”
His hand moves to my hip, slowly and deliberately. Possessively. Not squeezing. Just… there.
He’s fully awake now. I feel it in the way his body firms beneath me and how his attention locks on me like a sightline.
“Sleep okay?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah.”
He studies my face, as if checking for the crack that might mean I’m still hurt.
Then he says quietly, “You cold?”
I huff a small laugh. “I’m practically sweating. Your cabin is like a furnace.”
His mouth twitches.
I should move. Get up and make coffee.
Do something normal. Instead, I stay right where I am, my palm braced on his chest. His heartbeat is steady under my hand. Mine is not.
Tex’s gaze drops to my hand, then back to my face. “Jane.”
My name on his tongue does something wicked to my spine. “Yeah?”
“You okay?”
The question is about last night. About the bathroom and the misunderstanding and the ugly, raw truth I shoved at him while I was covered in manure and panic.
I stare at him, heat rising behind my ribs. “I’m okay. Are you?”
Tex’s jaw tightens. “I’m fine.”
I lift a brow. “That’s a lie.”
“I’m… tryin’ to be.”
“Why?”
His gaze holds mine unflinchingly. “Because you’re in my arms.”
My breath catches because I hear the unspoken part: And I don’t trust myself when you’re in my arms.
I shift slightly because my body has no interest in caution. His hand tightens on my hip like a boundary he’s holding in place because he thinks I still need it.
I gaze at him for a moment, then make a decision that feels like stepping off a cliff, hoping the fall is worth it.
Not out of recklessness. Not running from something.
For the first time in my life, I'm running toward something. Toward him.
I slide my fingers up his chest to his throat, feeling the prickle of stubble beneath my fingertips as my hand reaches his jaw.
Tex goes still, and his eyes flare. “Jane…”
My heart pounds in my ears. “I want...” I start, then pause, the words feeling too monumental, too vulnerable. Asking for what I want has always felt risky.
But Kitty’s voice echoes in my mind: If you change yourself and he “chooses” that version... who gets loved?
I don’t want to be chosen for a performance. I want to be chosen for this.
Tex watches me, breathing slow and controlled, like he’s holding himself back by force. “What do you want, Jane?”
I swallow hard. “You.”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. His gaze drops to my mouth, then back to my eyes, as if he’s making sure I mean it.
“Jane,” he says quietly, “if you say that—”
“I know.” I don’t, not fully, but I know enough. “I’m saying it anyway.”
Tex’s hand slides up my side, fingers spreading along my ribs under the hem of his shirt, and my whole body reacts like it’s been waiting for that touch for years.
Heat coils low in my belly. I make a soft, surprised sound.
His eyes flash. “Tell me to stop.”
“I’m not going to,” I say shakily.
His nostrils flare, and his gaze locks on mine like he’s trying to decide if he’s allowed to want this too.
I lean in and kiss him first. Slowly and intentionally, my mouth finding his like I’m proving something to myself.
Tex goes still for half a second, then his hand clamps around my waist and he pulls me closer, hard enough that I gasp into his mouth.
His kiss turns hungry instantly, like restraint is something he’s been white-knuckling for hours. His tongue sweeps against mine, and he tastes of coffee and smoke and something intense that makes my knees weak.
My body lights up, every nerve buzzing. I clutch his shoulders, my fingers digging into muscle, because I don’t know what to do with this much sensation.
Tex’s groan slides straight to my core.
He breaks the kiss abruptly, forehead pressing to mine, breath hot. “Jesus.”
I blink, dazed. “Good morning to you too.”
His mouth twitches, and humor flickers in his eyes like a match before they darken again. “You’re playing with fire, darlin’.”
My heart pounds. “So are you.”
His gaze drops from my eyes to my lips to my throat, then lower. “You sure?”
I nod fast. Too fast.
He catches it. Of course he does. His hand lifts to my cheek. “Your words, Jane.”
“I’m sure. I want you.”
His eyes hold mine. “That’s not what I asked.”
I stare at him, my breath shallow. God, he’s careful. Controlled. He’s making me face the truth instead of letting me barrel through it like I always do.
“I’m…” I swallow. “I’m scared.”
Tex brushes his thumb over my cheekbone. “Of me?”
“No,” I say immediately. “Of this. Of wanting something so much it could wreck me.”
His gaze softens a fraction. “You don’t have to do anything today you don’t want.”
That should soothe me. Instead, it makes something fierce flare inside me because I've spent my life being told to calm down, to wait, to be careful, to stay in my lane.
I don’t want careful with Tex. I want chosen.
I shift again, straddling him more fully, feeling the hard length of him through his jeans, and my breath catches.
Tex’s eyes close briefly, as if the sensation hits him hard. His hands grip my hips, tight enough to anchor, not tight enough to bruise.
“Jane,” he warns.
I lean closer, mouth near his ear. “Tell me no.”
His breath stutters. He doesn’t say no. “Bedroom.”
The word lands like a command and a promise at the same time.
My heart flips.
I nod and slide off him on shaky legs.
Tex stands slowly, as if he’s trying to stay in control of his body. For a second, he just watches me, eyes burning. Then his hand closes around mine, and he leads me down the hallway.
When we reach his bedroom door, he pauses, turning to face me, his gaze searching my face. “Last chance.”
I don’t look away. “I don’t want you to treat me like something fragile.”
His jaw tightens. “You are not fragile.”
The way he says it—flat and certain—makes my eyes sting. I blink hard.
Tex’s gaze drops to my mouth. “You’re a virgin.”
My face heats. It shouldn’t be embarrassing, but it is. Like my body is a secret I haven’t been brave enough to share.
I lift my chin. “Yeah.”
His voice goes lower. “Is that what you want? Today?”
My pulse pounds as I nod, slower this time. “With you. Yes.”
Tex’s hand slides up my neck, his thumb brushing my jaw. “Then we do this my way.”
“Which is?”
“Slow,” he says. “Careful. Honest.”
I swallow. “And if I want not slow?”
His eyes flash, and the corner of his mouth lifts slightly. “Then you tell me. And I decide if I’m lettin’ you.”
Heat floods my body. God, that voice. That control. It’s like he’s taking my chaos and giving it a container that doesn’t feel like a cage.
I nod, breathless. “Okay.”
Tex opens the door and pulls me inside.
His room is clean, spare, and ordered, mirroring the rest of the cabin, but the bed looks rumpled. A worn flannel blanket is folded at the end. A book rests on the nightstand. A glass of water sits nearby. Everything in its place, as if he maintains control by managing the edges of his world.
I absorb the details in an instant, my brain cataloging them when I’m overwhelmed. His boots neatly lined by the closet, the absence of clutter, and the faint scent of cedar and soap on the sheets. It’s him, distilled into a room: controlled, careful, yet lived-in. Real.
And somehow, standing here in his orderly space with my messy self, I don’t feel like a contradiction. I feel like the missing piece.
He closes the door behind us with a soft click, and the sound makes my pulse spike.
Tex turns back to me, looking at me for a long moment as if he’s taking the time to memorize me. His eyes slide over my face, my hair, the shirt hanging off my shoulder, the bare skin of my thighs.
“You’re beautiful.”
I look at him closely. “You mean that, don’t you?”
“Yes. I’m not sayin’ it to make you feel better. I’m sayin’ it because it’s true.”
Tex steps closer, slowly enough that I could back away.
I don’t. I want this. I want him.
His hand reaches for the hem of his shirt—the one I’m wearing—and pauses. He looks at me. “Okay?”
“Yes.”
He lifts the shirt slowly, revealing my stomach, my ribs, the soft curve of my waist. Cold air kisses my skin even as heat blooms in my chest.
When the shirt clears my head, he tosses it onto the chair. I stand there naked, suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of myself.
Tex’s gaze is steady. Hungry in a way that makes me feel chosen.
I shiver.
“Cold?” he asks.
“Not even a little.”
His mouth twitches, and then he’s kissing me, his mouth coaxing, teasing, tasting. His hands move down my back, over my hips, and he presses me against him so I can feel how hard he is.
A needy sound escapes me, and he groans into my mouth like it hits him in the gut.
He breaks the kiss to murmur, “Tell me what you need.”
My brain stutters. I don’t have the language. I only have the wanting. “I… You. Touch me.”
His eyes darken. “Where?”
My cheeks burn. “Everywhere.”
My core throbs. My nipples tingle. I need—
I grab his hands and place them on my breasts.