Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
I glance down at her, catching the way her teeth are chattering, the way her cheeks are flushed pink from the cold. She catches me looking and glares, but there’s no real heat behind it, just exhaustion and that same flicker of something she’s not ready to say.
I lean closer, letting my breath wash over her ear, barely loud enough to be heard over the wind. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy, Emma.”
Her head snaps up, and she glares at me, but there’s a shiver in her that has nothing to do with the cold. She opens her mouth, but whatever retort she had ready dies on her lips, and she just shakes her head, focusing back on the path ahead.
We reach the cabin, stumbling inside. I close the door against the storm, and for a moment, we just stand there, dripping snow onto the floor, our breaths mingling. I head directly to the fireplace, throwing a few logs from the stack in and lighting it quickly. Within minutes warmth fills the cabin.
I stand and Emma looks up at me, her eyes still blazing with that stubborn fire, but I see the gratitude there too, buried deep beneath the anger. And I know this isn’t over. Not even close.
I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. “Welcome back, Emma. Ready for round two?”
She glares at me, but her lips twitch, almost like she’s fighting a smile. “Go to hell, Slate.”
I lean closer, my voice dropping to a rough whisper that brushes against her ear, making her shiver. “Oh, I’m already there, babe. And you just made it a whole lot more interesting.”
Chapter Five
Emma
The wind batters the cabin like it’s trying to claw its way inside. Snow whips against the shutters, but the fire crackles steadily in the hearth, throwing shadows that dance across the rough-hewn walls. I shrug off my soaked coat, my fingers numb as I hang it near the fire. Heat seeps through my clothes, warming my chilled skin, but it does nothing for the cold knot sitting low in my stomach.
I glance over my shoulder, catching sight of Slate as he checks the windows, his movements precise and methodical. He’s always been like this—taking control, making sure everything’s in order. Part of me used to admire it, the way he knew how to take charge without breaking a sweat. Now it just makes me want to bite back, to push against the way he always seems to take over.
“You always have to play the hero, don’t you?” I mutter, rubbing my hands together, trying to banish the last traces of cold from my fingertips.
Slate freezes for a second, then turns to face me, his jaw set tight. “And you always have to pick a fight, even when you’re half-frozen.” He crosses the room in two long strides, grabbing a thick blanket from a shelf and tossing it toward me. “Wrap up before you catch pneumonia.”
The blanket lands in my arms, but I don’t miss the way his eyes linger on me, taking in the way my wet clothes cling to my skin. Heat flares low in my belly, unwelcome and irritating. I wrap the blanket around my shoulders, trying to cover as much of myself as possible, lifting my chin to meet his stare. “I’m not a damsel in distress, Slate. I didn’t ask for your help.”
Slate steps closer, the firelight casting shadows across the hard planes of his face. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a tension there, something that makes my breath catch. “Yeah, well, I didn’t ask to be the one stuck in this cabin with you, but here we are.” His voice drops, rough and edged with a challenge that sends a shiver through me that has nothing to do with the cold. “So, unless you want to freeze to death, you’re going to have to deal with me taking care of you.”
The air between us is thick, crackling with the same kind of energy as the storm outside. I tug the blanket tighter around my shoulders, trying to ignore the way my pulse races under his intense gaze. “You always did think you knew best,” I shoot back, but there’s no real bite in my voice, just a tension that I can’t quite mask. “Still think you’re the only one who knows how to handle a little snow?”
Slate’s eyes narrow, but a half-smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You can try to push me away all you want, Emma. But you’re here now. And we both know you wouldn’t have made it through that storm alone.”
I want to argue, to throw his words back in his face, but the truth of them sits bitter on my tongue. My silence only seems to fuel him, and he steps closer, so close that I can feel the warmth radiating off his body, mingling with the heat from the fire. His presence fills the small cabin, making it feel even smaller, more suffocating.