Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 29800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 149(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 149(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
Problem.
That woman could threaten me with a knife and I’d still want to drag her into my lap.
“What?” I ask calmly.
Her eyes narrow instantly. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Act like you don’t know exactly why I’m pissed.”
She throws the notebook onto the coffee table hard enough that pages bend.
I glance down once.
Property perimeter.
Movement patterns.
Nora left cabin 8:12 a.m.
Nora returned 8:46 a.m.
Nora restless tonight.
No visible threats near north tree line.
Right.
That.
“You’ve been tracking me?” she demands.
“For safety.”
“For safety,” she repeats flatly. “You wrote down what time I left the cabin to walk twenty feet to my own car.”
“You were alone.”
“I was outside.”
“Exactly.”
Her jaw tightens so hard I can practically hear it.
“You cannot seriously think this is normal behavior.”
I shrug once. “Feels pretty normal to me.”
“That is deeply concerning.”
I almost smile.
Almost.
Nora starts pacing again, furious energy rolling off her in waves while snow crashes against the cabin windows outside.
“You tracked my movements.”
“You’re being hunted.”
“You don’t get to decide where I go.”
“No. I decide whether it’s safe.”
Her eyes flash instantly. “See? That right there. That caveman, alpha-male nonsense where you think you’re in charge of everything.”
“I am in charge of keeping you alive.”
“I didn’t ask you to monitor me like some paranoid prison guard.”
I push off the couch slowly.
The second I stand, her breathing changes.
Tiny shift.
But I catch it.
Always do.
“You came onto my mountain with a stalker following you,” I say evenly, closing some of the distance between us. “You think I’m supposed to ignore that?”
“I think you’re treating me like property.”
That lands harder than I expect.
I stop moving.
Nora sees it instantly but keeps going anyway because she’s angry enough to push.
Good.
I like when she pushes.
“You decide where I go. You bark orders at me constantly. You watch me like I belong to you.” Her chest rises sharply with every breath now. “Do you have any idea how insane that sounds?”
“Yeah.”
Her expression flickers briefly at the lack of denial.
“You admit it?”
“I’m aware of it.”
“That’s worse.”
Probably.
Nora crosses her arms tightly. “I’m not one of your rescue missions, Rhett.”
“No,” I say quietly. “You’re worse.”
Silence drops hard between us.
Her pulse jumps visibly in her throat.
Mine does too.
Because that one slipped out.
Because we both heard it.
“You don’t get to just…” She exhales sharply, regrouping. “You don’t get to act like my life belongs to you because we’ve been trapped in a cabin together for a week.”
I step closer again.
Slow.
Controlled.
“But it matters to me.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No,” I agree. “It’s not.”
The honesty of it throws her off balance for half a second.
Long enough for me to close the rest of the distance between us.
Now she’s looking up at me again.
Now I can feel the heat coming off her.
Now I can smell my soap on her skin because she’s wearing my clothes again.
Dangerous.
“You want to know the truth?” I ask quietly.
“I’m almost afraid to hear it.”
“I tracked your movements because every time I lose sight of you, I think about finding you dead somewhere on this mountain.”
Her breath catches.
Good.
Mine did too the first time I realized it.
“That’s not healthy,” she says softly.
“No shit.”
Silence stretches again.
Heavy this time.
Raw.
Outside, wind slams against the cabin hard enough to rattle the windows, but neither of us looks away.
“You barely know me,” she says eventually, quieter now.
“Doesn’t feel like it.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Does to me.”
Her eyes search mine like she’s looking for the line between protective and dangerous and realizing she crossed it with me days ago.
“You can’t control everything,” she whispers.
“I know.”
“Then why are you trying so hard?”
Because people die when I don’t.
Because I still wake up hearing explosions and screaming some nights.
Because the second I saw that surveillance photo tucked under your windshield wiper, something ugly and possessive locked into place inside me.
Because I can’t fucking breathe when I think about somebody hurting you.
Instead of saying any of that, I rake a hand over my jaw and look away briefly.
Big mistake.
The second I break eye contact, she softens slightly.
“You really think something’s going to happen to me every time I step outside.”
Not a question.
I look back at her.
“Yeah.”
The answer comes rougher than I mean it to.
Nora swallows visibly.
“And that scares you.”
Another dangerous question.
I could lie.
Should lie.
Instead, “Yeah.”
Something shifts between us instantly.
Not softer.
Worse.
Because now she knows.
Now she knows this thing between us stopped being fake a while ago.
“You’re supposed to be the rational one,” she says quietly.
“I stopped being rational about you pretty early.”
Her lips part slightly.
Fuck.
I should stop talking.
I don’t.
“You matter too much already,” I admit, my voice lower now. Rougher. “That’s the problem.”
The words settle heavily into the room.
Nora goes completely still.
No sarcasm.
No argument.
Nothing.
Just those wide eyes locked onto mine while realization moves slowly across her face.
Because she feels it too.
I can see it.
The tension between us changes instantly after that.
No more pretending.
No more fake relationship bullshit.
Just truth.
Dangerous, consuming truth sitting between us while snow falls harder outside.
“You can’t say things like that,” she whispers.