Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 29299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Claiming.
My breath stutters. His mouth brushes mine just enough to ignite everything.
He deepens it before I can think.
My fingers grip his shirt.
He groans low against my mouth. The sound vibrates through me. His other hand moves to my lower back, pressing me firmly against him.
His mouth leaves mine, trailing to my jaw.
“Tessa,” he murmurs, voice wrecked.
“Yes.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
His hand tightens at my waist. “I’m barely holding on.”
“Then let go.”
He stills.
That’s when I feel it. The hesitation. The wall. He pulls back an inch. Two.
I chase him instinctively.
His palm lands flat against my stomach, stopping me. His breathing is uneven now.
“I can’t,” he says.
My chest tightens. “Why?”
“Because once I cross that line,” he says quietly, “there’s no pretending this is casual.”
“I don’t want casual.”
“I know.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
His eyes flick toward Lacee’s hallway. “Her.”
I nod slowly.
“She already loves you,” he says. My heart aches at the truth in that. “She deserves stability.”
“I am stable.”
“You’re temporary.”
The word hits like a slap.
I stiffen. “Excuse me?”
“This job,” he says. “The summer.”
“You think I’m disposable?”
“No.”
“But you think I’ll leave.”
“You will.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
Something inside me hardens. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”
“I’m not deciding,” he says. “I’m protecting.”
“From what?”
“From me.”
Silence stretches between us. I search his face. “You think you’ll hurt me?”
“I think I’ll want you too much.”
My breath trembles. “And that’s bad?”
“For you.”
“I’m not fragile.”
“I know that,” he snaps softly. “That’s what makes this worse.”
His hand drops from my waist like it burns him.
He steps back, cold air floods between us.
“You don’t get to kiss me like that and then retreat again,” I say, steady but shaking.
“I do if it keeps things from breaking.”
“I won’t be someone’s almost.”
His jaw tightens. “I’m not asking you to be.”
“You are,” I counter. “You want me. You touch me. You look at me like I’m something you’ve already decided belongs to you. And then you act like I’m a mistake waiting to happen.”
He goes still. “I don’t think you’re a mistake.”
“Then stop treating me like one.” Silence hums. “I won’t beg,” I add quietly. “And I won’t wait around for you to decide I’m worth the risk.”
He takes a slow breath. “You are worth the risk.”
“Then act like it.” His eyes burn into mine.
“I’ve buried one woman,” he says softly. “I won’t survive losing another.”
The confession knocks the anger out of me.
“That’s not what this is,” I say.
“You don’t know that.”
“Neither do you.”
He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated.
“You think this is easy for me?” he asks. “You think I don’t feel it every time you laugh with Lacee? Every time you lean across this counter? Every time you look at me like you’re not afraid of me?”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“You should be.”
“Why?”
“Because when I want something,” he says quietly, “I don’t do it halfway.”
My pulse pounds.
“Then don’t.”
The tension thickens again. He steps forward once more. Not hesitant this time.
Deliberate.
His hand slides to my cheek.
“You don’t deserve half of me,” he says.
“Then give me all of you.”
The challenge hangs there.
He leans down, resting his forehead against mine.
“You’re asking me to choose,” he whispers.
“Yes.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
His breathing roughens again. His lips brush mine again, softer this time.
Reverent.
Not consuming.
Not desperate.
A promise he’s not sure he’s ready to make.
He pulls back slowly.
“Go to bed, Tessa.”
My stomach drops. “That’s your answer?”
“For tonight.” I swallow the hurt.
“I won’t be your almost,” I repeat.
His gaze softens in a way that makes my chest ache.
“You won’t be,” he says quietly.
Then he steps away. I stand there alone in the kitchen, heart racing, lips still tingling. Tears burning behind my eyes.
Chapter 9
Sawyer
Idon’t lose control.
That’s the lie I’ve built my life on.
At the firehouse, I’m steady. Focused. The one who moves through smoke like it’s weather instead of chaos. At home, I run schedules, pack lunches, make sure Lacee’s homework is done before dinner. I don’t let things unravel.
But tonight I’m standing on my own porch, knuckles braced against the railing, and I feel split open.
The mountains are quiet. The sky is a deep indigo wash, stars sharp enough to cut. The air smells like pine and summer heat cooling off.
Inside, I can hear Tessa laughing softly with Lacee as they finish cleaning up after movie night.
That sound.
Hearing inside this house still shocks me.
The door creaks open behind me.
“You’re brooding,” Tessa says.
I don’t turn right away. “I don’t brood.”
“You absolutely brood.”
She steps up beside me, bare feet silent on the wood. She’s wearing one of my old firehouse shirts again. It swallows her. The hem brushes her thighs.
My jaw tightens.
“You should stop stealing my clothes.”
She glances down at herself. “I asked.”
“You asked while already wearing it.”
She smiles. “You didn’t tell me to take it off.”
I look at her then. Really look at her.
Her hair’s loose, falling over one shoulder. No makeup. Just warm skin and soft eyes and that stubborn little lift of her chin when she challenges me.