Chapter 16
SLOANE
I'm wearing a path in the floorboards, back and forth across the main room, chewing my thumbnail down to nothing.
The shotgun leans against the wall near the door and every sound outside makes me jump—wind through the trees, snow sliding off the roof, the cabin settling in the cold.
I keep checking the window, searching the darkness for headlights, for movement, for anything that indicates the men in suits have found us.
When I finally hear the truck engine, my heart stops. I grab the shotgun and position myself where I can see the door, finger on the trigger, breathing too fast. Then I hear his key in the lock and relief floods through me so powerfully, my knees go weak.
"Dane!" I set down the gun and cross to him as he pushes through the door, snow-covered and scowling.
He barely looks at me before slamming the door and engaging all three locks. "What the hell were you thinking?"
"I—what?"
"The snowmobile!" he spits, anger flashing in his eyes that are dark as sin. "I saw the tracks from the barn to town and back. I told you to stay here and keep your fucking head down and stay invisible. And you decided to go joyriding into town?"
"It wasn't joyriding. I needed—"
"You needed to follow instructions." He shrugs off his jacket and throws it over a chair. "Do you have any idea what could've happened? If Cal's people were watching, if they followed you back here—"
"They were in town!" The words burst out of me, and I'm desperate to make him understand. "I saw them, Dane. Three black SUVs, men in suits…"
He stops mid-rant, turning to face me fully. "What?"
"They're in Sutter's Gap. They're here, looking for us." My voice shakes. "Wade cornered me at the diner, asked me who I really was, said I looked too much like the woman on TV. And then these SUVs rolled up and I panicked and ran. But they saw me. They had to have seen me."
The fury drains from his face, replaced by dread and sudden alertness. He moves to the window and peeks out into the darkness, one hand on his gun which I see on his hip. "How long ago?"
"Hours. Maybe six? I came straight back, locked everything." I'm wringing my hands now, unable to stop. "If they're in town, it's only a matter of time before they find this place. Before they—"
"I know." He turns from the window and sinks into the chair by the fireplace, both hands running through his hair. The gesture is so tired, so defeated, it breaks something in me.
I cross to him, kneeling beside the chair, putting my hand on his knee. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gone. I just—I couldn't stand being alone anymore, and I thought it would be safe for an hour."
"Why are you sorry?" His hands are ice when he cups my cheeks and sighs heavily. "You didn't ask for any of this and I'm the one who should be sorry. This isn't your war, and you got dragged into it."
"I'm sorry because I made it worse." The confession claws its way out before I feel tears welling up. "I called Erin that day."
"Cal always knew how to find us, Sloane.
He knew about Sutter's gap, just not how to get to my place, okay?
You can't blame yourself." Dane's hands drop from my cheeks, clenching into fists.
"But if he's in town, it means he's only days or even hours away from figuring it out.
If he didn't follow you straight back, it's only a matter of time before people in this town gossip and tell him they saw you on a snowmobile…
Then he follows the tracks…" Dane's head bobs, and I feel my gut tied up in knots of guilt and shame.
"I'm so sorry." Tears burn my eyes. "I didn't think. I just wanted coffee." The tears spill over my cheeks as I blubber on. "I'm sorry I'm not good at this and I don't know what I'm doing."
Dane pulls me up and onto his lap, and I straddle him on the chair and rest my head on his shoulder.
All the apologies in the world won't undo my mistakes.
The roads are traveled by cars all the time, no way to track an individual car.
I had no idea I was going to run into those men and that they could follow a single snow mobile tread up from town to the cabin.
I'd have gone somewhere else, or gotten home some other way…
"Hey, shh," he tells me, pushing me back and swiping some of my tears away. "I'll fix it. Okay? I'll make sure it's right."
"You can't. There were so many men, Dane. There’s just one of you."
The creases in his forehead deepen and he says, "Never underestimate the strength of a man fighting for something he wants." He pulls me down again and I press my lips to his gently. This is so unlike him.
One week ago, he'd have torn my head off.
I'm beginning to think he really is falling in love with me, and it makes me want to hide from him.
I feel like all of this is my fault. I'm the one who was digging into that dead guy's murder and snooping around.
Cal Maddox probably learned I was snooping and looked me up, and now we're in this so deep, Dane could get killed.
"Hey," he says softly, and I look him in the eye. "I'm gonna fix this."
I don't know why but when he says it like that, I believe him.
His mouth finds mine again, deeper this time, like he’s swallowing every apology I still owe him. I taste smoke on his lips and the faint bite of whiskey from the road. My hands fist in his hair, pulling him closer until the chair groans under us.
“Off,” I whisper against his mouth, tugging at his flannel. “I need to feel you.”
He doesn’t argue. Dane tugs the shirt open, shrugging it down his arms. I scrape my nails over his chest, tracing the ridges of muscle, the old scars that flex when he breathes. His skin is furnace-hot against the chill in the room.
My sweater’s gone next—he yanks it over my head, lets it fall. Cold air hits me, but then his mouth is on my collarbone, my breast, teeth scraping just enough to make me gasp. I arch up, fumbling with his belt. Metal clinks, leather slides free.
“Jeans,” I pant. “Now.”
He stands long enough to shove them down, kicking free, and I wiggle out of mine while he watches hungrily, like he’s memorizing every inch of my skin. When he lays me down on the rug, we’re bare, nothing between us but heat and the crackle of the fire.
His hand moves lower, sliding one hand between my thighs, fingers finding me slick and ready. His jaw clenches when I moan. “It's gonna be okay," he whispers. "You're too precious for me to let anyone touch you, except me."
“Oh, fuck,” I breathe against his chest, and I let my knees fall apart as he settles between them. His dick is rock hard, pressing against my core as his hips grind. My juices slick him and my core aches to feel him inside of me, to have him anchor me after the day of panic I've had.
"I need you, Dane… please," I beg, lifting my hips until his hand guides his head to my entrance.
He pushes in slowly, eyes never leaving mine, while I wrap my legs high around his waist, heels digging into his back.
“Yes,” I whisper, rocking up to meet him. “I missed you so much. God, you're never allowed to leave me again."
“Fuck, Sloane…” He drives deeper, hips rolling in that perfect rhythm that makes my toes curl.
My throat's tight, and pull his mouth to mine so he can taste the whimpers of pleasure I can’t say aloud. The rug is rough against my back, his body heavy and perfect above me, and every thrust feels like a vow neither of us knows how to break.
He drags his hips back slowly, almost all the way out, then sinks in again so deep I feel it in my spine. My breath catches, a broken sound that makes him growl low in his throat.
“Like that?” he rasps against my mouth before biting my lip.
“Harder,” I gasp, nails digging into his ass, urging him. “Don’t hold back. I want to feel you for days.”
He swears under his breath and gives me exactly what I asked for.
The rug burns my shoulders as he slams into me, and every thrust punches the air from my lungs until I’m gasping.
The fire pops beside us, sparks jumping like they’re jealous of the heat we’re making, but the fire is nothing compared to the sensations between my legs.
“Jesus, you’re tight,” he groans, dropping to his elbows so his chest drags over mine with every stroke. “Been thinking about this the whole damn drive. You under me with my dick buried inside you."
I hook one leg higher, over his back, opening myself wider. He hisses and drives deeper, the angle perfect, hitting that spot that makes my vision blur.
“Right there—Dane, don’t stop.”
“Never,” he grits out, sweat dripping from his temple onto my shoulder. “Not stopping till you come all over me.”
His hand wedges between us, thumb finding my clit, circling, and I cry out, back bowing off the floor, the pleasure so sharp it almost hurts.
“Look at me,” he demands, voice cracking with strain. “I want to see it when you fall apart.”
I force my eyes open. His face is fierce, beautiful, jaw locked like he’s fighting not to lose it first. I reach up, grip his hair, and yank his mouth to mine.
“I love you,” I breathe against his lips, those words that spill out without my permission but are one hundred percent true. “God, I love you.”
He falters for half a heartbeat, eyes flaring wide, then thrusts into me harder than before. “Say it again.”
“I love you.” It’s a sob this time, because I’m right there, teetering on the edge. “Dane—”
“Love you too, dammit. Fuck, I love you.” The confession roars out of him like it hurts, and then he’s kissing me, filthy and deep, tongue stroking mine in time with his hips.
I shatter. The orgasm hits so hard my whole body locks up; my thighs shake around him, pussy clenching in waves that drag him over with me. He buries his face in my neck, groaning my name as his hips jerk as he spills hot inside me, pulse after pulse.
We're a tangled mess of convulsions and moans. Pleasure courses through me so thoroughly, I feel like I'm one with him, and even when my body begins to quiet, the spasms finally slowing, I still feel his heartbeat inside me.
"I mean it," I whisper, pressing a kiss to his stubbled cheek.
"I'm in love with you, Dane Strouse, or whatever the fuck your real name is.
And I don't care that you're a killer or that you eat beef and potatoes…
"I hope that makes him smile, but I feel him tensing instead.
I swallow hard, because it's not the reaction I was hoping for.
He said he loves me, right? So, this should be a good conversation, but Dane pulls out and starts to roll off me when a loud bang interrupts the moment.
We both freeze.
It's a door slamming outside—close.
Dane is off the ground in an instant, grabbing his jeans and pulling them on. I scramble to do the same, heart hammering, hands shaking as I pull on my clothes. He grabs his shotgun from near the door and I follow him to the window where he peeks out.
"Stay behind me." His voice is hushed but rushed too, like being startled has made him winded. "And if I tell you to run, you run. Understand?" He jams his feet into his boots and starts buttoning his shirt.
"Understood," I tell him, finding my sneakers.
Then he moves back to the window, peering out into the darkness. I can see tension in every line of his body, the predator fully alert. Snow swirls outside, making visibility poor. But there—movement near the barn is a shape, dark against white.
"Someone's here." He chambers a round the instant he pulls his handgun from his belt. "Take the shotgun. Cover the back door."
I grab the shotgun with shaking hands and position myself where I can see the rear entrance. My pulse is racing, mouth dry with fear as I imagine every horrible thing that could be happening. Those SUVs meant business and I led them right to our fucking doorstep by using that snowmobile.
Dane stands ready by the front door, gun raised, waiting, and I wish I could see what he sees.
I'm too far away from the window, and the light of the fire makes us more visible to anyone outside than they are to us.
Dane looks over his shoulder and our eyes meet, and it sends a jolt of adrenaline to my chest.
"Stay calm," Dane murmurs. "Wait for my signal."
The knock on the door makes us both jump.