Chapter 17-Sloane
I never imagined myself as the leading lady in some steamy romance novel.
Okay.
That’s a lie.
I’ve imagined it, sure. But I never thought it would be a real possibility.
And yet here I am.
Standing in Micah's cabin wearing one of his flannels that hangs almost to my knees, with the biggest, strongest, quietest man I've ever met looking at me like I'm the answer to a question he's been asking himself for a long, long time.
His brilliant blue gaze never leaves mine.
It's almost unnerving.
Not because it makes me uncomfortable.
Because it makes me feel seen.
Really seen.
Like he notices every little thing about me.
Every soft curve.
Every dimple.
Every freckle I've spent a lifetime trying to hide.
Every inch of me I’ve ever looked at and found lacking.
But somehow, when Micah looks at me, none of it feels like a flaw.
He makes me feel beautiful.
Not despite my body.
Because of it.
Like every part of me is exactly as it should be.
Like I'm something precious instead of something that needs fixing.
I don't think anyone has ever looked at me the way he does.
Like I'm the most beautiful woman in the room.
Maybe... in the whole damn world.
My breath catches in my throat.
He's so close.
Close enough that I can see little flecks of green hidden among the deep sapphire blue of his eyes.
Close enough that I can count the tiny scar near his eyebrow.
Close enough that I can feel the warmth rolling off his body.
Christ.
He is gorgeous.
Not polished.
Not magazine-cover handsome.
Better.
He's rugged in a way that makes my knees feel suspiciously unreliable.
A strong square jaw dusted with a beard that's maybe half an inch long.
Dark brows that frame those impossible eyes.
A straight nose that looks like it’s never been broken but probably has been, at least once.
His is the kind of face that tells a story before he ever opens his mouth.
My gaze wanders lower.
To the ink curling beneath the collar of his T-shirt.
I've noticed the tattoos before.
Along his forearms.
Across the backs of his hands.
One disappearing beneath his sleeve.
I've spent more than one shift behind the bar wondering what the rest of them looked like.
I bite my lip.
“I wonder if you have more.”
“I do.”
I blink.
“What?”
His mouth twitches.
“The tattoos.”
Oh.
Oh no.
Heat floods my cheeks.
“I... I said that out loud?”
“You did.”
He isn't laughing.
If anything...
He looks interested.
Very interested.
Like he likes seeing my helpless attraction to him.
“My chest,” he says. “My back.”
His eyes hold mine.
“My stomach.”
I swallow.
“And lower. I also have one on my left thigh.”
Lord have mercy.
“I always wanted a tattoo,” I confess, mostly because if I don't say something, I'm liable to forget how words work altogether.
“Yeah?”
His smile grows just a fraction.
“I can help you with that.”
“You can?”
“You want one?”
“Well, I've always thought about it.”
“What would you get?”
I shrug.
“I don't know.”
“Something meaningful.”
He nods slowly.
“That's usually the best kind.”
“So, you have a tattoo connection?”
A tiny huff of laughter escapes him.
“Something like that.”
He rubs the back of his neck.
“Just got some new ink in, actually.”
I stare.
“You tattoo?”
He shrugs like that's a perfectly ordinary thing to casually mention.
Good grief.
The man builds log cabins.
Runs cybersecurity for billion-dollar companies.
Raises champion seed bulls.
Can dismantle four grown men with his bare hands.
Changes air filters in old vans.
And now he tattoos too?
Is there anything this ridiculously sexy man can't do?
“I don't think so, but if you find something, I promise to work on it, Princess.”
Of course, I said all that out loud.
And it almost makes me laugh.
Instead...
Silence settles between us again.
Not awkward.
Charged.
The kind that seems to hum beneath my skin.
We're still standing wrapped in each other's space.
His hands rest lightly on my hips.
Mine are against his chest.
I can feel the steady beat of his heart beneath my palms.
Strong.
Reliable.
Real.
He's waiting for permission.
Not pushing.
Not rushing me.
Just waiting.
Like the choice is mine.
And that is so fucking sexy.
A strange sense of peace washes over me.
Those men tonight tried to take my choices away.
Micah has done the exact opposite.
Every step of the way, he's let me decide.
Whether to stay here.
Whether to trust him.
Whether to leave.
Whether to touch him.
Maybe it's my turn.
My heart pounds so hard I'm certain he can hear it.
I wet my lips.
He notices.
His gaze follows the movement.
Those beautiful blue eyes darken.
His lids drift lower.
I swear I hear the faintest rumble deep in his chest.
Not quite a growl.
Not quite a sigh.
Something in between.
Encouragement maybe.
Or hope.
I smile before I can lose my nerve.
Then I rise onto my tiptoes.
Close the last inch between us.
And I mash my mouth to his.