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“If you could bake right now, what would you make?”
“What?” Caught off guard by the question, I blink.
His big thumb traces gentle circles over my wrist. “What would Dakota McGraw, top pastry chef in the nation, bake?”
My teeth chatter. “I can’t bake.”
“Pretend you can,” he orders. His fingers push a lock of hair from my face. “Pretend you’re back in Paris. You finished your shift and now you’re texting me at some ungodly hour about the berries you found at the farmer’s market.”
I close my eyes at the rumble of his voice. Panic ebbs, and just like that, the recipe begins in my mind. The sweetest parts of a strawberry. Ephemeral and delicate batter turned to shortcake sponge. Fresh-cut mint and cream whipped to the highest peaks. A feeling of peace blooms in my chest, exhaling that broken woman I’ve become.
“Shortcake,” I say, breathless. I turn my head, meet those chocolate-brown eyes. “Shortcake with strawberries and mint.”
He grins. “Shortcake, huh? Guess we better get you in the kitchen.”
A small smile. “Guess so.”
“What else?”
“Hot cocoa.” My mind floats down from the ledge. “I’m cold.”
“We’ll get you warm.” He cups my cheek, stares down into my eyes. “Hold on to me. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
Safe.
Davis scoops me in his arms and stands. I cling to his rugged body like for once in a long time, I have a home.
Ikick open the front door to the lodge and carry Dakota up the stairs. Her head stays buried in my chest. She shivers like she’s lost in a Montana blizzard.
Fear and rage sweep over me like a rogue wave. I’m still not over the buzz of the tracker sending my heart into red-alert status. I ran. All I can see is Dakota lying on The Corner Store floor, shaking.
And I lost it.
So much for remaining emotionless.
Instead, a jagged edge of raw want carves me up inside.
I’ve kept my hands off her and now all I want to do is wrap her in my arms, keep her tucked against me forever, safe from any speck of darkness lurking in the outside world.
Guilt sideswipes me, making my stomach drop. Not even two weeks in and she’s hurt on my watch.
I can’t even fucking protect her.
This woman who means the entire world to me.
The thought has me letting out a growl.
Dakota looks up at me. “Davis?” she whispers.
I stomp into the bathroom and gently set her on the countertop. Dakota’s inky eyes still haven’t lost their glassiness. I move to the tub and turn on the shower, crank the heat as hot as it can go.
“What’re you doing?” she asks.
“Getting you warm. You’re in shock. Anxiety. Chills. You had a panic attack.”
Her eyes shutter. “A daymare.”
“A daymare.”
