Holt’s lips twitch, like he’s fighting back a smile, but there’s a wariness in his eyes, like he’s bracing for whatever I’m about to throw at him. He waits until I reach the ledge beside him, our faces inches apart, our breaths mingling in the cool mountain air. My hands grip the rock edge behind me, my knuckles white, but I refuse to look away.
I take a shaky breath, gathering every ounce of courage I have left. “I’ve been running,” I admit, my voice barely more than a whisper, but the weight of the words presses between us, heavy and unyielding. “Not just from you, but from everything. From feeling like I’m never good enough, like I’m always chasing some impossible version of who I’m supposed to be. And being here, with you... it scares the hell out of me because it’s real. You’re real.”
His expression softens, the tension in his jaw easing, but there’s still that shadow in his eyes. He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a rough murmur that sends a shiver racing down my spine. “And what if I told you that I’m scared too? Scared of needing someone again, scared that maybe... you’re the one thing I can’t walk away from.”
The words slam into me, raw and unfiltered, and my breath catches, my hands trembling against the rock. I reach up, cupping his jaw, feeling the rough scrape of stubble beneath my palm, grounding myself in the solidity of him. “Then we’re both idiots, because I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since the moment we met.”
Holt’s laugh is rough, strained, but it’s real, and it warms something deep in my chest. He covers my hand with his,pressing it tighter against his skin, and the look he gives me is like a promise—dangerous, unsteady, but full of a hope that neither of us knows how to hold yet. “Guess that makes two of us, city girl.”
Before I can second-guess myself, before the fear can take over again, I surge forward, capturing his mouth with mine. It’s a kiss that tastes like everything we’ve been too afraid to say, a clash of lips and teeth and breath, rough and unrestrained. Holt groans against my mouth, his arms wrapping around me, pulling me against him like he’s afraid I might disappear again.
The mountain wind whips around us, and the world tilts beneath my feet, but I don’t care. All I know is the feel of his hands on my back, the heat of his body pressing against mine, and the way he kisses me like I’m the only thing keeping him anchored to the earth. For a moment, there’s no distance between us, no walls, no fears—just the wild, electric thrill of being seen, being held, being wanted.
When we finally break apart, gasping for air, I rest my forehead against his, my hands fisted in his shirt. “I don’t know how to do this, Holt. I don’t know how to be this brave.”
Holt’s thumb brushes over my cheek, his voice a low, rough whisper that sends a shiver racing down my spine. “You already are, Lila. And I’m not going anywhere. Not unless you tell me to.”
I swallow hard, blinking back the tears that burn at the corners of my eyes, and shake my head. “No. I don’t want you to go.” My voice cracks, but the words are as steady as I can make them. “I want to stay at Devil’s Peak. I want to try. With you.”
Holt’s grip tightens on my waist, his mouth finding mine again in a kiss that’s softer this time, but no less consuming. And as the sun sets behind us, turning the sky into a blaze of gold and crimson, I realize that maybe, for the first time in my life, I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Chapter Ten
Holt
The cabin glows in the golden light of the setting sun, shadows from the pine trees dancing along the wooden floors. I lean against the counter, arms crossed, my eyes on Lila as she attacks a lump of pasta dough with a determination that makes my chest tighten. Her hair is pulled back, wisps escaping to frame her face, and she’s got flour smudged on her cheek, right below the delicate curve of her cheekbone. It’s all I can do not to reach out and brush it away, to feel her skin warm under my touch.
“You know,” I drawl, watching the way her hands work the dough, fingers flexing, “I didn’t think a city girl like you knew how to get her hands dirty.” My voice carries that teasing edge, the one I know she hates, but I can’t resist. Not when she looks up at me like that, eyes flashing, the way she bites her lip as if she’s considering whether I’m worth a response.
She rolls her eyes, but a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, mountain man.” She brushes a stray lock of hair back with her wrist, leaving a streak of flour across her cheek. The sight of it makes something twist inside me. She catches me staring and arches an eyebrow,all challenge and fire. “What, you think just because I like cappuccinos and Wi-Fi, I can’t make fresh pasta?”
I push off the counter, closing the distance between us in a few easy strides until my chest brushes her back. Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she stiffens slightly, as if bracing herself against whatever I’m about to do. I lean in, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. “I think,” I murmur, letting my voice drop low, “that you like showing off.”
Her hands falter on the dough, but she recovers fast, shoving an elbow back against my ribs. “You want to learn how to make real pasta, or do you just like being a pain in my ass?” Her tone is sharp, but there’s a thread of something else there, something breathless and electric.
I chuckle, the sound rumbling against her back, feeling the way her muscles tense under my hands. I let my palms slide over hers, guiding her movements in the dough, feeling the warmth of her skin against mine. “Fine, teach me, then,” I say, my lips close enough to her neck that I catch the scent of her—something sweet and earthy, like wildflowers. “But don’t expect me to go easy on you, princess.”
She gives a small, breathy laugh, but I can hear the tremor beneath it, the way her body leans into mine before she catches herself. We work side by side, flour dusting her shirt, her hair, even the tip of her nose. It’s in the air, swirling around us as we move through the tiny kitchen. And damn, I can’t stop looking at her—at the way her mouth curves when she concentrates, at the flush in her cheeks from the warmth of the stove. She fits here, fits into this space like she’s always been a part of it.
I nudge her with my shoulder when she’s not looking, grinning at the exasperated look she throws over her shoulder. “You sure this is how Italians do it? Looks more like a disaster waiting to happen.” I flick a bit of flour at her, enjoying the way she gasps, her eyes narrowing in mock outrage.
She retaliates fast, scooping up a handful of flour and tossing it in my direction. It catches me right in the face, a light dusting settling over my hair and shoulders. “How’s that for a disaster, Holt?” she says, her tone daring, her lips curling into a triumphant smile.
I stand there for a beat, blinking through the flour, and then my grin turns wicked. “Oh, you’re gonna pay for that, city girl.”
Before she can react, I lunge forward, my hands finding her waist, lifting her easily off her feet. She lets out a shriek, laughter bubbling out of her, and I spin her around until her back hits the counter. Her hands come up to my chest, but she’s still laughing, bright and breathless, and it’s the best damn sound I’ve heard in months.
“Put me down, Holt!” she gasps, but she’s grinning up at me, her cheeks flushed, and I can feel the way her breath stumbles against mine.
I lean closer, my grip firm on her waist, my thumb brushing a stray bit of flour from her cheek. “You look good like this,” I say, my voice rough, barely more than a whisper. “Messy, unguarded...real.”
Her laughter fades, the space between us tightening with something electric, something neither of us seems able to look away from. Her eyes drop to my mouth, then back up to meet mine, and I see the flicker of uncertainty, the way she hesitates for just a moment before she tips her chin up.
“Are you going to kiss me, or just stare at me?” she challenges, but there’s a tremor in her voice that betrays her, and I feel her fingers twist into the fabric of my shirt, pulling me closer.
My smile turns feral, a slow, dangerous grin. I let my lips hover a breath away from hers, close enough to feel the warmth of her skin, the way her breath catches. “Oh, I’m going to do a hell of a lot more than kiss you.”
And then I’m kissing her, hard and hungry, my mouth claiming hers with a need that’s been simmering for too long. She gasps against my lips, her hands sliding up to tangle in my hair, pulling me closer like she can’t stand the thought of any space between us. The kiss is messy, frantic, and perfect, like everything we’ve been holding back has finally snapped free.
