Page 19 of Protected By the Single Dad Sheriff

He stands, lifting me with him. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively, arms looping around his neck for balance. The display of strength sends a fresh pulse of desire through me.

"Upstairs?" I whisper against his ear, feeling him shudder in response.

He nods, adjusting his grip. "If you're sure."

"I'm sure," I tell him, and in this moment, it's the truest thing I've ever said.

Jake carries me toward the stairs, his steps deliberate and quiet. As we pass the grandfather clock in the hallway, I glance at the time—just past midnight. Yesterday at this hour, I was lying awake in my childhood bedroom, dreading the morning and the wedding that awaited me.

Now I'm in the arms of a man I barely know, my heart pounding with anticipation rather than dread, my body alive rather than numb with resignation.

For the first time in longer than I can remember, I feel present in my own life. Not going through the motions, not playing a role, but fully, vibrantly here. Whatever happens now, whatever complications await ahead, this moment is real. And it's mine to claim.

Chapter 7 - Jake

My hands grip Isabella's curves as I carry her up the stairs, each soft inch of her against my palms reminding me of Renaissance sculptures—perfectly formed, impossibly smooth. The weight of her in my arms feels right in a way I can't explain, like she was designed to fit against me.

Am I really doing this? Bringing a woman I've known less than a day to my bedroom while my daughters sleep down the hall? Every rational part of me is screaming to stop, to slow down, to think about the consequences. But those voices are drowned out by the thundering of my pulse and the soft sounds Isabella makes when I adjust my grip on her.

Four years of control, of putting my desires last, of focusing solely on my girls and my job… All of it dissolving under the touch of this woman who crashed into my life wearing a wedding dress and carrying nothing but determination.

There's a rightness to this that defies explanation. The immediate connection, the way she fits not just against my body but into my home, into my daughters' affections. I've dated, sure, but I've never felt this instant chemistry, this bone-deep recognition.

Too fast, too soon—I know this. But I can't bring myself to stop. Not when she's looking at me like I'm something precious, something desired. Not when my body is responding with an urgency I'd forgotten I was capable of feeling.

We reach the bedroom door, and I manage to turn the handle without dropping her, slipping inside and closing it behind us with a soft click. The darkness envelops us, broken only by slivers of moonlight through the blinds. I set Isabella downgently on the edge of my unmade bed, the reality of what we're doing suddenly crystal clear in the quiet sanctuary of my room.

"Jake," she whispers, her voice threading through the darkness like silk.

I kneel before her, hands trembling slightly as I find the hem of her t-shirt. She raises her arms, allowing me to pull it over her head, leaving her in just underwear that looks delicate and expensive against her pale skin.

"You're so beautiful," I murmur, hands skimming down her sides to her hips.

She shivers under my touch, and I hook my fingers into the waistband of her panties, sliding them down her legs. My breath catches at the sight of her—all soft curves and moonlit skin. I run my hands up her calves, over her knees, to her thighs, marveling at the way she responds to each touch, how her skin pebbles beneath my fingertips.

I lean forward, pressing my lips to her knee, then higher, trailing kisses up the inside of her thigh. Her breathing quickens, hands fisting in the sheets as I move higher still, my destination clear. When I reach the juncture of her thighs, her back arches in anticipation.

"Wait," she gasps suddenly, her hand coming down to stop my progress. "Jake, wait."

I pull back immediately, concern flooding me. "What's wrong? Did I hurt you?"

She shakes her head, reaching for me, pulling me up to sit beside her on the bed. In the dim light, I can see the conflict in her eyes, the hesitation.

"There's something I need to tell you," she says, voice barely audible. "Something I should have said downstairs."

I take her hand, trying to calm the sudden anxiety rising in my chest. "You can tell me anything."

Isabella takes a deep breath, her fingers tightening around mine. "I've never... I haven't..." She closes her eyes briefly, then meets my gaze directly. "I'm a virgin."

"You... and Sebastian never...?"

She shakes her head. "We were waiting until marriage. Or rather, my family was insistent upon it. Old money, old values." A bitter smile crosses her lips. "The Rosewood bride must be pure for her wedding night."

"And that's why you ran?" I ask softly.

"One of the main reasons," she admits. "The thought of my first time being with him, someone I didn't truly love, someone I was only marrying to please my family..." She shudders. "I couldn't bear it. I would never have forgiven myself. Or them."

My heart aches for her—for the pressure she's been under, for the choices that were never really choices at all.

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