Page 52 of Sunrise & Serenity

CHAPTER 13

SAGE

Iwake from the dream with a moan on my lips and a throb deep in my core. Blinking up at the dark ceiling, I try to catch my breath.

Holy shit. What was that?

Hazy images fill my mind: sweat-damp skin, hungry lips, and a man’s burning touch.

Not just any man. Holden.

Not good. Not good at all. I don’t know when I last had a sex dream, but it was a long time ago.

I’m not sure I ever had one about Graham.

I turn onto my side and close my eyes, doing my best to put the dream out of my head so I can go back to sleep. But my body is overheated, my skin sensitized. And after tossing and turning for what seems like an hour, I throw off my blankets and climb out of bed. The air is cool against my skin, but I don’t bother throwing a sweater over my pajamas before heading for the front door.

A faint squeak of hinges announces to the night that I’m venturing out onto the porch. Moonlight paints the clearing in shades of blue and silver. For a moment, I simply stand there, breathing in the clear night air. It’s colder out here, and my skin breaks out in goose bumps. But I don’t move to go inside.

The trees across from my cabin rustle gently in the breeze, and a sharp, mewling cry slices through the stillness from the shadowed branches. It sounds like a cat, but not quite. The noise is too drawn-out, too echoing.

With bare feet, I pad down the steps and across the soft grass, searching for the source. At the edge of the gravel road, I stop and peer up into the darkness.

“It’s a long-eared owl.”

I barely manage to trap the shriek in my throat at the deep voice coming from somewhere behind me. Luckily, even as I whip around, my brain catches up with my body. Hand to chest, as if I can push my leaping heart back down, I pivot toward Holden’s cabin.

It’s cast in darkness, but now that I’m looking, he’s there, sitting in a chair on his shadowed porch, long legs stretched out, feet resting on the railing, ankles crossed. “I didn’t see you,” I say, still breathless.

“Obviously.”

His expression is hidden, but his loose gray pajama pants are visible from here. So is his bare chest.

I may have seen him shirtless that first day when I took his photo, but I was too busy staring down the barrel of his irritation to enjoy the view. Now, protected by darkness, I can appreciate it. Broad shoulders, the hard ripple of abdominal muscles, and the shadowy V disappearing under the waistband of his pants.

Good god.

Without his jeans, shirt, or cowboy hat, he looks almost like a different man. One I can all too easily imagine straddling as he sits there, trailing my hands over his skin or running my fingers through his messy hair.

Forcing saliva into my suddenly dry mouth, I turn back to the trees. “A long-eared owl, huh? Do they actually have ears?”

Not the cleverest of questions, but that’s all my scrambled brain can come up with.

“All birds have ears,” he responds dryly.

Should have known he wouldn’t let that one slide. “Obviously,” I parrot his earlier comment. “Long ears. Do they have long ears?”

He huffs out a low laugh. “Sorry to disappoint. But they’re just tufts of feathers that look like ears.”

“That is disappointing. But at least I know what makes that sound now. I thought it might be a cat stuck in a tree.”

“The only cats you’re likely to find out here are bobcats and mountain lions.”

Shivering, I scan the treeline, my gaze catching on every moving shadow. But I force myself not to retreat to my cabin, which is probably what he expects. Instead, I give in to the impulse to move closer, wandering toward him.

By the time I reach the bottom of his porch steps, I can make out his face. Wariness mingles with curiosity in his expression, and there’s a hint of something else. Something I can’t quite put my finger on, yet it makes my breathing shallow.

“Do you often sit out here in the middle of the night?”