Chapter 9 Willow
His heat is the first thing I feel when I wake in the morning. It’s far too . . . human and alive to be from the fire.
At some point in the night, he must have thrown on his shirt because my cheek is pressed against soft dark cotton. I resist the urge to stir against him, like a single breath might disturb the steady drum of his heartbeat.
He’s so solid, it’s unnatural. Everything about this man is unreal. The way he carries a love that death couldn’t take away, the devotion to a daughter he never knew he had, the sheer sense of safety he exudes—I’ve never seen anything like it.
If he wasn’t such a jackass sometimes, I’d say I dreamed him up right out of a western romance.
Because men like that don’t exist. And it’s only a matter of time before even a man like Dallas Thorne proves it.
A cold, sharp reality hits and I jerk back an inch. Like I’m in danger of getting caught up in yet another web. One that will take me months to crawl my way out of.
Dallas groans, low and throaty, stirring up a fizzy feeling in my stomach—and a little lower.
My face is no longer pressed against his chest as his eyelids rise, blinking slowly as he makes me out in his vision.
When his eyes lower, I freeze, heat filling my neck. It’s a slow realization as I follow his gaze. Like in one of those dreams where you’re walking down the school hallway and it takes everyone staring at you to realize you’re in your underwear.
My bare leg is tucked between his thighs.
How did I not notice? How could I let that happen? Another low rumble in his chest as he rolls onto his back, releasing my leg, eyes now pinned to the ceiling instead of me.
I’m so mortified, I want to scream. Something to the effect of “Get over yourself, cowboy, we don’t know who or how that happened.”
But I’d be a hypocrite if I tried to point the finger at him. The leg-tucking is completely and one hundred percent my doing. It’s probably why it felt so natural to me. Why I was so unaware of it when I woke up. It’s my signature sleeping position when I share a bed with a man.
“Must’ve done that when the fire died out,” I say out loud. So don’t make anything more of it than it was.
That, I say to myself.
Because I don’t do this anymore. Falling all over a man for his charm and promises. Promises we both know he’d break. Even if he won’t mean to.
I’m not convinced that there’s a forever out there for me. I’m even less convinced that I could ever be someone’s.
But what I am sure of—is that if I were looking, I wouldn’t find it in a man who’s sworn his life to grief and grumpiness.
When I glance back, I catch him still staring at the ceiling, guilt and discomfort all over his features. My stomach squeezes and I wish I could do or say something to make it better.
“I know you offered to keep me warm, but that takes hospitality to a whole new level,” I tease.
His mid-section jerks with a low chuckle as he meets my eyes. “We do take it seriously around here.”
I push to my feet and clear my throat. “Thank you.”
For last night. For keeping me warm and safe. And for letting an older version of Willow dream a little before the new one forced reality back in. “I’ll go—make enough coffee to last all day.” A gentle reminder as to why I’m here. “We’re going to need it.”
The faintest trace of woodsmoke and that familiar cedar scent clings to my clothes hours later. It’s not just in my hoodie this time. It’s in my hair, my skin. And I’m doing my damnedest to keep it from my thoughts. Reminders of being tucked up against Dallas all night are the last thing I need.
Men aren’t on my roster anymore. At least for the next few years. And even then, it’s going to take one hell of a Prince Charming to convince me to trust again. To fall again—into safer arms.
He took a quick shower after I disappeared into the kitchen—a totally normal thing to do when you’ve been sleeping on the floor by the fire. That’s what the right side of my brain tells me. The left is filing her nails in the corner, cracking jokes that he couldn’t wash me off his skin fast enough.
I tried to listen to the right. She’s usually on point. Rational, logical, and unbiased. But every time we pass, his jaw tightens, eyes anywhere but on me. Like I’m a one-night stand he’s pretending never happened.
It’s ridiculous. But Lefty usually is. That’s what Rose calls her when my insecurities start to surface. She also tells me a few ways to push her aside. Send Lefty back to her dark corner where I can no longer hear her. Eventually, she’ll go away.