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“Rose, I never feel like I’m forcing anything with you. In fact…” He sighed as he turned right, following the curve of the road up the mountain. “In fact, I feel freer around you than anywhere else.”
I sniffled. It was almost silly to get emotional over it, but it was the best thing I’d heard from him all day aside from those affirmations he gave me in the bathroom. Water got everywhere. I felt bad for the service creatures who had to clean up the mess we made—ofeverything.
Blush glowed in my cheeks as I squeezed his hand. “Me, too. I don’t want to lose that.”
“So, we won’t.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Promise me that no matter what happens, we’ll always talk.”
I chuckled with disbelief. “That requires you to talk, Matéo.”
“Yeah, it does.” He parked the truck in front of his cabin. I hadn’t even realized we had arrived. Had those ten minutes really flown by? He turned to me. “I’ll tell you things. More things.”
“You’re such a mystery. I don’t know if I’ll still like you after I hear everything.”
He squinted until I smiled playfully. And then he grinned.
“Brat,” he accused. “I’m still counting things for your punishment, you know.”
A feisty feeling inspired me to wink. “I expect nothing less from you, sir.”
He was on top of me before I could open the door, lips silencing every moan that surfaced. His fire, his strength, his utter dedication translated in his kiss, our mouths dancing to the rhythm of a different drum. No one else could hear the music save for us. And we were happy to follow its beat, lured by the promises it made.
As long as the music continued, then I would be happy to move to it with him. Always with him.Onlywith him.
He broke the kiss. “Inside,fleur. Help me gather my things.”
“Yes, sir.”
Seconds later, I stood inside his cabin, afraid to touch anything. While he moved fluidly through the rooms, my feet refused to follow, gluing me to the living room floor. My eyes roamed the simple structure, inhaling every detail. Picture frames lined the mantel, crowding each other. All sorts of homemade items sat on the shelves from pottery to woodwork. Paintings hung all over the walls. Sketches took over the coffee table.
The kitchen was a mess of dishes, rotten fruit, some drain flies, and an assortment of canned goods. If I peeked into the cabinets, I was sure to find even more. He was a survivalist, through and through. How many years had he spent here by himself?
And why when Rochdale was just a twenty-minute ride away?
Matéo appeared with a box of clothes and a photo album sitting on top. He took the frame and handed it to me. “Carry this.”
“Just this?”
He grinned and forced the box into my arms. “This way, little boxer.”
“Excuse me—whatdid you call me?”
“You box, right?”
He opened the door, motioning for me to step onto the porch. The box was heavy but not unmanageable. And I was too proud to hand it back.
I shrugged past him. “Yes.”
“And you’re little which is justadorable.”
“I’m not that little, Matéo.”
He chuckled and secured the digital lock. “Oh, but you’re smaller than me,ma petite fleur.”
“That might be a cute nickname and all, but it can get tiresome, you know.”
