Chapter 15

I wakeup to the salty smell of bacon and the patter of rain on the roof and windows. Dim light filters through the bedroom.

My eyes widen seconds after they open, and I grab the comforter, lift it up to my face and let out a muffled squeal. Savage doesn’t hate me. Savage was hard for me. He wants me.

And I sat on top of him topless last night and taunted him. It’s ridiculous, or maybe it’s not, but I felt in control.

Already, my mind is spiraling.

What does this mean? Does he want me? I definitely want him, but it doesn’t change anything. Savage doesn’t take me seriously, and he “can’t” give me what I want. And I can’t stay in Heatstroke. If I do, I’m going to wind up doing what I’ve always done—plodding along, hoping things will change when they never do.

My family, while I love them, is a constant reminder of what I will never have. A husband and a child. A family of my own.

My excitement wanes, and I drop the comforter away from my face and stare at the ceiling, listening to the rain.It stops occasionally before starting up again.

Last night was a dream. A fantasy.

You are way overthinking this. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.

If I’m going to be this newly independent, traveling woman, a rolling stone as it were, then I should probably stop obsessing about this. What will be, will be. That kind of thing.

Besides, I should be worried about the stalker freak standing outside the house last night, not how good it felt to press myself against Savage’s side, or the expression on his face when I took off my shirt.

The bedroom door opens, and my intentions fly out of the window so fast, I’m surprised it doesn’t spontaneously crack.

Savage enters the bedroom, wearing a thick woolen sweater, and stands at the end of the bed, holding a mug of coffee. “You’re awake,” he says.

“Hi.” I sit upright, and the sheets fall away from my bare chest.

“Fuck.” Savage actually jumps, and coffee splashes out of the mug and onto his hand. “Fuck.”

“Oh my God, are you okay?” I grab the comforter and pull it up to my chest.

“Fine.” It’s a grunt instead of a word. “I’ll be right back. Put some clothes on.”

I lift my chin, but Savage is already on his way out of the room.

Put some clothes on? That’s not what he said last night, but whatever.

I get out of bed and slip on my PJ top then wince. It’s actually freezing, and I hurriedly rummage through my bag, searching for something warm to wear. But I’ve got nothing. I was in such a rush to leave, that I forgot anything long-sleeved—and I didn’t pay attention to the weather.

“Darn,” I mutter, fisting my hips.

“What’s wrong?” Savage asks behind me.

My skin prickles, and I spin on the spot. You’re the one in control, remember? You’re the independent, not clumsy, woman who straddled him last night. “I forgot to bring a sweater or a hoodie or something. I didn’t check the weather before I left.”

Savage comes over to me in the half-light, his gaze fixed on my face.

The tension between us is exquisite, and my heart beats like crazy.

He stares. I stare.

I glance down at his lips and then back up at his eyes. He’s so perfect, it should be criminal. Dark eyes, strong cheekbones, a nose that’s definitely been broken before, his beard streaked through with gray, and the slight lines around his eyes. He looks like he’s lived a million lives, and all of them are etched onto him like the tattoos that run up his neck.

I swallow.

“Hannah?”

“Huh?” I meet his gaze, and my plans to be the cool, independent woman who’s never embarrassed evaporate. I blush, because he’s watching me check him out. “Yeah? What’s up?”

“I made you coffee.” He lifts the mug.

“How? The power?”

“French press. Kettle on the gas stove.”

“Thank you.” I take the mug from him and sip from it. “Ooh, yum. Just enough sugar and cream.”

He turns and walks over to the closet, opens it and enters. He comes out a second later with a sweater, then brings it over to me. “I don’t think my pants will fit you.”

I take the sweater from him, dying inside. “Thanks. This is great.”

“Great.”

We stand together in the quiet, me looking up at him. He stares over my head at the window. “I secured the perimeter while you were asleep. The power is still out, but the house is safe.”

“There was a concern that the house wasn’t safe?”

“I’ve made breakfast.” And then he turns and walks out of the room. I stare at his butt in those punishing gray sweatpants.

He leaves the door open, but his footsteps retreat, and I take another sip of my coffee absently. He made me coffee. And breakfast. And he gave me his?—

Get over yourself! It doesn’t mean anything. Savage might be attracted to me, but he still doesn’t want me.

I set down the coffee on the bedside table and then pull on his sweater. It’s warm, and it smells of that smoky cedar cologne. I lift it to my nose and inhale. So unbelievably sexy. The sweater falls down past my thighs, oversized, just like Savage, and I squirm at the thought of him holding me.I put in my contacts instead of wearing my glasses.

Finally, I grab my coffee and head through to the living room.

Savage is bent over the fireplace, stoking it. He straightens, then directs me to the sofa. The coffee table, a polished wooden chest, carries a single yellow rose in a vase, two glasses of water, and two sets of silverware.

“This is?—”

“I made eggs Benedict.”

“You’re kidding! That’s one of my favorite breakfasts. But I don’t like it with the ham, I like it with…”

He sets the plates down on the coffee table.

“…bacon,” I finish.

And that’s exactly what he’s made.

Savage places the plate in his lap and starts eating.

I drink my coffee and stare at him. “This is really nice of you,” I say. “I appreciate the?—”

Savage gets off the couch and goes over to the leather armchair across from me. He sits down and continues eating, acting as if I don’t exist.

“All right,” I say. “Nice talk.”

I lift the plate into my lap, cut into my breakfast and take a bite. I moan and roll my eyes. “Oh my God, Savage, this is just perfect.”

His chewing slows as he watches me eat.

“Like unreal. You’re a great cook. Where did you learn to?—?”

“Road’s out.”

“You say what now?”

“The road is out. We’re going to be stuck here for a while.”

“Oh.” I keep eating and frown. “Listen, about last night?—”

“We’re not going to talk about that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“You don’t want to talk about me sitting on top of you, naked?” I sigh. “What an unexpected surprise. I can’t believe you, Savage, chatterbox that you are, doesn’t want to talk about it.”

Silence. He eats his breakfast and occasionally glares at me over the table, frowning like I’ve offended him.

“So…” I take a sip of water and set the glass down on the coffee table. “What are we going to do today? It’s not like I can leave.”

“Spar.”

“Huh?”

“I’m going to teach you how to defend yourself for the times when I am not around.”

“Which will be soon, since I’m leaving,” I say.

He takes another bite of food.

“Okay, that’s great, actually. I’ve always wanted to learn to fight, but my father and Cash would never let me. They were afraid I was going to collapse or something.”

“Why?”

“Uh, well, when I was a kid, I had cancer,” I say. “So, I got really sick, and I was pretty frail for a while. They didn’t really want me doing much after that, which I get, but, you know, it’s been years now.”

“You’re fine?” Savage asks. “You went into remission?”

“Yes, thankfully,” I say. “But I get tested once or twice a year, just to be safe.”

“I’m sorry, Hannah. I didn’t know.”

“Not a lot of people do. I don’t talk about it much, and it’s why I kind of get that Cash is so overprotective. He is the oldest out of everyone, and he was probably the most conscious when it was happening. I think it was really scary for him.”

“What about for you?”

I smile, dipping my gaze down to my knees. “It was bad, but I don’t remember that much of it, thankfully. I don’t know if that’s a trauma response or if it’s just because I was young, but I think about it a lot more these days.” I take a sip of coffee. “I went through this huge, traumatic thing when I was a kid, right? And I… Well, I’m really lucky to be here. A lot of people aren’t that lucky. I want to live my life bearing that in mind. I want to live it to the fullest, while I can, because if I did get tested one of these days, and I had to go through that again, and my family had to go through that again, I would want to have lived my life with no regrets.”

The rain picks up. I continue eating, but Savage has stopped.

“What?” I ask, smiling.

“You are an amazing person.” And then he gets up, grabs my empty coffee cup, and goes to refill it.

I’m too stunned to say a word.