Page 9 of Montana Justice

“Water would be perfect.”

I watched him move through his kitchen with unconscious familiarity, pulling a glass from the cabinet like he’d done it a thousand times before, filling it from a filter pitcher in the refrigerator. Such ordinary actions, but they fascinated me. This was his space, his rhythm, his peace.

The glass was actual glass, not plastic. Heavy and solid in my hands. When he passed it to me, our fingers brushed, and the contact sent electricity shooting up my arm. From the way his breath caught, he felt it too.

“Guest room’s upstairs,” he said, his voice slightly rougher than it had been moments before.

The narrow staircase was lined with framed photos. I caught glimpses as we climbed—formal ceremonies, group shots with friends, moments that told the story of someone who’d chosen his path deliberately.

The guest room was simple but comfortable—a double bed with a blue quilt that looked handmade, a dresser that had the soft patina of age and care.

“Bathroom’s right across the hall. Clean towels are in the linen closet.” He paused in the doorway, hands buried deep in his pockets. “Make yourself at home.”

He was leaving to go to his room. Of course he was. Did I really expect anything but the perfect gentleman out of him?That was why I was here, right? Because I’d known that was what he would do: offer me a place to rest that was safe and clean and warm without any expectations in return.

From anybody else, that would be a godsend. But with Lachlan, I found I wanted more.

I knew this was my last night in Garnet Bend. That after tomorrow, I’d never see him again. The thought should have made me sad, but instead, it made me reckless. Made me want to reach for something good, even if I could only have it for a few hours.

“Lachlan,” I said, taking a step closer, stopping him as he turned. “Wait.”

He studied me with those deep brown eyes, wondering what I would do.

“I…” I wasn’t sure what to say. I’d had sex before, of course, both for good and bad reasons, but I’d never really been in a situation where I was the one initiating things solely because I wanted to be with the man. “Can I stay with you tonight? Not just in your guest room.Withyou.”

“Is that what you really want?” His voice was deep. Thick.

“Yes.”

“Yes. But I want you to know, we don’t have to have sex. We can just hold each other, if that’s what you need.”

I wrapped my arms around my middle. Maybe he wasn’t interested in sex with me. I couldn’t blame him. “Is that what you want?”

He stepped closer, slowly reaching up and tucking a strand of my awful dark dye job behind my ear. “I’m a healthy man, and you’re a beautiful woman who has intrigued me—albeit in a different way—since you were a teenager. All I’m saying is that we don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. We can take things slowly.”

No, we couldn’t. Because I’d be gone in the morning. “I want you. Tonight.”

His hands came up to frame my face, thumbs brushing across my cheekbones with devastating tenderness. The simple touch sent heat racing through my veins, made me lean into his palms like a flower turning toward the sun.

“Piper,” he said, my name rough on his lips.

When he kissed me, the world contracted to just this—his lips moving against mine with patience and reverence. Not taking, but giving. Not demanding, but asking.

I melted into him, fisting my hands in his shirt as longing flowed over me like a tide. This was what I’d dreamed about during those endless nights when violence echoed through thin walls. This connection, this feeling of being wanted instead of used.

He slid his hands into my hair, tilting my head back so he could deepen the kiss. I gasped into his mouth, and he took advantage, his tongue sliding against mine in a way that made my knees weak.

I pressed closer, feeling the hard planes of his chest against my breasts, the evidence of his arousal against my core. My hands found the hem of his shirt, tugging upward, desperate to feel skin against skin. I ignored the twinge of my ribs and the soreness of my lip from where Ray had hit me. I wasn’t going to let any of that into this room.

He broke away from my mouth, trailing kisses down my throat while I worked his shirt over his head. When I finally got it off, I ran my hands over his chest, memorizing the feel of warm skin and lean muscle.

“God, Piper,” he breathed against my neck, his hands skimming down my sides to the hem of my sweater.

He lifted it slowly, his fingers trailing fire across my skin as he exposed my stomach, my ribs. When the fabric cleared myhead, his eyes darkened as they took in the simple white bra I wore.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his hands settling on my waist.

He traced the edge of my bra with one finger, making me shiver. Then his hands were on my breasts, cupping them through the thin cotton, his thumbs brushing over my nipples until they peaked against the fabric.

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