Page 57 of Braving the Storm

Is it better, or punishingly worse, knowing that he’s fighting this attraction that we absolutely cannot indulge and should never have allowed to spark between us?

We lie there together for a moment. My heart still thundering wildly, and like last night, I’m trying to be the version of Briar who can handle herself with dignity after engaging in something that shouldn’t have even happened in the first place… but I don’t know if I can go another night without being held after such an intense orgasm.

God, I’m so needy. So fucking clingy.

He eases up from covering me without a word.

I wince and decide I can’t face anything more humiliating than yet another man who willingly leaves me cold and alone in a bed. There are far too many memories I don’t want that threaten to burst through the dam I’ve erected inside my mind, so I give into the pathetic need to hide away and bundle myself under the blankets.

I know I said I would sleep on the couch, but if he’s already preparing to run off in order to get away and insert distance between us. After the intensity of what just happened, my limbs are heavy and droopy.

Except, as I try to curl on my side to tuck myself into a ball and try to figure out what the fuck I’m supposed to do about the fact I turn into a cat in heat, rubbing all over my uncle every time I’m near him, the mattress dips behind me.

Strong arms band around me.

“Come here. Sit up for me.”

I’m caught in a state of disbelief, so much so that I lose my ability to respond. All I can do is follow his guiding touch and brief instructions.

Reaching behind his neck, he tugs his t-shirt off in one smooth motion, leaving a whirl of ink and muscles filling every inch of space, filling my vision.

Wordlessly, he nudges my arms to raise up. As I do so, I dare glance at his face, and his expression is pinched, brows furrowed. His intense focus remains on the task at hand—sliding my dress up and over my shoulders and head.

The whole time, he keeps his eyes on a spot somewhere around the point of my shoulder. Not staring at my body, but keeping his attention on what he’s doing. Once my dress is removed, he quickly bunches up a t-shirt—the t-shirt he’s just been wearing—and settles it over my head, covering me in his warmth and scent. The same careful, attentive manner follows as he guides each one of my arms through to set it in place.

I’m entirely too stunned to speak.

After he’s done that, he reaches under the fabric, and that’s when I suck in a sharp breath, because his fingers graze the back of my ribs and my spine.

The cowboy-dream kneeling beside me on this mattress unclasps my bra, leaving me fighting the urge to shiver as his rough fingers brush lightly over bare skin. With more care and attentiveness than I could ever have imagined, he methodically works to pull each of the straps through the arm holes in order to help me take it off.

It’s a series of steps that could have so easily been sexualized. Especially considering where we had ended up only moments before.

Only, there is nothing but care and a sort of tenderness in the way he just helped me get undressed.

Still lingering in heavy silence, he holds the covers back, and gestures for me to settle myself beneath them. I curl onto my side, as I had been trying to do moments before.

Then he rustles around a little behind me.

The lamp on the bedside table flicks off, plunging us into darkness.

I’m not sure what to expect, anticipating that I’ll hear the telltale thud of retreating footsteps within the next few seconds.

However, I’m dragged back against a warm, bare chest.

His legs tangle with mine.

My heart flutters and gasps with excitement in a way that I should absolutely squash and stamp down because there is no way I can allow myself to become attached.

We don’t need to say anything. We both know there’s nothing that can be said, because last night in his truck, and tonight, both of those stolen, reckless moments have stepped far beyond the boundaries of what should separate us.

I guess I’ll have to deal with reality come morning—that the man I feel so comfortable wrapped up in, is the one man I absolutely cannot have.

Chapter 19

Twenty square feet suddenly feels like it has shrunk to barely two in the wake of yesterday. This cabin is like a glass case, where every attempt I’ve tried to make, every effort to tread carefully with the aim of avoiding Briar, well, I’ve failed.

Miserably.