Chapter 8
Ally
If this is what damnation feels like, I’m in no rush to repent.
I wake up in bed, warm all the way through, wrapped in heat that isn’t just the thick duvet or the heavy log cabin air.
It’s Nate. Solid, sleeping Nate, under the sheets this time; one arm under my neck, the other across my waist, our legs tangled like we’ve been doing this for years instead of one very, very reckless night.
For a few seconds, I don’t remember where I am.
Just the comforting weight of him, the slow rise and fall of his chest against my back, and the sore, pleasant ache between my thighs.
I’d imagined Nate Woodruff was a well hung man in my illicit fantasies; my imagination fell short of reality, especially when it came to girth.
I didn’t realize that level of thickness existed…
And then I get my bearings: Montana. Mac’s cabin. Blizzard.
I lie very still, listening to his breathing, trying to decide if panicking is the appropriate reaction.
It should be. This is complicated as fuck.
But what I actually feel is… peaceful. Ruined as a regency maiden, but peaceful.
And not just because the old saying about getting over one person by getting under another seems to be true, though Josh and the whole nonsense of our shallow relationship is nothing to me anymore.
But because… this is Nate.
The boy I crushed on. The man I couldn’t brush off. The one person who makes me feel alive whenever I see him.
His hand tightens slightly on my stomach, pulling me closer in his sleep. I feel him hard against the curve of my ass and swallow the horniest sound I’ve made in many a year. “Nate,” I whisper.
He lets out a low, sleepy hum against my hair. “Mmm?”
“We have to get up at some point,” I murmur.
“No, we don’t,” he says, voice gravelly. “Civilization is gone. Cabin life now. New rules.”
A laugh bubbles up before I can stop it. “New rules, huh?”
“Yeah.” He nuzzles the back of my neck like nothing could be more natural. “Rule one: no alarms. Rule two: no pants. Rule three…”
His hand slides lower, fingers brushing the top of my thigh under the duvet, and my entire body lights up.
“Careful,” I say, even as I arch into his touch.
“Rule three,” he continues, mouth curving against my skin, “we talk about what last night was. Before we decide whether there’s a rule four.”
That sobers me.
Nate feels it; I can tell by the way he stills, giving me room to move if I want it. I roll onto my back, the duvet slipping to my ribs, our noses a breath apart on the pillow.
He studies my face. “Morning,” he says softly.
“Morning.”
His hair is a mess, falling into one eye.
His ink is on display, covering one arm and edging over his chest; idly, I wonder how they manage to conceal it so well for his half-naked thirst trap scenes on Cochise County.
There’s stubble on his face inching closer to being a full blown beard, and the rasp felt delicious on my inner thighs. My cheeks heat at the memory.
He drags in a breath. “How are you feeling?”
“Sore,” I say honestly. “In a good way.”
Something molten flickers in his eyes. “Same.”
We look at each other for a moment that feels like the pause between heartbeats.
“Nate, last night…” I start.
“I know what you’re going to say,” he says. “Gravitational anomaly. Emotional crime scene.” His eyes see straight into my soul. “But we can’t pretend it means nothing.”
“It doesn’t mean nothing,” I admit. The words taste strange and right all at once. “But we’re also snowed in, hiding from our real lives, high on cabin fever and ludicrously good whiskey. This is not exactly neutral ground.”
He nods slowly. “You’re worried that when the snow melts, this will too.”
“Aren’t you?”
Nate gives my words careful thought, his flinty eyes taking on a resigned look.
“I’m worried we’ll hurt each other if we don’t talk.
But I’m also… weirdly OK with just letting this be what it is for now.
Like I said, cabin rules. We don’t make decisions about the outside world while it’s just us and the snow. There’s no point.”
“Cabin rules,” I echo.
He smiles a little. “We can re-evaluate when we’re not living in a literal snow globe.”
“Is that your diplomatic way of saying you’re not asking for anything I can’t give?”
“Yes,” he says. “And my selfish way of saying I want this for as long as we’re stuck here, if you do.”
My pulse kicks.
He searches my face carefully. “Ally. Do you?”
Last night flashes back in high definition: his mouth on my skin, his hands steady and reverent, and the way he stopped to ask again and again if I was sure.
The way I’d looked at him afterward and thought, I am never walking this back entirely, am I?
So I should enjoy what I’ve got, while I’ve got it.
“Yes,” I hear myself say. “I do. I want this. For now.” Maybe not only for now. But like he says, there’s no need to make decisions until the storm halts and the snow thaws.
His shoulders drop, and he leans in, kissing me slowly and carefully, like he’s sealing a pact. “OK,” he whispers. “For now.”
His hand brushes my hip under the duvet, fingertips tracing the curve slowly, asking as clearly as words. I catch his wrist, not to pull it away, just to anchor myself. “Coffee first,” I say. “Then… whatever cabin rule four is.”
His grin is quick and devastating. “Deal. I’ll make it. You stay here. My ankle’s good enough for coffee duty.”
“You should be resting it.”
“I’ll limp heroically. You can ogle the effort from bed.” He kisses my forehead before dragging himself upright and padding toward the door, naked, bruised, and mouth wateringly beautiful.
I watch him go and think, not for the first time, that any chance of consigning him to the past is long gone.
***
The day folds itself around us, soft and strange.
We eat toast and eggs at the tiny kitchen table, knees bumping.
We wash dishes companionably. Later, he sits propped on the couch with his foot up on a small stool while I raid the cupboards and find an ancient pack of cards and a battered chess set, the latter of which he chooses.
“Checkmate,” I announce an hour later, smug. The Back Rank method served me well.
He stares at the board, frowning. “You absolutely cheated.”
“You absolutely underestimated me.”
He leans back, eyes narrowed, impressed. “Remind me never to play anything involving strategy and sharp objects with you.”
“Too late,” I say. “You’ve already seen me with a bow.”
A slow smile spreads over his face. “Yeah. I have.” The way he says it sends a little shiver down my spine.
The storm outside eases from white-out to steady curtain. By late afternoon, the world beyond the windows is a clean, blank sheet of white under a sky the color of pewter. The cabin feels smaller in a cozier way now; less bunker, more cocoon.
I read on the rug, feet near the fire, while he half-dozes on the couch, muttering lines from some script he’s supposed to be learning. At one point he reaches down and absentmindedly threads his fingers through my hair, like it’s normal.
“Hey,” I say after a while, twisting to see out the window. “The snow’s stopped.”
“Temporarily,” he says, eyes closed.
“Come outside with me.”
He cracks one eye. “Ally, my ankle—”
“You can lean on me,” I say. “I want to see it. Before it turns to slush. And reality.”
He studies my face, then swings his legs off the couch with a theatrical sigh. “Fine. But if I fall down the hill again, I’m suing you.”
We layer up in thermals and coats and step into a world made new. The snow is deep enough to swallow half my shin, the air impossibly crisp, every breath like biting into an apple straight from the fridge.
“Oh,” I whisper. It’s stupid, how beautiful it is. The trees are heavy with white, branches bowed. The world is quiet in that particular snow-muted way that makes you feel like you’re trespassing in another world.
“Worth it?” Nate asks, leaning on the porch rail beside me.
“Absolutely.”
We pick our way down the steps carefully, his arm heavy over my shoulders, my arm snug around his waist. We don’t go far, just to the flat patch in front of the cabin where our footprints from yesterday are already half-filled.
He looks out over the field, shivering. “OK, we’ve seen it. My toes are filing a formal complaint. Can we go back in now?”
“Coward,” I say.
“Smart man,” he counters.
I bite my lip, watching the pristine stretch of untouched snow as an utterly idiotic idea pops into my head.
“What?” he asks warily.
“Nothing.”
His eyes narrow. “Ally.”
I flick a glance at him, at the snow, back at him, and lift an eyebrow.
He follows my gaze. Then his own brows shoot up. “Absolutely not.”
“Come on,” I say, already laughing. “When will we ever get the chance again?”
“Ally, it’s below freezing.”
“Exactly. It’s stunning.”
“Hypothermia is not stunning.”
“Just for a second,” I wheedle. “One snow angel. Naked. Then we’ll sprint back in and defrost. It’ll be like… like something ridiculous we never tell anyone about. Our secret, just us.”
Nate stares at me like I’ve suggested we juggle knives. “You’re serious.”
“Deadly.”
He scrubs a hand over his face. “You are a menace.”
“Is that a yes?”
“You’re going to do it even if I say no, aren’t you?”
I lift a shoulder. “Possibly.”
Nate sighs. “Fine,” he mutters. “But ground rules.”
“You’re really going to make rules for naked snow time?”
“Fuckin’ A I am. One, we do this fast. Two, we have warm towels ready inside. Three, hot shower immediately after. Four, if I see you turning blue, experiment over.”
“Deal,” I say, grinning so hard my face hurts.
We limp back up to the porch, grab towels and drape them on the radiator just inside the door, propped open so we can tumble in fast. The air knifes at my cheeks.
“You first,” he says, folding his arms. “You’re the lunatic who suggested this.”