Chapter 3 Roarke
ROARKE
She talked with her hands.
I’d noticed it back at the trailer when she’d been panicking about her friend.
But now, watching her animatedly describe her paralegal classes while we finished our burgers, I found it impossible to look away.
Her fingers traced the air as she spoke, punctuating every thought, sketching invisible diagrams to match her words.
“So then the professor says, ‘Ms. Brennan, perhaps you’d like to brief the case,’ and I’m sitting there thinking, I didn’t even read the case because I was up all night helping Peyton study, and—” She stopped short, fork hovering. “I’m doing it again, aren’t I? Talking too much.”
“No.”
She squinted at me. “You’re just being polite.”
“I’m never polite.”
That pulled a laugh out of her—bright and warm. I felt it land somewhere deep in my chest.
“You spent all day rescuing dogs,” she said. “You helped me track down my roommate. And you’re buying me dinner.”
“You don’t know that. I might make you pay for your own.”
“Will you?”
“No.”
She pointed her fork at me. “See? Polite.”
I took a long drink of my beer instead of answering. She wasn’t wrong. I’d gone out of my way for her—more than I had for anyone in years.
The reason was obvious. I just wasn’t ready to say it.
“So,” she said, swiveling on her barstool so she faced me fully. “What about you? What’s your story? And don’t say ‘mountains’ and ‘cabin.’ I want details.”
“There aren’t many.”
“I don’t believe that.” She rested her chin in her palm, studying me with unsettling focus. “You just don’t like telling it.”
She was too perceptive. I wasn’t sure whether that made me uneasy—or drawn in.
“I make furniture,” I said at last. “Custom work. Tables. Bed frames. Chairs. I sell through a shop in Asheville.”
Her face lit up like I’d flipped a switch. “You’re a woodworker?”
“Yes.”
“That’s incredible. You create things with your hands, live alone in a cabin in the mountains—” She shook her head slowly. “That’s straight out of a novel.”
“It’s just my life.”
“It’s a romantic life. Very brooding-craftsman energy.”
I didn’t respond. Josie didn’t seem bothered by my silence. She just smiled and took another bite.
“How’d you get into it?”
The truth wasn’t simple. It involved foster care and a shop teacher who’d taught me how to build things that didn’t walk away.
“Learned young,” I said. “Kept at it.”
“Do you love it?”
The question caught me off guard. “Yeah. I do.”
Her gaze softened. “That’s rare.”
“What about you? Law school your passion?”
She made a face. “I like it. I’m good at the research. It’s stable. But I think what I actually love is helping people. This is just the path that gets me there.”
“Makes sense.”
“Does it?” She tipped her head. “Sometimes I feel like everyone else knows exactly where they’re going, and I’m just…trying not to screw it up.”
“You’re young.”
“Twenty-three,” she said. “But still.”
“How do you know I wasn’t guessing?”
“You didn’t hesitate.”
I shrugged. She kept studying me but let it drop.
“Here’s to being twenty-three and figuring it out.” She raised her glass.
Elsa drifted by, giving me one of her looks. I ignored it.
“So what now?” I asked. “You staying in town?”
Josie checked her phone. “Peyton says I can stay at Warrick’s. Apparently he has about a million guest rooms.” She hesitated. “It’s weird, though. Staying with someone I don’t know.”
“Warrick’s solid. You’d be safe.”
“I don’t know him.”
“You didn’t know me this morning either.”
The words settled between us.
“That’s different,” she said quietly.
“Why?”
She took a breath. “I don’t know. It just is.”
I should have stopped there. Instead, I said, “I’ve got a spare room.”
She stared. “Your cabin?”
“Two bedrooms,” I said evenly. “No expectations. Just an option.”
She went quiet. Too quiet.
“Okay,” she said at last.
“Okay?”
“Yes.” A small smile tugged at her mouth. “You seem…honest. And statistically, a serial killer would’ve murdered me hours ago.”
“Sound reasoning.”
“I thought so.”
She followed me in her SUV, the shine of the headlights behind me giving me comfort. When we got to my cabin, we walked up the sidewalk quietly, but I watched her take it all in—the porch, the trees, the quiet—and saw the place through someone else’s eyes for the first time in twelve years.
“This is beautiful,” she said softly.
“It’s functional.”
“It’s yours.” She turned slowly. “You built it?”
“Most of it.”
She looked at me like I’d revealed something important. “You’re kind of incredible.”
I didn’t know what to say.
Inside, she lingered over the furniture, pausing at the rocking chair. “Did you make this?”
“Yes.”
“It’s…intimate,” she said. “Like it embraces whoever sits in it.”
That comment went straight through me.
“I should let you sleep,” I said.
“I’m not tired.”
“You should be.”
She stepped closer.
“Josie.”
“I know,” she said quickly. “You’re going to say this is too much. Too fast.”
“That’s exactly what I should say.”
“But not what you want.”
She was right.
“I don’t know you,” I said.
“I know enough.” She lifted her chin. “And I need to tell you something.” She inhaled. “I’ve never been with anyone.”
It took a second for it to register. “Never?”
“No.” She braced herself. “I’m not embarrassed. Just honest.”
I stepped closer, lifting her face gently in my hands. “It’s not a flaw,” I said. “It’s trust.”
She searched my face. “Then what happens now?”
“Not tonight,” I said quietly. “Not like that.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“Because when it happens, it won’t be rushed. And it won’t be careless.”
“But what if I want it to be tonight?”
In answer, I lowered my mouth to hers.
The kiss started soft. Gentle. A question more than a demand. But when she melted against me, her hands fisting in the front of my shirt, something broke loose in my chest.
I deepened the kiss, my tongue sliding against hers. She made a sound—a whimper, a moan—and I swallowed it down, greedy for more. My hands moved from her face to her waist, pulling her closer until her body was pressed fully against mine.
She had to feel how hard I was. There was no hiding it, not with her hips flush against mine. But she didn’t pull away. If anything, she pressed closer, rising on her toes to get more of me.
“Roarke.” My name on her lips was the sweetest sound I’d ever heard. “Please.”
“Please what?”
“I don’t know.” She was breathless, her eyes dark with want. “I just—I need—”
I knew what she needed. And I was going to give it to her.
I walked her backward until her shoulders hit the wall, then pinned her there with my body. She gasped, her head falling back, and I took the opportunity to drag my lips down her throat.
“I’m going to touch you,” I said against her skin. “Just touch. Nothing more. Is that okay?”
“Yes.” The word came out strangled. “God, yes.”
My hand slid under her sweater, finding warm, soft skin. She shivered as my fingers traced up her ribcage, higher and higher until I reached the curve of her breast.
“Still okay?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I palmed her through her bra, feeling her nipple harden against my hand. She arched into my touch, a moan escaping her lips that went straight to my cock.
This woman was going to be the death of me. And I was going to enjoy every second of it.