Chapter 4
Rhett
The cabin's gone quiet except for the storm and the low hum of the fire. I should be asleep. Should have closed my eyes hours ago and let the exhaustion drag me under.
But I can hear her breathing.
She's in my bed, twenty feet away, and I can hear every soft inhale, every shift of fabric against skin. The lamp's burned down to nothing, leaving just the fire's glow, painting everything in shades of amber and shadow.
I tell myself to stay put. To keep my distance. To remember all the reasons this is a bad idea. She's leaving in the morning, she's got a whole life down in the town, I'm not built for whatever it is she seems to want from me…
But then I hear her whisper, so soft I almost miss it. "Rhett?"
"Yeah?"
"I can't sleep."
"Fire keeping you awake?"
"No." A pause, heavy with meaning. "You are."
The air shifts, thickens. I sit up, heart hammering against my ribs like it's trying to escape. "Rosemary—"
"I keep thinking about earlier. When you touched my wrist." Her voice is small in the darkness, but steady. Sure. "I keep thinking about what might've happened if the lights hadn't gone out."
I should shut this down. Should tell her it's just the storm, the isolation, the strange intimacy of being trapped together. But instead I stand, moving toward the bed before I can talk myself out of it.
"What do you think would've happened?" I ask, stopping at the foot of the bed.
She sits up, and in the firelight I can see the outline of her—dark hair wild around her shoulders, eyes bright and fearless. "I think you would've kissed me."
"Yeah," I admit, because there's no point lying. "I would've."
"So why didn't you?"
"Because you deserve better than some mountain hermit who forgot how to do this years ago."
She shifts, moving to the edge of the bed, feet touching the floor. "What if I don't want better? What if I want you?"
The words hit me right in the chest, stealing my breath. "You don't know what you're saying."
"I do." She stands, closing the distance between us until I can feel the heat of her, until that cinnamon scent wraps around me like a spell. "I know exactly what I'm saying, Rhett Walker. I want you. I've wanted you since you scowled at me in the snow."
My hands find her waist before I can stop them, and the small gasp she makes goes straight through me. "This is a bad idea."
"Probably." Her fingers trace up my arms, over my shoulders, into my hair. "But I've had enough good ideas to last a lifetime. They all ended badly anyway."
"Rosemary—"
"Stop thinking," she whispers against my jaw. "Stop hiding. Just... be here. With me."
When I kiss her, it's nothing like I planned. Not gentle, not testing. It's hunger and need and months of loneliness crashing together all at once. She melts into me, making small sounds that drive me absolutely crazy, her hands fisting in my shirt like she's afraid I'll disappear.
I walk her backward until her legs hit the bed. She sits, pulling me down with her, and suddenly we're tangled together—her soft curves against my hard angles, her warmth seeping into places that have been cold for too long.
"Tell me to stop," I murmur against her mouth, even as my hands slide beneath her sweater, finding bare skin. "Tell me this isn't what you want."
"Don't you dare stop." She's already tugging at my flannel, fumbling with buttons. "Don't you dare."
We shed clothes in a rush. Her sweater, my shirt, jeans that tangle around ankles before being kicked away. Every new inch of skin revealed is a revelation, and I can't help mapping it with my hands, my mouth, memorizing the taste of her.
She's beautiful in the firelight, all curves and soft skin and dark eyes that watch me intently. When I settle between her thighs, she wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me closer, and I have to close my eyes against the sensation of finally, finally being exactly where I'm supposed to be.
"Rhett," she breathes, and it's prayer and plea and permission all at once.
I take my time, despite the urgency thrumming through my veins. Kissing down her neck, learning what makes her gasp and arch. Her hands are everywhere—my shoulders, my back, lower—driving me toward the edge of control.
When I finally slide into her, we both freeze, breath caught, the moment stretching into something almost holy. She fits around me like she was made for this, like we were made for this, and the thought should terrify me but instead it feels like coming home.
"Okay?" I manage, voice strained.
"More than okay." She rocks her hips, and the last thread of my restraint snaps.
We find a rhythm that's both fierce and tender, bodies moving together like we've done this a thousand times before. The firelight flickers across her skin, and I can't stop watching her—the way she bites her lip, the way her eyes flutter closed, the way she says my name.
Her hands grip my shoulders, nails digging in, and I feel the tension building in her, in me, in the very air around us. The storm howls outside, but in here there's only heat and breath and the sound of skin against skin.
"Look at me," I rasp, and when her eyes open—dark and dazed and full of wonder—something in my chest cracks wide open.
Her release hits first, and I feel it everywhere…
in the way she tightens around me, in the cry she muffles against my shoulder, in the tremors that run through her entire body.
It pulls me over the edge with her, and I bury my face in her neck, breathing her in as the world narrows to just this.
Her warmth, her softness, her acceptance of all my rough edges.
After, when our breathing slows and the sweat cools on our skin, I try to move, to give her space. But she holds me tighter, legs still locked around me.
"Stay," she whispers. "Please."
So, I do.
I roll to my side, pulling her with me, keeping her close. Her head fits perfectly in the hollow of my shoulder. Her hand rests over my heart, and I wonder if she can feel how hard it's beating, how fundamentally she's changed its rhythm.
"Guess we found a way to stay warm," she says, voice thick with sleep and satisfaction.
I press a kiss to her temple. "Yeah. And I'm not letting you go cold again."
She smiles against my skin. "Promise?"
"Promise."
The fire burns low, the storm rages on, but neither of us notices. We're already drifting, wrapped in each other and the quiet certainty that something's shifted.
Something neither of us can take back, even if we wanted to.