Chapter 3
Chapter Three
CLARA
The bed is big, but it could be a twin for how aware I am of every inch of space between us.
I lie rigid under the covers while Beau settles on top of them, fully clothed, a human furnace radiating heat just inches away.
Comet bounds onto the bed, scattering pillows everywhere before settling at our feet with a satisfied huff.
“Sorry about him,” Beau mutters in the darkness. His voice is so deep it almost vibrates the mattress.
“It's fine.” My voice comes out breathless… what the hell is wrong with me? The man is lying on top of the covers like a complete gentleman, and I'm hyperaware of every breath he takes, the way the mattress dips towards his weight, creating a valley I have to resist rolling into.
He shifts, and I catch his scent, a smoky musk combination that makes my stomach flutter. The flannel pants he loaned me are soft against my skin, carrying that same scent. It's like being wrapped in him, and the thought sends heat pooling low in my belly.
“Can't sleep?” he asks.
"Just... processing. Yesterday I was in the city. Now I'm…” I trail off, not sure how to finish. In bed with a sexy mountain man who makes my pulse race? Having inappropriate thoughts about a complete stranger?
“Now you’re trapped with a strange mountain hermit, his questionable beard, and a dog who’s two shakes away from starring in his own holiday movie.”
I laugh, turning towards him. “You’re not a hermit. Why do you really do it? Check the roads?”
He's quiet for a long time. “Because… I know what it's like to feel lost with no one coming to help.”
The vulnerability in his voice makes me want to reach across the space between us. I don't.
“Get some sleep, Clara. Tomorrow we'll see about your car.”
But I can't sleep. I'm too conscious of him and of how my body seems to be magnetized toward him. Every time Beau shifts, my breath catches. When his breathing finally deepens into sleep, I find myself matching my breaths to his, letting the steady rhythm calm my racing thoughts.
I wake pressed against his back, my arm thrown over his waist, my face buried between his shoulder blades. He's warm, solid, and he smells so good that for a moment I breathe him in, still half-asleep and not quite aware that I've wrapped myself around him like a koala.
Then I feel him tense slightly, awake but not moving.
“Oh, shit!” I scramble backward so fast I nearly fall off the bed. “I'm so sorry, I didn't mean…”
Beau sits up, not looking at me, and runs a hand through his dark hair. Even messy from sleep, he's devastatingly handsome.
“It was cold last night. Natural instinct.”
Right. That's definitely why my whole body is tingling from pressing against him.
He escapes to the bathroom while I bury my burning face in a pillow. Through the window, there is only a white blur, snow still falling steadily, erasing the real world beyond this cabin.
When I emerge from the bedroom, dressed again in his too-big clothes, he's making breakfast, Comet sniffing the air.
“Coffee?”
“Please.” I settle at the small kitchen table, trying not to stare at the way his flannel stretches across his massive back as he moves. “The storm's not letting up.”
“Radio says it'll continue through tomorrow at least.” He sets a mug in front of me, his fingers brushing mine. That spark again, electric and warm.
“Your car's probably buried by now.”
“Blair's going to kill me.” I wait for the familiar rising panic, but it doesn’t come. Something about this cabin, about the forced pause, makes my city life feel far away.
He plates eggs and bacon, movements efficient but careful. “Why does this promotion matter so much?”
“Well, it's everything I've worked for. Creative Director at twenty-five... it would prove…”
Beau puts a loaded plate in front of me. “Prove what?”
I consider his question as I eat his perfectly cooked eggs. “That I'm enough, I guess. That all the work meant something in the end.”
He sits across from me, and our knees bump under the small table. Neither of us moves away. “You know what I did until five years ago?”
I shake my head, distracted by the way his hands dwarf his coffee mug.
“Tried to run the family resort. Spent years in offices, juggling spreadsheets, in board meetings.
My parents kept saying if I tried harder, I'd get it.” He stares into his coffee.
“Turns out being dyslexic doesn't go away just because your parents want you to be CEO material and uphold the family name.”
“You’re dyslexic?” I study his face.
“Numbers and letters jump around on me. Always have. But that's not acceptable for a Northwood heir.” His jaw tightens. “My younger brother runs it all now.”
“So you came up here?”
He meets my eyes, and the intensity makes my breath catch. “The mountain doesn't care if I read slow or mix up numbers.”
“Your family's wrong,” I say fiercely, surprising myself. “You saved my life yesterday. You can read weather patterns and navigate in a blizzard and make perfect eggs and—” I stop, my cheeks hot.
That almost-smile appears. “Perfect… eggs? I’ll add that one to my resumé.”
“Shut up.” But I'm smiling too. Our knees are still touching under the table.
The power flickers, then dies, and the cabin plunges into gray storm-light. Comet raises his head and woofs.
Beau stands. “Power’s down. I need to get the generator going.”
“I'll help.”
“You will not.” He grabs his coat and heads outside before I can protest.
Beau comes back in after fifteen minutes, shedding layers. He surprises me by sitting next to me instead of the chair. Our thighs press together through the layers, the heat radiating from his body.
“Beau?”
“Mm?” He's staring at the fire, seemingly unaware that I'm fighting the urge to climb into his lap.
“Thank you. For sharing your space and looking after me.”
He turns to look at me, and we're so close the gold flecks in his dark eyes glint in the firelight. “Clara…”
Comet chooses that moment to jump on us both, soaking wet and freezing, shaking snow everywhere.
“Comet!” Beau groans, but he's laughing, and it transforms his face.
I'm laughing too, even as I'm pelted with freezing dog water. “Where did he even go?”
“Dog door, out the back. He likes to play in the snow.” Beau grabs a towel, trying to dry the wiggling Lab. “Hold him still?”
I wrap my arms around Comet while Beau towels him off, and our hands keep touching, sending sparks through me each time. When the dog is finally dry and settled by the fire, Beau doesn't move back to his side of the couch.
“Are you cold?”
“I'm okay.”
But he pulls the quilt around both of us. We're wrapped together, his arm along the back of the couch, my side pressed against his. I should move away. Instead, I let myself lean into him, just a little.
“Tell me about what you do. Did you always want to be a photographer?”
I tell him about the camera I got for Christmas as a kid and how excited I was.
Then about how I made money to get through college taking wedding photos and working my way up the corporate ladder.
How I’d always wanted to go freelance, but stayed when the company started talking about the Creative Director position.
Beau listens without judgment, occasionally asking questions.
His thumb starts tracing small circles on my shoulder through the quilt, probably unconsciously, but it's driving me to distraction.
“Do you miss your family?” he asks.
“Every day. They want me to settle down. So it's easier to miss them than to disappoint them by showing up still single.”
“You're not disappointing anyone, Clara.”
The way he says my name, low and certain, makes heat pool in my stomach. I turn to look at him and find his face inches from mine. His eyes drop to my lips, and I stop breathing.
The fire pops loudly, breaking the moment. He clears his throat, stands abruptly. “I need to check the generator again before we go to bed.”
This is insane. I've known him for less than twenty-four hours. But if he came back and told me we're stuck for the whole winter here together, all I would feel is relief.