Chapter 5
ROWAN
Iwoke to warmth that didn’t belong to the fire alone. Blinking at the dim orange flicker of the dying fire, it took my brain a moment to catch up. Then I remembered Bexley showing up in the middle of the storm, right after the lights went out, while I was in the shower.
My eyes flew open. We were still in the nest of blankets he’d made last night, the fire now little more than a bed of glowing embers. A glance out the window confirmed more snow was falling.
And Bexley was right beside me on the floor. We were barely touching, but he was close enough for me to feel the heat rolling off his body.
I’d never woken up next to anyone before. And certainly not with a man built like a mountain lying mere inches away.
Instead of panicking, I just lay there and enjoyed the moment. Hyperaware of the desire he’d awakened in me and wondering why being this close to him felt like something I’d wanted my whole life without knowing it.
My cheeks filled with heat when I finally dared to turn my head and discovered Bexley wasn’t asleep. He was propped up on an elbow, watching me with an intensity that made butterflies swirl in my belly.
“Morning,” he rumbled, his voice rough from sleep.
“Hi,” I whispered.
He pushed up to sit, the movement shifting the blanket and giving me a breath-stealing glimpse of his broad chest. Even in his black T-shirt, it was impossible to miss the ripple of muscle.
Worry flickered across his face as he glanced toward the frost-edged windows. “Storm’s still going. Probably dumped a ton of snow overnight.”
Wind whipped against the siding, rattling the windows just enough to remind me how isolated we were, snowed in with the power still out.
I shivered, and Bexley assessed the dying fire with a practiced eye. “I’ll get the fire going again.”
I watched him move toward the fireplace, seemingly unbothered by the chaos outside. The blanket tugged around my shoulders as I pushed myself upright.
He crouched at the hearth, and how he quickly coaxed flame from the embers impressed me. His calm competence only made him more attractive.
“Thank you,” I murmured.
He glanced at me over his shoulder. “Always.”
The storm outside suddenly didn’t feel nearly as dangerous as the one gathering quietly inside my chest.
Before I could do anything reckless about how he made me feel, my stomach betrayed me. A loud rumble broke the quiet, and heat filled my cheeks.
“Fire’s not all I know how to make. I can cook over one too.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I protested weakly, but he was already pushing to his feet.
“I want to.” He nodded toward the blanket nest. “Sit. Stay warm.”
His gentle command was impossible to argue against. So I tucked the blanket around myself while he strode into the kitchen. I heard him rummaging, muttering to himself, before he emerged again. His arms were loaded with supplies, and he looked absurdly good.
“What’d you find?” I asked, trying not to sound overly eager.
“More than enough for a meal,” he replied with a smile. “As long as you like oatmeal.”
He set a couple of cans, oats, a jar of dark amber preserves, honey, spices, water, a pan, a big wooden spoon, two bowls, and smaller spoons onto the floor in front of the fireplace.
“I like food.”
I immediately wanted to bury my face in the blanket at my lame answer, but Bexley let out a low, amused rumble. The sound sent a shiver of awareness down my spine that I refused to examine too closely.
Bexley made our meal over the fire like he’d done it his entire life. His forearms flexed with every stir of the wooden spoon. The firelight cast shadows along the muscles beneath his T-shirt.
Watching him cook was better than porn.
And I felt strangely safe sitting here with him while snow piled up against the windows and the rest of the world remained an unreachable blur.
“Almost ready.”
I hadn’t expected to feel so comfortable with someone I’d known for less than a day. Or for our conversation to flow like we’d already shared a hundred mornings like this. I couldn’t help but wonder what this thing between us could become if I didn’t have a flight home tomorrow.
Bexley divided the oatmeal between the two bowls. He added fruit to mine, then spooned some of the dark amber preserves across the top like it belonged on a restaurant menu instead of being thrown together from an almost empty pantry during a blackout.
He handed me the bowl, and my eyes fluttered shut when the first bite hit my taste buds. “Oh my, this is incredible.”
Across from me, he shrugged one massive shoulder like it was nothing. “It’s just oats.”
“I’ve had oatmeal before, and it didn’t taste anything like this,” I argued after eating another spoonful. “It’s like comfort in a bowl.”
He looked up from fixing his dish with a smile. “Glad you like it.”
We ate quietly by the fire, the wind still howling against the windows, but somehow feeling far away. Every time he shifted, the firelight caught the sharp lines of his jaw. I kept pretending not to notice, but my pulse wasn’t fooled.
I scraped the last of my oatmeal from the bowl, and a streak of warm preserves dripped onto my finger. I lifted my hand automatically, freezing when Bexley moved first. He leaned in and wrapped his hand lightly around my wrist. Then his head dipped, and his mouth closed over the tip of my finger.
Heat shot through me, and my whole body lit up in response. The world fell away until there was only the warmth of his lips, the soft drag of his tongue, and the sound of my own heartbeat roaring in my ears.
Bexley’s gaze met mine, his eyes dark with desire.
Neither of us spoke. Or moved.
But chemistry crackled between us.
The kind of desire that could remake a person from the inside out.
Before I could second-guess the impulse, my fingers brushed the stubble on his jaw. Bexley went still, every line of him tightening. Then his gaze dropped to my mouth, and he closed the small distance between us. His lips brushed mine in the softest kiss I’d ever imagined.
The moment our mouths met, heat rippled through me and stole my breath. I made a small, needy sound in the back of my throat that I couldn’t have stopped if I tried, and Bexley’s restraint snapped.
His hand slid to the back of my neck, guiding me closer as he deepened the kiss. It quickly turned hungry and urgent, like he’d been holding himself back for much longer than the short time we’d known each other.
I melted into him, clutching at his shirt, but he tore his mouth from mine.
“Bexley?” My voice came out breathless. “Did I do something wrong?”
He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut for a second before looking at me again. “No. Not at all.”
I waited for him to pull me back in and kiss me again, but he didn’t move. Instead, he swallowed hard, tension radiating from him in waves. “Rowan, before this goes any further, there’s something I need to tell you.”