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 fingers tighten on the flannel. “Wyatt, I need to get into my shop. I need my things. I need—”
“You can’t,” he says, calm. “Not today.”
The certainty in his voice makes my throat tighten again. I hate it. I also hate how safe it feels when he decides something.
I force my jaw to relax. “And what am I supposed to do up here? Play house? Pretend I’m your—” I cut myself off because the word bride tastes like trouble.
Wyatt’s gaze darkens. “You answered the ad.”
“I answered it because I needed a place to stay,” I snap.
“And you got it.”
“And you get…” I wave a hand at him. “What do you get out of this, Wyatt? You still haven’t told me why you posted it.”
His jaw shifts. He looks away for half a second, like he’s deciding how much truth to give me.
Then he looks back, steady and unapologetic. “I needed a wife on paper.”
My pulse kicks.
“Why?” I press.
He steps closer again, slow, controlled. “Because I don’t like being cornered.”
That’s not an answer. It’s an admission.
I swallow. “Who’s cornering you?”
Wyatt’s eyes hold mine. “Not you.”
A beat passes.
Then he says, “Put the shirt on, Ellie.”
I blink. “Or what?”
His gaze drops to the flannel in my hands. “Or you keep smelling like chocolate and panic, and I keep thinking about what you’d taste like if I put my mouth on you.”
My body goes hot, fast.
I stare at him, stunned.
He doesn’t look embarrassed. He doesn’t look like he regrets saying it. He looks like a man who’s done pretending he doesn’t want what he wants.
My mouth opens. Nothing comes out.
Wyatt’s voice stays calm. “You wanted honesty. There it is.”
“Wyatt,” I manage, and my voice is thin. “You’re… you’re not supposed to say things like that.”
He tilts his head. “Why not?”
“Because you’re Wade’s best friend.”
His eyes narrow. “And?”
“And I’m—” I stop, because the real answer is: because it makes me want to do reckless things.
Wyatt steps close enough that the flannel presses between us. His gaze locks on my face like he’s pinning me in place without touching me.
“You’re here,” he says. “In my cabin. In my shirt. Off a bride ad. You want to keep pretending this is polite?”
My breath stutters. “I’m not in your shirt.”
He nods at the flannel. “Yet.”
The air between us hums, tight and hot. I can hear the tick of the old clock on the wall, the soft crackle of wood settling, the rush of my own blood.
I swallow hard. “Fine.”
Wyatt’s brow lifts slightly.
I glare at him, then turn away, marching toward the bathroom like I’m furious instead of flustered.
The bathroom is small and clean and smells like cedar. I shut the door and stare at my reflection in the mirror.
My cheeks are flushed. My eyes look too bright.
I hold the flannel up.
The thing is, it’s a good shirt. Soft. Thick. The kind of flannel that would swallow me whole and make me feel small in a way that isn’t entirely unpleasant.
I pull my hoodie off, then pause, hand on my bra strap, because now I’m standing in a stranger’s bathroom in a mountain cabin, and the stranger is Wyatt Cooper, and he’s outside the door with the kind of voice that makes my knees weak.
I mutter, “Get it together,” then shove my arms into the flannel.
It slides over my skin like a claim. It smells like smoke and soap and him. It hits mid-thigh. The sleeves hang past my wrists.
I look ridiculous.
I look like I belong to him.
My stomach flips.
I open the door and step back into the cabin.
Wyatt’s gaze snaps to me and holds. Hard.
For a second, he doesn’t speak.
His eyes drag down my body in that flannel like he’s imagining his hands on my thighs, his mouth on my neck, his teeth on the pulse that’s hammering there.
Then he lifts his gaze to mine and says, quiet and rough, “Fuck.”
Heat rushes through me so fast it’s dizzying. I plant my feet. “It’s just a shirt.”
“It’s my shirt,” he corrects.
I roll my eyes because if I don’t, I’ll melt. “Congratulations.”
Wyatt steps closer. “Turn around.”
I blink. “No.”
“Ellie.”
The way he says my name makes it feel like an order.
I cross my arms. “Why?”
His eyes flick to my crossed arms. “Because I want to see what it looks like on you.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“It’s the only reason you need.”
I glare, but I turn anyway because my body is a traitor and because some part of me wants to see how far he’ll push.
I feel his presence behind me, close but not touching. I can feel the heat of him like a second skin.
“Too long,” I say, voice strained. “Too big.”
Wyatt’s voice rumbles behind me. “Perfect.”
I whip around. “That’s not what perfect means.”
His mouth tilts. “It does when it’s on you.”
My breath catches again.
I hate this. I hate how fast my composure is evaporating. I hate how he stands there like he owns the air in the room.