Chapter 16
COLE
I’m halfway across the ranch yard when I realize I’ve been checking my watch every two damn minutes, like some idiot waiting on a dentist appointment instead of the woman who’s been living rent-free in my mind for weeks.
It’s just paperwork.
That’s what I tell myself as I climb the front porch steps to the cabin turned administrative office for the duration of this project, papers tucked under my arm, boots tracking dust behind me.
I need Ella’s signature on a few purchase orders—gravel supply approvals, updated labor estimates, and the authorization for the foundation team scheduled tomorrow at dawn.
Simple, normal shit. Nothing complicated.
Nothing that should make my chest tighten the way it does when I reach for her door.
But it’s Ella. Which means nothing is ever simple.
I knock once. No answer.
I try again, harder. Still nothing.
I frown, glance through the side window, and see the glow of a lamp spilling across the floor. She’s here. She has to be. She always is. Morning, night, and every stolen second in between, she pours herself into this ranch the way she pours herself into taking care of everyone else.
I hesitate only a moment before pushing the door open. “Ella? I just need you for a sec…”
The words die in my throat the second I step inside.
She’s on the couch, curled tightly on her side, a throw blanket twisted around her legs like she fought it off in her sleep. Her chest rises and falls too fast—shallow, uneven. One of her hands is clenching the cushion so hard her knuckles are white.
My stomach drops. She’s not sleeping. She’s trapped. The kind I know too damn well.
“Ella!”
She flinches at her own name, body jerking like someone just struck her. She makes a sound—broken, soft, terrified—and I’m across the room before I realize I’ve even moved.
I kneel at the edge of the couch and touch her shoulder as gently as I can. “Ella, sweetheart… wake up.”
She gasps so sharply it slices clean through me, and suddenly she’s clawing up from the nightmare so violently she nearly falls off the couch. I catch her before she hits the floor, arms wrapping around her, pulling her into my chest.
“It’s okay. I’m here. You’re safe.”
Her breath shudders, and for a moment she doesn’t know where she is—eyes unfocused, wide, shimmering with tears she’s trying to blink back even while trembling in my arms.
And then she realizes it’s me. Her fingers fist in the front of my shirt, gripping like she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she loosens even an inch.
“Cole.”
It’s a whisper, but it tears something open in me. “I’m sorry—I’m so sorry.”
“Shhh, it’s okay. I’m here.”
Her grip on my shirt tightens. “Don’t let go.”
My throat constricts. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She’s shaking. Not delicate trembles or soft shivers, but full-body, bone-deep tremors that tell me this nightmare wasn’t a fleeting shadow—it was one of the real ones, the kind that sticks its claws in your ribs and doesn’t let go even after you’re awake.
“Come here,” I murmur, pulling her fully into my lap, letting her bury her face in my neck. “Breathe with me. Slow and deep.”
She tries. Her breath catches. She tries again.
I hold her tighter, the way I used to hold Aria when she was little and woke up crying from night terrors. Except this is different. This is Ella. And every inch of me is wired to protect her, soothe her, pull every nightmare out of her head and scatter them across the goddamn wind.
“I didn’t want you or anyone to see me like this,” she whispers against my throat, voice raw. “I hate this. I hate that I can’t stop it.”
“You don’t have to stop it,” I tell her quietly. “You just have to let yourself breathe.”
She shudders again, tears wetting my shirt, her fingers curling tighter into me like she’s trying to anchor herself in the real world.
I stroke her back until her breathing evens out. But her body stays molded to mine—soft, warm, and trembling—her thighs over mine, her chest pressed against me, her lips so close to my pulse I can feel every shaky exhale.
“Cole,” she mumbles eventually, voice thin and scraped hollow. “I hate being scared.”
I close my eyes. “Yeah,” I whisper. “I know the feeling.”
Her head lifts from my shoulder slowly, her charcoal-grey eyes locking with mine, still wet, still glowing in this heartbreaking, vulnerable way that makes something primal and protective rise up inside me.
“You make it stop,” she says. “I don’t know why. I don’t know how. But when you’re here, I can breathe again.”
I swallow hard. “Shiloh… Do you want to talk about it?”
She shakes her head. “Not really.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Help me forget.”
My eyes widen for a second. “What?”
“Please,” she whispers, and that one word hits me straight in the chest. “Please… help me forget.”
She lifts her hand to my face, and her thumb brushes the corner of my mouth. It’s a soft touch, barely there, but my body reacts like she just grabbed me by the spine.
“I need you,” she breathes.
Ah, fuck.
This is the line I said we wouldn’t cross again. The boundary I told her we needed. The distance I’ve been trying like hell to maintain so I don’t ruin everything.
But she’s looking at me like I’m the only solid thing in a room full of ghosts, her fingers in my hair, her breath quivering against my lips.
She leans in first. The kiss is barely a brush, more of a question than a claim. I should pull back, remind her of every promise I made, every inch of restraint I’ve been clinging to like a lifeline. But then she whispers against my mouth, broken and honest—
“Please, Cole. I don’t want to feel alone right now.”
And I snap.
My hand slides to the back of her neck, guiding her mouth back to mine, the kiss turning deep and hungry in a single heartbeat. She tastes like tears, want, and something so sweet it aches.
She gasps into my mouth like she’s been starving for this moment, and then her fingers slide into my hair, tugging me closer, pulling me deeper.
“Jesus, sweetheart,” I breathe against her lips. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
“Yes,” she whispers. “I do.”
And then she climbs fully into my lap, swinging one leg over me, straddling me with an ease that destroys every boundary I tried to build. Her soft curves press into me, and my self-control fractures clean down the middle.
“Shiloh…” My voice is gravel. “We shouldn’t.”
She shakes her head, cupping my face. “I want you. Please.”
Her plea is a low, nervous thing, and it undoes me more thoroughly than anything else ever could.
I kiss her again, slow at first, trying to keep some part of me grounded, but she responds with a needy, desperate softness that turns the kiss into something deeper, hotter, wilder. Her hips shift over mine, and the sound she makes—quiet, breathy, involuntary—rips straight through me.
My hands find her waist, sliding beneath her shirt, fingertips brushing her soft skin. She shivers, arching slightly, chest pushing into me.
“Cole…” she breathes, voice breaking on my name.
That shatter is my undoing.
I lift her in my arms without thinking, her legs wrapping around my waist, fingers gripping my shoulders, mouth on mine as I carry her back toward the bedroom at the far end of the office.
The door swings shut behind us.
I set her down on the nightstand, not gently, but not harshly either—just enough to make her breath hitch with a sound that goes straight to my blood.
Her thighs part under my hands without hesitation, like her body is already reaching for me. I step between them, pressing my hips to hers, and her head tips back with a low, shaky exhale that punches through my last scrap of restraint.
“You sure about this?” I murmur, breath hot against her neck.
She nods, her fingers already tugging at the buttons of my shirt. “I’m sure. I want you. I want this.”
She looks at me with this raw, fearless honesty that makes me feel like I’m falling. Like I’ve been falling for years and only now understand it.
I capture her mouth again as I peel her shirt up and over her head, revealing warm skin, soft curves, and the swell of her breasts lifting with every trembling breath. I drag my hands down her sides, slow enough to feel the shiver roll through her.
“You’re so damn beautiful,” I murmur into her skin, kissing down the slope of her shoulder, and she makes a sound—soft, disbelieving, almost relieved.
“Cole…”
I unhook her bra, letting the straps fall down her arms. When the cups loosen, she instinctively crosses her arms to cover herself, but I catch her wrists gently and shake my head.
“No,” I whisper. “Don’t hide from me.”
Her eyes soften, and she lowers her arms.
And god, she’s perfect.
Soft, full curves that beg to be touched. I cup her breasts, feeling her breath stutter, nipples tightening under my thumbs. She gasps, gripping the edge of the nightstand, hips shifting involuntarily.
“You like that?” I ask.
“Y-yes.”
I do it again, slower this time, and she moans—quiet but sharp, like she’s been holding that sound inside for years.
I drop to my knees between her thighs.
She freezes. “Cole—“
“Shiloh,” I quiet her, kissing the inside of her knee. “Let me take care of you.”
Her breath falters, but she relaxes her legs.
I slide her panties down her legs, slow enough to feel her shiver with every inch of exposed skin. She’s warm, soft, and wet in a way that makes my own restraint feel like it’s burning out of my body.
“Lean back.”
She does.
The moment my mouth touches her, she gasps my name like it’s the only word she remembers.
I take my time with her. Long strokes of my tongue, gentle pressure where she needs it, teasing until her hips start lifting off the nightstand, begging without words.
She grasps my hair, tugging, guiding, her thighs tightening around my shoulders, and every sound she makes fuels something wild and possessive in me.
When she finally breaks apart, she falls forward into my arms, burying her face in my neck, breath stuttering like she’s still half in the dream and half in my hands.
I lift her again and shift her onto the bed, laying her down carefully before unbuckling my belt, her eyes watching every movement with raw need.
“Cole,” she whispers, reaching for me. “I want you. Now.”
I slide onto the bed with her, covering her body with mine, kissing her slow and deep. When I push into her, she gasps against my mouth, her nails digging into my back, legs wrapping around my waist.
“Jesus, Shiloh,” I groan, the feel of her overwhelming—tight, warm, and everything I’ve been trying not to crave.
She bites her lip, breath shaking. “Don’t stop.”
I couldn’t if I tried.
We move together in rhythm, slow at first, until her hands fly to my shoulders, urging me harder, deeper, faster. She cries my name against my throat, back arching, body rocking beneath mine, and every whisper, gasp, and broken sound shatters something inside me I didn’t even know was still intact.
When she comes again, harder this time, she drags me with her, her thighs tightening, breath tangled with mine.
We collapse into each other, the aftershocks rolling through her as I hold her close, arms wrapped around her like she might slip away if I loosen even a fraction.
Her head rests on my chest, breath soft and warm against my skin. Neither of us speaks for a long moment.
Eventually, she whispers, fragile and honest, “Thank you… for staying.”
I kiss the top of her head, holding her closer. “I’m not going anywhere,” I say quietly.
She exhales, a soft, shaken sound that feels like trust, and for the first time in a long damn while, something inside me settles.
Like maybe this is where I was always meant to land. With her, in the dark. Holding her nightmares back with my bare hands.
So much for the rules that were supposed to keep us apart and professional.