Page 28
The answer comes so easily it almost makes me laugh.
Almost.
By the time we get inside, snow’s clinging to my coat and boots, my fingers numb from the cold. Rhett shuts the heavy wooden door behind us, throws the deadbolt immediately, then checks the lock twice before even taking his jacket off.
I notice that.
I notice everything.
The cabin is exactly what I expected somehow.
Masculine.
Rugged.
Dark wood walls. Heavy furniture. A stone fireplace crackling in the center of the room. Hunting knives mounted neatly beside shelves lined with survival manuals, old maps, and military books.
Everything about the place feels controlled.
Like him.
Rhett takes my bag without asking and carries it down a short hallway. “Bedroom’s there.”
I blink. “You only have one bedroom?”
“Yeah.”
“And where exactly are you sleeping?”
“Couch.”
“That seems uncomfortable.”
“I’ve slept worse places.”
Something about the way he says it shifts the air slightly.
Not softer.
Just heavier.
I stand awkwardly in the middle of the cabin, suddenly hyperaware that I’m alone on a mountain with a man built like violence and entirely too attractive for my own peace of mind.
Rhett glances over his shoulder. “You planning on standing there all night?”
“I’m assessing.”
“Me?”
“The murder cabin.”
His mouth curves slightly again. “Spoken like a true crime reporter. You always talk this much when you’re nervous?”
“I’m not nervous.”
“You keep lying to yourself like that, sweetheart.”
Heat crawls instantly up my neck.
