“You weren’t.” Her voice is steady, not cruel. “Just like I wasn’t there when you needed me. In some kind of warped way, I guess we’re even.”
The storm presses harder against the cabin walls. Wind rattles the windows like fists. Inside, silence swells until it aches.
I clear my throat, force the words out. “Tabitha…” I rub my forehead. My pulse is everywhere. My throat, my wrists, my chest. “I won’t touch you until you ask me to. No more stealing. No more deciding for you. If you want me, it’s your choice. Yours alone.”
The time in the barn, when I took her harshly, almost violently… Part of me wishes I could take it back.
The other part of me wants that memory forever.
Her breath shivers. She uncurls slowly, every movement deliberate. Then she slides closer—just close enough that the heat of her body slips over mine.
My heart slams.
She drifts her hand down, hesitates, and then rests it on my thigh. Not by accident. And not lightly.
I don’t move. Don’t breathe. If I shift an inch, the dam will burst.
“Henry.”
Lightning strikes. The thunder that follows rattles the glass in the windows. The fire flares and then dips.
She flexes her fingers around my thigh.
“Tabitha.” It comes out a growl.
The storm answers with another crash.
She gasps softly. Not from fear.
The fire snaps, throwing sparks against the glass screen. Her face is all shadow and flicker, and her eyes… Those amber depths that I could let myself drown in.
“Tabitha,” I say, rougher than I mean to. “Don’t do this unless you mean it. I want to be the one who keeps you safe. Not some other guy.”
She leans closer, just enough that I can feel the warmth of her breath over my jaw.
“I don’t want safe,” she whispers. “I want you.”
And then…silence.
Just her hand on me, her breath, her words hanging in the dark, leaving me one second away from breaking every vow I just made.
Twenty-One
Tabitha
The storm doesn’t wait for us.
It cracks open the night in jagged lines of white, rattles the windows, shakes the cabin to its bones. But Henry doesn’t wait either.
“I don’t want safe,” I whisper against his mouth. “I want you.”
Something breaks in him then.
One second his lips are slow, almost cautious, tasting me like I might break if he presses too hard. The next he’s crushing me back against the rough cabin rug, his mouth devouring mine, his body all heat and weight and hunger.
It’s a kiss that doesn’t ask. It takes. It claims.
And I’m here for it.
