Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 39414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 197(@200wpm)___ 158(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 197(@200wpm)___ 158(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
My jaw tightens. “Don’t start.”
Ellie’s smile turns wicked. “Why not?”
“Because I will.”
Her breath catches—tiny, involuntary.
Then she lets go and steps back like she didn’t just light a match and toss it at gasoline. “Come on, firefighter. Take me home.”
Home.
The word lands heavy in my chest.
We drive back up the mountain with the last light bleeding out behind the peaks. Ellie hums with the radio like she’s always belonged in my truck, like she didn’t arrive here terrified and desperate and furious at the world.
She rests her hand on my thigh halfway up the road.
Not gripping. Not clinging.
Claiming.
I keep my eyes on the road, but my voice roughens. “You’re playing with me.”
Ellie’s fingers flex lightly on my leg. “No.”
“Then what are you doing?”
Her eyes are on me, and her voice goes soft. “Choosing.”
The cabin is warm when we get inside, quiet in the way it’s supposed to be. Not the scary quiet from those first nights. A safe quiet. A lived-in quiet.
Ellie kicks off her boots and turns to face me.
She’s still in her apron. Still smells like cocoa and sugar and victory.
I step closer, and this time I don’t stop a foot away. I put my hands on her waist, feel her body under my palms, feel her exhale like she’s been waiting for it.
Ellie’s eyes lift to mine. “I’m still wearing your flannel.”
“I know,” I murmur.
She swallows. “You going to tell me to take it off?”
I slide my hands up her ribs, slow. “No.”
Her brows lift. “No?”
“I’m going to take my time,” I say.
Ellie’s lips part. “Bossy.”
“Always.”
She pushes at my chest lightly. “Wyatt.”
I catch her wrists and pin them gently against my shirt. Not rough. Just firm enough to make her eyes flare.
“What,” I ask.
Her voice is breathy, but steady. “Tell me the truth.”
I hold her gaze. “About what.”
“About why you posted the ad,” she says. “About why you didn’t send me away.”
My jaw tightens. I don’t look away. I don’t soften it.
“I fell first,” I say.
Ellie stills.
I keep going because she deserves it clean. “Years ago. Before you had a shop. Before you stopped being Wade’s kid sister and started being… you.”
Ellie’s throat works. “Wyatt—”
“I tried to bury it,” I admit. “Because Wade is my brother in everything but blood. Because you were off-limits. Because wanting you felt like betrayal.”
Ellie’s eyes shine, but she doesn’t cry. She never does when it counts. She just steps closer until her body presses into mine. “You know why Graham and I broke up? Because I wouldn’t have sex with him, I wanted to wait until marriage.”
An angry growl escapes my throat before I can stop it. “I should have killed him.”
“I love that you’re not like him, that you’d never pressure me, that you’re not angry and mean and bitter and selfish. You cherish me, I’ve never felt so…loved.”
“I…I’ve loved you for longer than you know.”
“Why didn’t you tell me back then?” she asks quietly.
I exhale. “Fear. Fear that if I wanted you, I’d ruin you. That I’d be the kind of man who takes and takes and calls it protection.”
Ellie lifts her hand and cups my jaw. Her thumb brushes the edge of my beard, soft, steady. “Then stop burying,” she says. “Build.”
The words hit like a vow.
I close my eyes for one beat, then open them and kiss her—not hard this time. Not like a claim that steals breath. Like something reverent.
Ellie melts into it anyway.
I walk her backward toward the bedroom, hands on her waist, mouth on hers, the world narrowing down to warmth and consent and the quiet, brutal truth that I don’t have to pretend anymore.
When we reach the bed, Ellie pulls back just enough to look at me. Her voice is low. “Slow.”
I nod once. “Slow.”
I take the apron strings, untie them, slide the apron off her like I’m unwrapping something I’ve wanted for too long. Ellie shivers when my knuckles brush her skin, and her eyes darken like she’s daring me to keep going.
I do.
I peel the flannel up inch by inch, kissing the skin it reveals, tasting her like chocolate and heat. Ellie’s fingers tangle in my hair, tugging just hard enough to tell me she’s still got a bite.
“You’re not exactly slow,” she whispers.
I lift my head, mouth hovering near hers. “You want me to be slower?”
Ellie’s breath catches. “Don’t get smug.”
I smile against her mouth. “Too late.”
She makes a soft sound—half laugh, half surrender—as I lay her back on the bed and follow, covering her with my body without crushing her, letting her feel every inch of me choosing her carefully.
Her hands slide down my back, nails scraping lightly, and she whispers my name like it’s a secret she’s allowed to keep.
I silence her words, crushing my lips against hers, grinding her heated sex against me as I let her feel the intensity of my desire. I can’t live without her from this day forward, it’s not an option, I just hope she’s on board with that.