As my mind clears, I take in the cabin again, discovering it’s darker than it was when we entered.
“We got a problem.” His shoulders lift with his heavy sigh.
“What is it?” I force my legs to move and drift to the window where he’s standing.
“That.”
I follow his finger to the sky. “Shit.”
Leave it to the sky to unleash while I’m arguing with Bellamy. Freezing rain spirals from the bleak gray sky, and there are already at least two inches of snow on the ground.
“What does this mean?” Bellamy presses her palms and the tip of her nose against the window like she’s waiting for Santa Claus.
“It means it’s a blizzard.”
Nostrils flaring, she looks over her shoulder at me. That flash of fire in her amber eyes tells me she’s pissed, and she makes a little shooing motion with her hands. “If you go now, you can make it home.”
A scoff rumbles low in my chest. “Great idea. Why not take a leisurely drive in a superstorm that can down power lines and strand me in my car for an extended period of time?”
The wind howls, the cabin creaking as if to illuminate my point. Last year’s storm wreaked havoc on Silverwood, turning Main Street into an icy ghost town.
I huff a laugh. “Or maybe you’d like that, Bell.”
“No. I wouldn’t like that.” She raises her chin. Exhales stoically. “So. Again. What does this mean?”
I shrug. “I guess this means we’re stuck together.”
Her calm façade cracks. She tosses her hands up. “Great. This is just fucking great.”
I study my ex-wife. Tiny and messy haired and ferocious. Like some beautiful forest creature emerging from her winter hollow to rip me a new one.
And yet. My heart misses a beat, and then another.
Still so goddamn beautiful.
Her dark chestnut hair’s longer than it was when I last saw her, wild and unbound like she can’t be bothered to brush it. Creamy white skin. Sharp collarbones. A straight nose, freckles dancing over the bridge. Her burgundy lipstick makes her amber eyes pop.
I tear a hand through my hair. Dammit. I hate the reaction my body still has to her. “Relax. It’ll be cleared up in a day or two.”
“That’s still too long.”Her mouth purses into a thin line that makes me think she’d rather shack up with the corpse of Charles Manson than be trapped here with me.
Bitterness gathers in my chest.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, breathing through a growl. “Trust me, Bluebell, I don’t want to be here anymore than you want me here.”
She glares at me. “Don’t call me that.”
Fuck. Why, three years later, is her sweet nickname still stuck on the tip of my tongue?
“Bellamy Blue,” I whispered on our wedding night. “That name was made for you, sugar.”
“I was made for you.” She rolled over, into my arms, kissed the hollow of my throat.
“Bluebell. My bluebell.”
Gripping her thighs, I made my way down her body. When I came to the heat, the heart of her, I breathed her in. Pressed my mouth against her slickness and licked and bit and teased. I was famine and she was a feast, and goddamn, I was ravenous.
Her whole body trembled. “Hank.” Her hands went to my hair and hung on. All she could say was my name. But I knew what she meant.
