And if I were Stryker, I’m not sure I would have been able to resist the impulse.
I stash the bag just as the cabin door opens with a soft creak. Cold air rushes in, seeming to swirl around me.
Stryker steps over the threshold, snow clinging to his lashes, his cheeks flushed from the wind. He smells of fresh air and exertion mixed with temptation, making my mouth water.
Instantly he finds me and sweeps his gaze over me, soft and searching.
He closes the world out.
For the last time.
“Morning.” He removes his snow-covered boots and crosses the room in three strides.
He wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me in until my breasts flatten against his chest.
I’m helpless, momentarily surrendering to his promise of safety.
Then his mouth finds mine. His kiss is deep and demanding. And possessive?
I melt into it for one heartbeat, two, letting myself drown in the steady pressure of his lips, the way his hand settles at the small of my back like it belongs there.
He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine. “Road crews are out. Main roads should be passable before noon. The one to the cabin will take a little longer. But we’re still safe here.”
I nod, pretending that’s fine with me.
He studies my face with the quiet intensity that always makes me feel stripped bare. His thumb traces the line of my jaw, slow and deliberate. “You okay from last night? None the worse for wear?”
The question lands soft, but it slices straight through me. I swallow hard, force my voice steady. “I’m fine.”
His eyes narrow, just a fraction, the way they do when he’s reading a room, reading me. He doesn’t buy it.
Doubt radiates off him, a low hum beneath his skin. My pulse kicks up, panic licking at the edges of my calm. If I act off, if I hesitate too long, he’ll dig. He’ll ask questions I can’t answer.
I have to give him something real, something that satisfies the protector in him, or he’ll never let this go.
He steps closer, crowding me against the counter, the heat of his body chasing away the chill that’s been creeping up my spine since I saw Remy’s text.
Stryker slides his hand to the back of my neck, thumb pressing gently into the hollow there. “Let me see.”
My stomach flips. I know what he means. I know exactly what he wants. And part of me—the part that’s still throbbing from his touch, still aching for him—wants to give it to him.
Yet I’m hyperaware that the clock is ticking, that Remy is on his way, and every intimate second that I spend with Stryker is a second closer to disaster.
“Show me, Allie.” There’s a harder edge to his voice this time.
“Yes, Stryker.” Did that sound submissive enough?
I reach for the waistband and push the sweatpants down over my hips, along with the thin cotton of my underwear, letting them pool at my thighs.
The cabin air is cool against my bare skin, raising tiny bumps along my arms, my legs.
I turn slowly.
“Grab hold of your ankles. I want to see what’s mine, Allie.”
Swallowing a lump in my throat, I do as he says.
The position leaves me utterly exposed and vulnerable like I had been last night.
