Chapter 4
FOUR
TROY
I shouldn’t like hearing her laugh this much.
That’s a problem.
Not the storm. Not the fact that she’s stranded here another night because the roads are still buried under fresh snow.
Not even the way she keeps looking around my cabin like she’s trying to solve me piece by piece.
It’s the laugh. Bright. Warm. Real.
And I can already tell that’s going to be an issue.
“You’re staring again.”
I blink and realize London is watching me over the top of her coffee mug.
Shit. “I’m not staring.”
“You absolutely are.”
She looks far too pleased about it.
I grunt and stand from the table before she can see the corner of my mouth threatening to betray me. Behind me, I hear her soft laugh again.
Yeah, that’s definitely a problem.
Snow lashes against the windows while firelight dances softly across her face. Without the bright morning light filling the cabin, everything suddenly feels smaller somehow.
Closer.
“You always believe everything people say about someone?” I ask before I can stop myself.
London hesitates. “No.”
I lean back against the kitchen counter, crossing my arms. “You did about me.”
Her cheeks flush. “That’s different.”
“How?”
“Because there are a lot of stories about you.”
“And you believed them.”
“I didn’t know you.”
Something sharp twists unexpectedly in my chest. Didn’t. Past tense.
Like she’s already reconsidering. London shifts beneath my stare.
“For the record,” she says quietly, “I don’t think you’re scary anymore.”
That should make me feel better. Instead, every muscle in my body tightens. Because she says it softly.
Like she means it.
And I realize very suddenly that this woman has no idea what she’s doing to me.
“You should,” I say roughly.
Her breath catches slightly. “But I don’t.”
We spend most of the day in solitary pursuits. She reads my copy of Pride and Prejudice, and I work on a fishing line that I’ll use after winter makes it’s last stand.
The cabin plunges into darkness so suddenly London yelps.
A smile tugs at my mouth before I can stop it. “Storm probably took the lines down.”
The fire still crackles warmly in the living room, throwing enough light across the cabin that I can see her relaxing slightly.
Still wrapped in my blanket. Still wearing one of my flannels rolled several times at the sleeves.
Hell. I should not enjoy that sight as much as I do.
“You nervous again?” I ask.
She narrows her eyes. “Maybe.”
The fire pops loudly behind us. Neither of us moves. Neither of us looks away.
Then London does the absolute worst thing she possibly could.
She steps closer. Just one step.
“You keep taking care of me,” she says softly. “Even when you pretend you don’t want to.”
The air around us burns hotter than the fire blazing. I should walk away. Instead, I reach for her.
Slowly enough to give her time to stop me. She doesn’t.
My hand settles against her jaw, thumb brushing softly across her cheek.
Mine.
No. Not mine. London’s lashes flutter slightly as I lean down.
“You should stop looking at me like that,” I murmur.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re trying to figure me out.”
A tiny smile ghosts across her mouth. “I am.”
That smile destroys whatever restraint I have left.
I kiss her. And the second our mouths meet, I know I’m screwed.
She makes the softest little sound against my lips before grabbing the front of my henley with both hands.
Fuck me. I deepen the kiss instinctively, sliding one arm around her waist and pulling her flush against me.
London kisses like she talks—soft at first, then all at once.
The taste of coffee and maple lingers on her lips while the fire crackles behind us and snow pounds against the cabin windows.
And none of it compares to the feeling of her in my arms. Not even close.