Chapter 26

26

Chloe

“Wow,” I murmured, unable to keep the awe from my voice.

“Pretty amazing, huh?” Mason’s voice was a warm rumble next to me.

In the woods, just a few hundred yards behind his house—behind my cottage—was a hidden treasure. A natural hot spring, hidden in a small clearing of trees. Steam rose from the water as tendrils of moonlight snuck through the branches overhead.

“Amazing doesn’t cut it.” The words tumbled out as I edged closer, drawn to the spring like a moth to flame. “It’s like something out of a fairy tale. How could I have lived out there this whole time and not known this was here?”

Mason chuckled, that easy sound that always set my heart to fluttering. “I was waitin’ for the right time to show you. It’s an ancient natural spring. Been here longer than any of us.”

“An ancient spring . . .” I echoed, letting my fingers hover over the surface, feeling the heat radiating off the water. “How did you find this place?”

“Old Tim Carter mentioned it once when I was helping him fix a fence. Said it was a secret worth keeping.” Mason stepped beside me, his presence reassuring. “So, when I found out exactly where it was, I bought the house and all the land around it.”

“All of it?” I turned to look at him, my eyes searching his face.

“Every last acre.” He nodded, gray eyes serious. “The homes on the street all have lots that end at the tree line. The woods are mine. Couldn’t risk someone coming in and ruining this. It’s too . . . special.”

“Special,” I repeated, the word not quite capturing the magic of it all. “You did that? Just to protect it?”

“Seemed like the right thing to do.” His shrug was nonchalant, but I could see the care in his gaze as he looked over the water. “Some things are worth holding onto.”

My heart did a funny little skip. Worth holding onto. Yeah, I knew a thing or two about that.

The steam curled into the night sky, a dance of warmth against the cool air. I stood there, my heart swelling in a way that made words feel small and inadequate.

“Chloe?” Mason’s voice was soft, pulling me back from the edge of my thoughts.

I turned to him, saw the flicker of moonlight catching in his eyes.

“You’re really a romantic at heart, aren’t you?”

He chuckled, but shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Maybe . . .” I echoed, but the simplicity of the moment, the honesty in his admission, it was enough to tip the scales. I stepped closer, feeling the pull of him like gravity. “Mason, you’re . . . you’re amazing, you know that?”

“Reckon I’m just a man who knows what he wants.” His hand reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “And I want this—to share moments like these with you. I’m hopin’ forever, but I’ll settle for now. ”

My breath caught, lodged somewhere between hope and a burgeoning reality.

“Forever might not be long enough,” I whispered, realizing the truth as it tumbled from my lips.

His arms wrapped around me then, a solid embrace that spoke of protection and promise. Our kiss was a seal, a silent vow exchanged under the watchful eye of the stars. It was tentative at first, a question asked and answered without words, then deepening, a conversation of lips and breath and shared dreams.

“Let me take care of you,” Mason murmured against my mouth, his hands moving to the hem of my shirt, fingers grazing the skin at my waist.

“Okay,” I managed, every nerve ending coming alive under the kindness in his touch.

Slowly, reverently, he peeled the fabric away, his movements deliberate, worshipful. Each inch of exposed skin seemed to sing under the cool night air, then warm again beneath the heat of his palms.

“Beautiful,” he said, and I felt it—not just heard it. Felt beautiful in his eyes, in the tender care he took undressing me, as if I were something precious, something cherished.

“Thank you,” I said, but even as the words left me, they felt too small, too meager for the enormity of what was unfolding between us.

“Thank you,” he echoed, a smile in his voice, “for trusting me.”

Trust. Such a simple thing, really, but with Mason, it felt like the beginning of everything.

He led me to the water and I dipped my toes in, slowly letting the heat envelop me. It was a warm caress, a liquid hug that eased the tremors of anticipation running through me. I let out a sigh as the tension melted from my shoulders, watching tendrils of steam dance and disappear into the night air.

“Like it?” Mason’s voice, husky and close, sent another kind of shiver down my spine.

“Love it,” I admitted, half-turning to find him shedding his own clothes with casual confidence. His body, all lean muscle and shadowed contours, was a testament to years of physical work. And it was all for me.

He stepped into the spring, the water rippling around him as he made his way over. Our eyes locked, and I couldn’t look away if I wanted to. The connection was tangible, electric, as if the water conducted every spark between us straight into my soul.

“Hey there,” he said, a playful note in his voice, but his gray eyes smoldered with something much more serious.

“Hey yourself.” My reply was breathy, almost a whisper.

Then he was there, right there, no space left between us. His hands found my waist, strong and sure, pulling me against him. The warmth of the spring had nothing on the heat of his skin.

“Chlo,” he breathed out, just before his lips claimed mine.

And oh, that kiss. It was everything—a promise, an apology for every hurt we’d ever known, a vow for the future. His mouth moved with mine in a rhythm as old as time, yet as fresh as the first drop of rain in a drought. I clung to him, fingers threading through that dark hair I’d come to adore, anchoring myself to the here and now.

Mason Bridges. This man, with a heart as vast as the Montana sky and a touch gentle enough to soothe away nightmares. The one who made laughter bubble up from places inside me I thought were long since sealed off.

“Chloe,” he murmured against my lips, the word a caress in itself. “You’re all I ever wanted.”

My response was swallowed by another kiss, deeper, hungrier, as if we could somehow taste the truths we’d yet to speak aloud. Here, enveloped by the embrace of the hot spring, nothing else existed—no past traumas, no fears of what tomorrow might bring. Just Mason. Just me. Just us.

“But I’ve got somethin’ I wanna say.”

I could feel the weight of his words before he spoke them, something momentous shimmering in the space between us. Maybe it was the clarity of the stars above or the sincerity that always laced his voice, but in that instant, I knew.

“I love you,” he said. It wasn’t loud; it didn’t need to be. It was as natural as the spring we were nestled in, as undeniable as the pull of the earth beneath us.

My heart, already racing from the warmth of the water and the closeness of him, swelled until I thought it might burst. “Mason,” I began, my voice trembling not from cold but from the sheer intensity of emotion welling inside me. “I . . .”

“Take your time. You don’t have to say it back,” he interjected, a smile audible in his tone. He understood my hesitations, my scars, without ever pressing too hard.

But this—this was easy. “I love you too,” I said, the words spilling from me like they’d been waiting just beneath the surface all along. The fear that so often clung to me slipped away, replaced by a warmth that had nothing to do with the hot spring.

“Reckon that’s the best thing I’ve heard all year,” he replied, his voice rough around the edges with emotion.

“Only all year?” I teased, finding my sarcasm a comfortable blanket even here, even now.

“Alright, maybe ever,” he conceded with a chuckle, and I couldn’t help but laugh, the sound mingling with the night as if it belonged there. “Chloe . . .” His lips trailed a line of fire along my neck, his breath a whisper against my skin. His eyes held stars of their own, reflecting the night sky above us.

“Mason,” I breathed, my hands finding the rugged terrain of his shoulders.

“Been dreaming of this,” he murmured, his touch igniting pathways of desire that coursed through me. Our lips met, a collision of urgency and all the unsaid words we’d been hoarding for so long.

“Me too,” I confessed between kisses. The world outside our secluded cocoon might as well have ceased to exist. Here, in the embrace of warm waters, it was just us.

His hands roamed with reverence, tracing the outline of scars and memories etched upon my skin. Each caress was an affirmation, a silent vow spoken through fingertips that whispered over flesh. And as we moved together, the water lapped at our joined forms, a symphony to accompany the rhythm we set—a dance as old as time itself.

“Perfect . . . you’re perfect,” he said, his voice strained with emotion, rough like gravel but soft around the edges.

“Far from it,” I managed to gasp out, but there was no room for insecurities now. Not when every touch from Mason felt like a brushstroke, painting over past pains with hues of joy and pleasure.

“Perfect for me,” he corrected, and who was I to argue when every fiber of my being sang in agreement?

He lifted me and I wrapped my legs around him. With a slow thrust, he filled me, bringing our bodies together as one. This wasn’t like before, wasn’t like any of the other times. It was slower, softer, but just as erotic.

Mason’s hips moved in a mesmerizing rhythm, each thrust a heartbeat in time with my own. His hands cradled my hips, guiding me as we rocked gently in the water, bodies intertwined like vines on a trellis .

“Chloe . . .” he breathed into my ear, his voice gravelly with desire. “Need you . . . want you . . .”

I silenced him with a deep kiss, pouring all my own need into it until we were both trembling. My hands roamed the muscular planes of his back, tracing scars and contours by touch alone. He was strength personified, hardened by years of physical toil, yet so incredibly gentle with me.

“Mason,” I breathed against his lips, my back arching into his total embrace. He growled in response, his grip on my hips tightening as he moved within me, every thrust hitting a sweet spot I didn’t know existed.

“Chloe,” he gasped, his eyes clouded with desire and something else—something deeper that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. “You feel so good. So perfect.”

“I love you,” I moaned, the words, and he said them back, repeating them like a prayer.

We lost ourselves in each other, in the moment. Time stretched and pooled around us, irrelevant. We reached the peak together, cresting over it in a slow frenzy I’d never thought possible.

In his arms, I felt safe. I felt peace. There was only the now—only the feel of him, the taste of him, the sound of our mingled breaths punctuating the stillness of the night.