Page 70 of Defensive Desire

Cole clutches his chest like she shot him. “Wounded.”

“Still the same jackass?” I mutter under my breath.

“Always.” He tosses me a beer from the cooler. “You, on the other hand… look like you’ve been smiling lately. I barely recognize you. You dying or something?”

I laugh it off and give him a shove before sliding my hand around Emma’s waist. She leans into me so close that I manage to smell her hair without my brothers noticing.

We start unloading the truck. Emma grabs the snack bag and her weekend duffel, and I catch Nate watching her from the corner of his eye. Not in a bad way. Just… curious.

And I get it.

Because watching her now, moving through the clearing, hair glowing in the late-morning sun, cheeks pink from the mountain air… it hits me.

She fits here.

Like she belongs.

And that thought alone scares the shit out of me.

Last time I stood in this clearing, I was alone. Angry. Still reeling from missing Mom’s funeral because of a contract obligation.

At least, that's what I told myself was the reason I didn't go.

I came here and sat in the rain for three days, soaking wet and furious with the whole damn world. I swore I’d never bring anyone back. Never open my heart, never sharethispart of me.

And yet… here she is.

The most gorgeous woman on the planet, laughing with Cole in a way no one ever does. She's wiping her hands on her jeans and offering to help Nate stack firewood, gathering sticks already like she's done this all before.

Cole cracks open another beer and hands it toward Emma. Before she can take it, I swipe it from his hand and replace it with a bottle of water.

She gives me a knowing look. “What, I can’t hang with the big boys?”

“Hydrate first,” I mutter, holding up my own water bottle and giving it a shake. “Tease me later.”

She snorts. Nate lifts a brow. And Cole cackles like he just found his new favorite sport.

“Fuck, man. You’re gonna regret bringing her,” he tells me with a wink.

“No,” I say, quieter than I mean to. “I’m really not.”

A few hours later, the sun's dipped low enough to turn the treetops gold, and the clearing’s taken on that kind of warm glow that makes everything look like it belongs in a postcard.

Emma’s inside, dropping her weekend bag onto the tiny double bed in the back room of the cabin.

The walls are paneled in knotty pine, and the windows are warped from decades of snow and summer storms, but the view outside, with the lake just visible through the trees, makes up for every imperfection.

Or maybe it’s just her.

She runs her fingers over the patchwork quilt, smiling like she’s stumbled into some fairytale.

“This place is adorable,” she murmurs, then turns to me with a crooked grin. “But… only one bed, huh?”

I shrug, letting my fingers brush hers as I step in close. “Told you it was rustic.”

She arches a brow. “You planning to behave?”

I reach across and playfully slap her ass. “Absolutely not, baby.”