—If I’d known it would be this effective, I would’ve done it much sooner, I reply, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, still amazed I’m allowed to touch her like this.
—And miss all those weeks of unresolved sexual tension? she teases. What a waste that would’ve been.
—It hasn’t been that long, has it?
—Since we first met, she clarifies. Don’t you remember? You looked at me like I was either an alien… or the answer to a question you hadn’t asked yet.
—I remember perfectly, I admit. You had this mix of defiance and panic that intrigued me.
—Intrigued? she repeats with a mischievous smile. Is that Scottish for “deeply disturbed”?
—Maybe a bit of both, I concede, before kissing her again, unable to resist her any longer now that I know I’m allowed.
This kiss deepens quickly—more urgent, more desperate. My hands find her waist, pulling her closer until she’s practically in my lap. Hers roam my shoulders, my back, threading into my hair.
—You’re still wet, I murmur against her lips, suddenly realizing her clothes are still soaked despite the warmth of the fire.
—You really do say the most romantic things, Cal, she laughs.
—I’m serious. You’ll catch a cold, I insist, trying to regain some semblance of reason. We should?—
—Take off our wet clothes? she suggests innocently, though the gleam in her eyes is anything but. For purely practical health reasons, of course.
—Of course, I echo, my voice betraying just how little I believe in that argument.
She stands and shrugs off her jacket, her fingers trembling slightly. I remain frozen on the bench, mesmerized by every inch of skin she reveals.
—Are you planning to just watch all night, or are you going to join me in this noble pursuit of health and well-being? she asks.
There’s a flicker of nerves beneath her confidence.
Her vulnerability snaps me out of it. I stand and gently take her hands, stilling her movements.
—Jane. We don’t have to do anything you’re not absolutely sure about. This cabin, this storm—it might feel like one of your movies, but real life is more complicated.
—Callum McGregor, she says, holding my gaze, I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.
She rises onto her toes and kisses me—soft at first, then deepening into something undeniable. My last hesitations scatter like leaves in the storm outside.
—In that case, I murmur against her skin, I suggest we deal with those wet clothes immediately.
Outside, the thunder rolls one last time as the storm begins to move on. But inside the small stone cabin, an entirely different storm is only just beginning.
CHAPTER 29
JANE
I’ve never really believed in fairy tales. I mean, I once played a princess in a microscopic-budget Christmas TV movie where my co-star was a model-turned-actor who couldn’t walk and deliver his lines at the same time. After that experience, stories about Prince Charming always felt like pure fiction to me.
And yet, as I walk beside Callum in the darkness, our fingers intertwined, our clothes still damp and our hair unruly, I feel like I’m living a moment of magic that surpasses every romance I’ve ever portrayed.
—You’re quiet, Callum remarks, glancing at me sideways. Any regrets?
A soft, incredulous laugh slips from my lips.
—Regrets? After what just happened in that cabin? Absolutely not. I was just thinking about how life can sometimes take unexpected turns.
—Like marrying a Scotsman for contractual reasons and ending up falling in love with him?
