Page 43 of Relentless Hearts
“Willow—”
“To your room.” Warmth flooded her cheeks at her own boldness, but she wasn’t backing down now. “I’m coming with you, Decker.”
The silence vibrated with tension and possibility. The porch lights cast a golden light across the snowy landscape and highlighted the sharp planes of Decker’s face. A war was going on behind those eyes, but she wasn’t going to let him retreat from what he probably thought was common sense.
“You don’t want that,” he said finally.
“You’re being bossy again. Don’t tell me what I want.” She turned in her seat to face him fully, and the movement brought her close enough that she could smell his soap, clean and masculine. It made her want to press her face against his neck. “Don’t treat me the way my brothers do. I’m a grown woman. I can make my own decisions.”
“Your brothers will—”
“Be at the bar for another hour cleaning up.” Reaching over, she covered his hand with hers, grounded by the calluses on his palm and the strength in his fingers that tightened automatically around hers as if he couldn’t stop it from happening.
“Unless…you don’t want me to come with you?”
The sound he made was somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “Wanting you has never been the problem.”
The admission sent need spiraling through her core. “Then what is?”
Instead of answering, he shifted the truck into drive and rolled the short distance to the lodge’s parking area.
Anticipation and nervousness warred inside her.
Neither of them moved for a moment. The weight of what they were about to do hung in the air between them.
“You’re sure about this?” His voice was rough.
She thought about all the complications this would create, about the questions her family would ask. About what could happen if things went sideways.
She was done thinking.
Because when she looked at Decker—really looked at him—all those concerns faded to background noise.
This was right.
He was right.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
He was a total gentleman, opening her door and taking her hand to help her out of the truck. Their boots crunched softly on the snow-covered gravel as he led her to the door, and his hand never left hers when he guided her to his room.
Every step made it harder for her to breathe. Every foot closer to his room—to his arms, his bed—sent her desire into overdrive.
Her pulse thrummed so hard she swore he could hear it. He swung the door inward slowly, giving her time to back out.
She paused, looking into the deep pools of his eyes. Then he stepped in, their hands still linking the distance between them. He gave her a gentle tug.
By the time he closed the door with a quiet click, her hands were shaking. Not from fear…from wanting him so badly she could hardly breathe.
The next instant, his big frame was pressed against hers. His mouth found hers—hot, hungry and endless. The kiss went on and on, stealing every last ounce of oxygen until she had no choice but to break away on a gasp.
“Willow.” His voice was ragged. His thumb traced her jaw, as if memorizing the shape of her.
Her answer was to push into him for another kiss, this one greedy and reckless, her fingers bunching in the front of his shirt.
His hands were all over her—roaming up her back, dragging through her hair, then down to grip her waist…and lower to cup her ass.
“Christ, Willow.Christ.”
