Page 103 of Wildest Dreams

My hair’s still damp from the shower, dripping down over my forehead instead of pushed back like I usually try and shove it, and my tan has darkened from the weeks of unfiltered mountain sunlight, not to mention ruddy as hell from my sudden surge ofadrenaline. I’m wearing boots, sweatpants and no pyjama shirt, and hopefully that will work in my favour seeing as Aisling likes to palm her hands all over my muscles.

The little buzz in my hand recaptures my attention and my eyes fly across the screen as I read her message.

AISLING:My door’s unlocked.

I stumble my way out of the cabin.

I haul the blankets higher up in my arms, and then gently close the cabin door as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake my roommate and his girl when I know that Aisling wants to keep this thing a secret. I stuff my phone in the front pocket of my pants and jog the distance around the head of the lake, mounting her porch steps two at a time before adjusting myself in my joggers and opening her front door.

I open it quietly, not wanting the sound to carry over the water, and then I ease it shut with the back of my shoulder.

Over the past week, Aisling has had all of the interior fixtures delivered to the lake house, meaning that the living area and kitchen are both packed with unwrapped appliances, as well as two long couches and a really comfortable looking armchair.

I give my stubble a swipe with my shoulder as my eyes linger on the wood that I chopped for her, stacked into a neat pile beside the stone fireplace.

Something tight and protective flares in my chest.

I reluctantly tear my eyes away from the stack – the only area of the room that looks as if it’s had some of her attention yet – and then I kick off my boots and begin walking up the stairs.

The door to the master bedroom is slightly ajar, a faint orange glow radiating through the gap from a small lamp or night-light. My heavy steps come to a stop on the threshold and I swallow quietly before rapping two knuckles against her door.

“Aisling?” I say, my voice quiet and rough. “It’s me. It’s Tanner.”

The gentle sound of her clambering to her feet and then padding over to the door filters over to me through the wood.

I arch my neck as I close my eyes, gratitude surging through my chest.

I’m so fucking lucky that she actually wants me to be here. After so much time apart, a big part of me never expected us to get back into the situation that we originally lost ourselves in four years ago. So the fact that Aisling is dipping her toe back in the water here – giving me another shot – is making me really feel like I’m the luckiest guy in the world.

I can sense the moment where she presses the tips of her fingers against the other side of the door, making the dark wood sway slightly, both of us thrumming with tension and need.

I drop my chin to my chest and try to calm my breathing, eyes trained on her delicate shadow as she moves cautiously on the other side of the wood.

Then she pulls the door open and the air rushes out of my lungs.

“Hey,” she says, light and casual, before stumbling back with a squeak as I practically fall inside her room.

The lake house’s master bedroom is set under a beautiful wooden A-frame, making it seem smaller than it is and cosy as hell. Right now it’s got a deconstructed bed leaning heavily against the wall, a tiny night-light plugged in beside the balcony, a deflated blow-up mattress rolled up on the left, and a recently-vacated sleeping bag on the right.

But I barely register any of it.

I click the door closed with a shove of my shoulder, toss my two quilts over on top of her sleeping bag, and then take both sides of her hips in my hands, eyes raking her up and down as my blood rushes south.

“Why’d you bring your sheets?” she asks breathlessly, glancing hastily over to the thick quilts I’ve tossed down.

I can only think about one hot thing at a time and right now that hot thing is the captain of Carter U’s cheer team wearingmy goddamn shirt.

“This looks so fucking good on you,” I rumble, dropping my forehead down to hers and hauling her body up against mine.

“The sheets?” she whispers again, trying fucking valiantly to keep my brain remotely working.

“There’s only one sleeping bag,” I reply, voice so deep that she sucks in a breath. And now that I see she hasn’t put her blow-up mattress to use tonight, I’m extra glad that I brought the quilt over.

“Why didn’t you blow up the mattress?” I ask quietly, as my palms grip into the sides of her waist. Her sleeping bag looks high quality but even a high quality one is no match for a mattress.

She shakes her head, inhaling shakily as her cheeks turn pink.

“I can’t… I, uh… it’s a big mattress, is all,” she finally whispers. “It’s hard to blow that much in one go.”

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