Page 15 of No Words
“They didn’t.” His certainty should be comforting, but it only highlights how completely my safety depends on this man I barely know. “The security system is as good as it gets. Motion sensors, thermal imaging, perimeter alerts. Nothing gets within half a mile without my knowing.”
I look around the rustic cabin with new eyes, seeing beyond the log walls and the homey furnishings to the fortress it actually is. “And if they find us?”
“They won’t.” Cole turns from the window. “But we need to establish some ground rules.”
His tone sends a shiver through me, and it isn’t fear. The way he says “rules” carries weight, authority. My legal training rebels against this shift in power, but another part of me, a part I’ve never fully acknowledged, responds to it.
“I’m listening.” And I wait to hear the terms of my protection.
Twenty minutes later, the weight of Cole’s revelations presses down on me as he outlines the security protocols, when I can move around the cabin, which windows to avoid, and emergency response plans. His words drove home the complete destruction of my former life. My colleagues compromised. My witnesses are dead. My case is in jeopardy.
“I need a shower,” I say abruptly, cutting him off mid-sentence. His eyebrows lift slightly, but he doesn’t protest when I stand.
“Bathroom’s through there.” He gestures toward a door off the main living area. “Towels in the cabinet.”
I nod and retreat, desperate for privacy, for hot water to wash away the crawling sensation of being hunted. Anything to escape the weight of what I’ve learned.
The bathroom is spacious, stone-tiled floor, a walk-in shower with glass walls, deep soaking tub in the corner. Like everything else in this place, it’s luxurious, but designed with sight lines in mind. I strip and step into the shower. Glass walls everywhere. No hiding.
I turn the rainfall showerhead to its hottest setting and step under the spray, letting out an involuntary moan as the water cascades over my tight shoulders. For several minutes, I focus only on this sensory respite: the steam rising around me, the pounding of water against my skin, the gradual relaxation of muscles wound tight with lingering soreness from our first encounter. I massage shampoo into my hair, eyes closed, momentarily forgetting where I am and why.
Until a shift in the air alerts me to his presence.
When I hear him enter, I don’t turn around. After last night’s intensity, the lack of privacy feels almost irrelevant. I don’t open my eyes immediately. Something in me already knows it’s Cole standing in the doorway watching. I should rush to cover myself. Instead, a different kind of heat blooms low in my belly, spreading outward until my skin tingles with awareness.
Slowly, I open my eyes and turn toward the door. Cole leans against the frame, arms crossed over his broad chest, expression unreadable. He makes no attempt to hide his gaze as it travels deliberately over my body and back up, noting every inch of exposed skin.
“What are you doing?” My voice comes out huskier than intended.
“Checking on you,” he answers, but the intensity in his eyes suggests more. “You’ve been in here for twenty minutes.”
Has it been that long? “I needed to think.”
“Thinking is dangerous right now.” He pushes off from the doorframe and steps fully into the bathroom. “Thinking leads to second-guessing. Second-guessing gets you killed.”
The glass between us suddenly seems insubstantial, more suggestion than barrier. Water continues to stream down my body, and I make no move to shield myself from his gaze. This should feel like a violation. Every rule I’ve lived by obliterated. Instead, it feels inevitable.
He reaches for the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head in one fluid motion. The sight of his torso, carved muscle and old scars mapping a history of violence, steals my breath. He is stunning in every way possible. He kicks off his boots, unfastens his jeans, maintaining eye contact.
The shower door slides open, and steam billows around us as he enters my space, his massive frame making the generous shower feel claustrophobic. He’s so close that I can feel the heat radiating from his skin.
My back touches the cool tile as I instinctively retreat, but there’s nowhere to go. He places his palms flat against the wall on either side of my head, caging me without touching me.
“New rules, starting now,” he declares, voice dropping to a low register I haven’t heard before. “Rule one: I have to know everything. Your fears, your pain, what makes you wet. If you hide from me, I can’t protect you.”
“That’s not a rule,” I challenge, though my voice trembles a little. “That’s a demand for access to my thoughts.”
A shadow of a smile touches his lips. “All rules are demands, Molly. The difference is whether you choose to follow them. And I have to know your mental state to keep you alive.”
Hot water streams between us, tracing rivulets down his chest, disappearing into the grooves of muscle at his abdomen. I drag my eyes back to his face.
“Rule two,” he continues, leaning closer until his lips nearly brush my ear. “When you’re scared, you come to me. When you’re turned on, you come to me. No hiding either.”
His proximity sends goosebumps skittering across my skin. “And if I’m both?” The words escape before I can stop them.
Cole’s hand moves from the wall to cup my face, thumb tracing my lower lip with surprising gentleness. “Then especially you come to me.”
The first touch of his mouth against mine is barely there, a question more than a demand. But when I press forward, eliminating that last whisper of space between us, the question becomes a statement: bold, declarative, undeniable.
