Page 58 of Freed By the Witchbone Knife

Until I did.

And I gasped. “What…?”

Axel’s gaze was on me. I could always feel it when he was watching me. I felt it now, similar to when he’d stroked his hand down my side while we’d kissed.

The sight of his cabin in the twilight, glowing lights twinkling on the front porch. Autumn decorations prominently on display. I could do little more than blink in wonder.

It was…beautiful.

Artfully done.

Like he’d hired a professional designer.

Except, I knew he would never do something like that—let a stranger into his home.

Which meant⁠—

“Did you do this? Decorate your cabin?”

I finally turned to him.

His throat bobbed. “Do you like it?”

There was so much raw vulnerability in his expression. Eager anticipation while he waited for my answer. It made my throat tight.

I pressed my lips between my teeth. “Axel. I love it. Can we… Can I go see?”

A laugh burst from his chest. It was such a beautiful sound that my own chest instantly lightened. Ambrose’s texts, the fear I felt knowing he’d invaded my personal space—all of it was immediately forgotten as I leapt from the truck and strode to the porch steps.

At first, all I saw was the bigger picture. The decorations as a whole. But then I noticed smaller touches. Like the fluffy blankets that were draped over each Adirondack chair and the pumpkin themed pillows on the porch swing. Then I caught a twinkle of lights from inside the house and my chest swelled with warmth.

Before he was even speaking, I sprinted across the porch and into the house. I stopped in the middle of the great room, pressing my hands over my sternum. Trying to breathe.

Because…

Because…

“Oh…”

“Do ye like it?” His voice was low, close behind me, more heavily accented than usual. Goosebumps pebbled my skin. “If ye don’t, we can change it.”

Tears filled my eyes. I knew. I knew that the only reason he’d done this was for me. And the raw hope in his voice told me as much.

I didn’t think, I simply turned and flung my arms around him, reaching up over his shoulders. He stooped and lifted me, his hands circling my waist as he pulled me up against him, until my feet dangled.

Our bodies were flush. His hard lines to my soft curves. A perfect fit.

Everything about him was warm comfort. From the woodsmoke scent, to the strength of his hold, to the soft fabric of his flannel shirt. I always knew he would give the best hugs. All height and muscle. How could he not? It was like being wrapped in my favorite cozy blanket, with a candle burning and a cup of tea warming my fingers.

“Thank you,” I whispered against the shell of his ear.

I felt his shiver, the way his hold tightened on me.

It made heat explode in my gut. Made me overly aware of every point our bodies touched. Of every hard ridge.

I wanted to kiss him, but I couldn’t get his dismissive words out of my head. The last thing I wanted was to sour the mood with his biology bullshit. Even if I could feel the length of him growing against me. So instead, I buried my face against him, nuzzling my nose against his neck, right where his skin would be most sensitive.

“The little snacks helped,” he blurted.