Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Holt
Idon’t remember deciding to take her back to my bed.
I just know that after what we shared, there was no universe where I was going to let Tessa sleep anywhere but wrapped up in my arms.
Carrying her down the hall to my bed feels like the most natural thing in the world.
That’s the problem with Tessa; every single thing with her feels natural. It feels real.
By the time I lay her down in my huge bed, the urgency from earlier has burned itself out, but the pull she holds over me has only grown stronger.
The moment I slide under the sheets next to her, she curls into me without hesitation. Her head on my chest, an arm draped over me, like she’s done it a million times before.
For the first time in I don’t know how long, with Tessa’s warm body in my arms, I sleep.
Really sleep.
I don’t wake a dozen times in a cold sweat, with the nightmares of my past that have plagued me for almost twenty years.
I’m settled. Content.
That alone should scare the hell out of me.
When I wake before dawn, the rain has stopped, and the cabin is wrapped in that deep quiet that only comes after a storm. Tessa’s still lying on me, right where she fell asleep. Not wanting to wake her, I gently brush the hair off her cheek, letting my fingers linger a little.
Her hand is spread out over my chest, holding me in place.
She looks peaceful, innocent, and… like she’ll be the ruin of me.
Yet, it feels right. She feels right.
Even though there’s nothing about this situation that could possibly be right, for another brief moment, I let myself believe it might be.
I’ve shared beds before. She’s not the first woman I’ve spent the night with. But she sure as hell is the first where it felt like this.
This wasn’t about release or distraction. This was so much more.
And that’s the part I can’t ignore.
I brush my thumb over her bare shoulder, careful not to wake her. Instinctively, she shifts closer, a contented groan slipping from her lips. There’s no hesitation or uncertainty in her movements.
Just trust.
That sits heavy with me because whatever I want to call last night, it wasn’t casual. And that’s a problem. A big one.
And that’s why I slip out from under her before she wakes.
Not because I regret what happened.
How could I?
But because if I stay, if I let her wake up and look at me like she belongs there, with me…
I’m not sure I’ll leave at all.
And the reality of our situation hasn’t changed. She’s still my best friend’s daughter. I’m still a grumpy, damaged mountain man who has no business corrupting an innocent young woman. This still can’t happen.
I pull on my clothes quietly and step out into the cool morning air. The world feels fresh and clean, like all our sins were washed away with the storm.
I head to the workshop with a knot in my chest that has less to do with guilt for the lines I crossed and a whole lot more with how badly I want to turn around and go right back into that bed with her, because I’ve never felt more whole than I did waking up with her in my arms.
And how dangerous that makes her.
Tessa
I wake slowly, my body heavy and loose in a way that’s unfamiliar but not at all unpleasant.
For a few seconds, I don’t move. I just lie there, letting my eyes adjust to the morning light and staring up at the wood-beamed ceiling of the cabin, cataloguing the unfamiliar sensations in my body.
The dull, pleasant soreness between my legs. The deep warmth curled low in my belly. The way every single part of me feels boneless and the deep contentment inside me, like I’d just slept better than I had in years.
Maybe ever.
Because I had.
Sleeping next to Holt, with his arms holding me tight, my head on his hard chest, the warmth of him curling around me, made me feel safe and protected in a way I didn’t realize I’d been missing.
I roll to my side and instinctively reach for him.
My hand meets cold sheets.
For the first time, the morning-after blissful cloud I’ve been floating in dissipates, and my eyes open wide to confirm what I already know.
He’s not there. The bed is empty. The space beside me feels too big, too quiet.
I should probably feel some sort of way about the fact that he left before I woke up, but I don’t panic. I’m not embarrassed or ashamed of what we did the night before.
It was so good. So perfect. So… everything.
And I know he felt it, too.
Holt isn’t here with me now, but I know in my heart he’d been there all night after carrying me into his bed, where he’d wrapped me up tight against him as if I were the most precious thing he’d ever held in his arms.
My chest tightens in a way that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with exactly how right it felt to sleep next to him.
I sit up slowly, tugging the sheet around me, my body still humming. Everything feels different this morning, like something inside me has finally shifted and settled into place.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and pad into the shower, letting the water run hot before I step under the stream. I take my time, letting the warm water wake me fully, easing the last bit of tension out of my muscles before I wrap myself in a fluffy towel and twist the taps shut.
As I dress, my thoughts keep circling back to him. The way he owned my body so completely. The pleasure he’d pulled from me so easily. The way he’d held me so tenderly afterward. As if I meant something. As if I were important.
I twist my long, wet hair into a braid that falls down my back and find a fresh pair of leggings to tug on.
But instead of reaching for my own sweater, I pull one of Holt’s button-down flannel shirts from the closet and slide it over my head.
It’s way too big, falling to mid-thigh. More like a dress than a shirt, but without him there to wrap his arms around me himself, it’s the next best thing.
In the kitchen, I find the coffee grinder and set about making a fresh pot. Soon, the smell of the brew fills the air, but the cabin still feels empty.
I half-expected that Holt would appear with some fresh logs for the fire, but when the coffee’s ready and he’s still not there, I know there’s only one other place he could be.
I pour two mugs, wrapping my hands around the warmth, and head for the door. The rain stopped overnight, leaving the forest clean and fresh. A low layer of fog lingers in the treetops, making everything feel mystical and romantic.
My heart beats a little faster as I head toward the workshop. Not because of nerves, but out of anticipation.
Whatever Holt thinks he’s doing by trying to put distance between us, I already know one thing for sure.
I’m not walking away from this.
At least not yet. Not like this.
And neither is he.
Holt
The wood is solid and unyielding under my hands as I run it methodically through the blade of the table saw.
The fresh scent of pine and sawdust fills the air.
Wood is easy. It’s solid. Familiar and predictable.
Measure, cut, sand. Repeat.
I know the motions to turn a stack of lumber into something functional. Beautiful, even.
What I didn’t know was what to do with the feelings that were currently messing with my head, making it impossible to concentrate on what I was doing.
Right on cue, the wood slips; the blade catches it and yanks it from my hand, sending it flying dangerously off the side of the saw.
“Fuck.”
I flip the switch on the machine, powering it off before I actually hurt myself. I’m not focused enough to operate power tools.
How could I be?
All I can think of is the woman I left in my bed. The soft curves of her body. The heat of her kiss. How she felt in my arms this morning. The way her sweet pussy felt clamped down on my dick. Like that’s exactly what she was made for.
To be mine.
It’s a dangerous thought.
Because if I let myself follow that train of thought, I might actually start believing it.
Because nothing has changed. Not since last night. Not since this morning.
She’s still my best friend’s daughter. She’s still too young for me. I’m still the same damaged bastard I’ve always been. She’s still too good for me.
The door creaks open behind me.
My back goes rigid. I don’t turn right away.
Soft footsteps and the scent of coffee reach me moments before her sweet voice. “You’re up early.”
Her voice does something dangerous to my gut.
I finally turn.
She’s standing just inside the door, her hair in a long braid down her back, one of my shirts slipping off her shoulder, revealing just enough skin to make my cock twitch to life. The shirt’s almost big enough on her to be a dress, but she’s wearing leggings that cover those sexy, long legs anyway.
It’s probably for the best. I couldn’t be held responsible for my actions if she were that bare to me.
She’s holding two mugs of steaming coffee in her hands. She holds one out to me. “I thought you might be ready for a break.”
I step forward to take it, careful not to brush her fingers because I know the slightest touch of her skin will be my undoing. “Thanks.”
There’s a beat of silence, and then she smiles. “Of course.”
Damn. She’s beautiful.
And I’m going to hell because all I can think of is the way she looked the night before, with her face twisted up in sweet ecstasy while I fucked her.
I force myself to step back. “This can’t happen again, Tessa,” I say slowly before I can stop myself.
Her smile doesn’t waver. “Yes, it can.”
My jaw tightens. I shake my head. “No. It’s not right.”
She laughs, the sound sending a shot straight to my balls.
“It felt pretty right to me, Holt.”
She leans back against the workbench and looks at me over the rim of her mug. Her eyes are bright, curious, and have an all-too-pleased-with-herself look on her face.
“I’m serious, Tessa.”
“I know.”
She takes a sip of her coffee, her eyes never leaving mine.
“You’re my best friend’s daughter.”
“I know that, too.”
“You’re young enough to be my—”
“I don’t see how any of this matters.” She tilts her head, studying me. “Because none of it seemed to matter last night.”
I blow out a breath. “That was different.”
Her eyebrows lift. “How’s that?”
Because I wasn’t thinking of the consequences.
I wasn’t thinking of how I could ruin her.
How she could ruin me.
Hell, I wasn’t thinking of anything except how good she felt in my arms. How soft her lips were against mine. How sweet the sound of her coming undone was.
But I don’t say any of that.
“You shouldn’t want this,” I say instead, with a shake of my head.
“Don’t tell me what I want.” She leaves her coffee on the workbench and steps toward me.
“I’m trying to protect you, Tessa.” I square my shoulders, determined to be strong.
“From what?” she asks. “You?”
“Yes,” I say without hesitation.
She smiles then and wiggles her brows. “That’s funny,” she says with the trace of a laugh. “Because I don’t think I’ve ever felt safer.”
“You don’t know me.” I grit my teeth. “I’m not good for you.
I’m broken, Tessa.” Even as I say the words, I realize that for the first time in longer than I can remember, I don’t feel broken.
Maybe it was the solid night’s sleep with her at my side.
Maybe it’s her calming presence. Maybe it’s just her.
She reaches out and runs a hand achingly slowly down my chest. “You feel pretty solid to me.”
I catch her wrist in my free hand. “I’m not playing, Tessa.”
Her eyes narrow. “What makes you think I am, Holt?”
The question stops me, but before I can answer, she continues. “You seem to have the idea that I’m a little girl playing games,” she says with a glint in her eye. “But please, let me assure you,” she drags one finger down my chest. “I’m most definitely not a child.”
Fuck. Do I know it.
“I am very much a woman,” she continues, her fingers dancing on my belt buckle. “And I know exactly what I want.”
I swallow hard. “And what is it you want, Tessa?”
Her gaze drops, just for a second, and then back up. “You.” Her answer is simple, but it hits hard.
I should walk away. Right now, before this gets even more complicated than it already is.
But she sees it on my face. The hesitation. The control I’m clinging to as if it’s the only thing keeping me upright.
“You held back,” she says quietly.
I stiffen. “I—”
“You did,” she cuts in confidently. “I felt it. You were too careful. Too controlled.” She shakes her head. “Like you were protecting me from something.”
“I told you,” I tell her, “I’m not who—”
“No,” she stops me. “You were protecting yourself.”
I go still.
“You keep telling me it’s a bad idea, and you’re trying to protect me,” she continues, pressing up against me. “As if I’m some little girl who needs to be saved from the big bad broken wolf.” Her lips flicker into a sly smile, but she’s not finished. “But you don’t get to decide that for me.”
“I’m trying to keep you from getting hurt,” I snap, but even as I say it, I can’t be sure any longer who I’m protecting.
“Let me make that choice,” she says. “But only after I get the real you. All of you.” She waves a hand. “Not this restrained, careful, holding-back version.” Her voice drops. “The real you.”
My pulse kicks hard.
“You’re going to try to tell me again that it’s a mistake,” she goes on. “Fine. But you don’t get to say that again until I know exactly who you are and what I’m saying yes or no to.”
I stare at her, my chest tight, my control hanging on by the slightest of threads.
More than anything, I want her again. I want to show her the real me. For better or worse.
“After that, I get to decide.” She’s so close, I can feel the heat of her words on my lips.
There’s no fear in her voice. No doubt in her eyes.
And that’s what undoes me, because she’s right. I have been holding back. If it’s the real me, the full, unrestrained version of me that she wants, then that’s what she’ll get.
I stop thinking and reach for her, curling my hand around the back of her head, dragging her to me so I can take her mouth.
She wants the truth?
She has no idea what she just asked for.