The laughter faded.
The look didn’t.
He crossed the space in one stride.
His hand caught her at the waist, fingers digging into the worn flannel.
The kiss wasn’t careful.
It was collision.
Her mouth opened against his instantly, heat slamming through her. Her fingers fisted in his Henley, dragging him closer.
He drove her back into the rough-hewn logs. His body pressed flush to hers—hard, unyielding heat against the cold air leaking through the seams of the cabin.
Her hands slid beneath his shirt, palms dragging over the hard plane of his stomach, over muscle. He made a low, rough sound that went straight through her.
His mouth left hers and moved to her throat—relentless—stubble scraping beneath her ear. She gasped when his teeth grazed that sensitive place below her jaw, pulse hammering against his mouth.
His hand clamped at her hip and hauled her closer.
She wasn’t fragile.
She wasn’t hesitant.
She caught his shirt and dragged him back to her mouth, kissing him harder.
His hands moved with intent. Up her sides, thumbs skimming beneath her ribs before sliding higher, mapping her. She arched into the contact.
He lifted her just enough that her toes left the floor.
The bed frame struck the backs of her legs.
They fell into the mattress together.
The quilt twisted around them.
A single line of sweat broke along his temple, catching the light before slipping down the rough shadow of stubble along his jaw.
He hovered over her for half a heartbeat—breath ragged, eyes searching her face—then came down to her again like he was done fighting it.
His hand slid beneath the flannel, over bare skin—slow at first, reverent, as if giving her a chance to stop him.
She didn’t.
She met him halfway, nails dragging down his back, feeling muscle flex and release beneath her touch. He growled into her mouth and shifted, rolling just enough to bring her with him, flipping her easily so she ended up astride him, knees braced on either side of his hips.
“Tell me you’re here,” he said — not rough now. Not joking. “I thought I lost you,” he said against her mouth. “On that ridge. I thought that was it.”
“I’m here,” she breathed.
For a second the world tipped—cold air on her back, heat blazingeverywhere he touched. His hands wrapped around her thighs, anchoring her in place.
Her inhale came sharp, uneven.
He sat up into her, one arm banded around her waist, the other sliding down to hook behind her knee and draw her closer. “Scout?—”
Her voice cracked on his name.
