Her rhythm becomes erratic, her breathing harsh. I can feel her getting closer, can see it in the flush spreading across her chest, the way her eyes lose focus.
"Beau, I'm—oh God, I'm—"
She comes apart beneath me, crying out, her body clenching around me in waves. The sensation pushes me over the edge. I thrust deep once, twice more, and then I'm coming too, groaning her name, pleasure rolling through me in waves so intense I see stars.
We collapse together, breathing hard, skin slicked with sweat despite the cold outside. I roll to the side, pulling her with me, keeping her close.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks. Just the sound of our breathing, the crackle of the fire from the other room, the whisper of snow against the window.
"Wow," she finally says, voice soft and satisfied.
I huff a laugh against her hair. "Yeah."
She tilts her head back to look at me, eyes bright, smile tender. "So... that happened."
"No regrets?" I ask, needing to know.
"Not even one." She presses a kiss to my jaw. "You?"
"Best Christmas gift I've ever gotten."
She laughs, the sound warming something deep inside me. Then she snuggles closer, her head on my chest, her hand over my heart.
Outside, the storm continues. But in here, we're warm and safe and together.
And for the first time in years, I don't feel alone.
Chapter 9
Faith
Thestormhaspassed.
Morning sunlight pours through the cabin windows, spilling gold across the floorboards, making dust motes dance in the air. It smells like coffee, cedar, and something I'll always think of ashim—woodsmoke and winter and warmth.
Beau's already up, stoking the fire even though the room is plenty warm. He's wearing a flannel shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hair still tousled from sleep and my hands.
When he turns and sees me standing in the doorway wearing his t-shirt and nothing else, the slow smile that spreads across his face steals my breath.
"Morning, sunshine."
My heart does a ridiculous little flutter. "You're chipper for someone who claims to hate mornings."
"Guess I'm full of surprises." He crosses the room and hands me a mug of hot coffee. Rough fingers brush mine, linger. "How'd you sleep?"
"Like someone who found the world's coziest cabin," I say, then lower my voice. "And the warmest company."
Color rises in his cheeks—actual color—and I can't help teasing, "Don't tell me the big bad mountain man blushes."
He steps closer, crowding my space in the best possible way, backing me against the doorframe. "Only when the prettiest woman I've ever seen walks out wearing my shirt and looking thoroughly kissed."
My chest tightens with something that feels dangerously like falling. I've known him barely two days, but the connection between us feels older—like something written in the wood grain of this cabin long before I arrived. Like the mountain knew we needed each other and conspired to bring us together.
"Do you ever come down to the festival?" I ask, trying to sound casual even as my fingers play with the open collar of his shirt. "You should see the kids open your toys. Their faces light up like—"
He shakes his head, expression clouding slightly. "Never felt like I belonged there."
"Then maybe it's time you do." I reach for his hand, threading my fingers through his, feeling the calluses, the strength, the gentleness. "You make the magic, Beau. You deserve to see it."
