Page 64 of Curvy Cabin Fever

A door creaks open down the hall, and Rhett’s low voice carries, soft and gravelly.

“See you soon, Aria.”

My stomach twists, and I force myself not to turn as he walks in, brushing past me without a word as he grabs a mug. I keep my eyes on the pan as I crack in more eggs, but I can smell him—sex and soap and something distinctlyRhettthat’s been driving me crazy since college. The familiar scent hits me like a physical blow.

“Are you good?” he asks.

So he does give a shit.

I glance up, brows raised. “You’re asking me thatnow?”

He doesn’t meet my eyes. “I’m just making sure.”

I twist my mouth and shrug. “I’m fine.”

Lies.

I’m not. I haven’t been fine since the day I realized what he meant to me. Since the night he kissed me, leaving me aching for something I couldn’t have.

And now here’s Aria.

She lingers in the doorway, chewing her lip, watching us. Her hair is still damp from the shower, her cheeks flushed pink. She’s wearing one of Rhett’s shirts—I’d recognize it anywhere—and the sight of her in his clothes does something complicated to my insides.

She’s glowing when she walks in. Even in a wrinkled shirt and wet hair, she looks like something out of a dream. Her eyes dart between us, like she’s not sure what she’s walking into. But she doesn’t look ashamed anymore. She looks…confident, and fuck me if that’s not sexy.

And God help me, I want her likethatbecause ofme.

Not just her body. Not just her sweet little sighs when I kiss her thighs or her smart mouth when I tease her over pancakes. I want to know how she sounds when I make her feel like Rhett just did.

Wrecked in the best way.

I want to pull her into my arms and kiss her until she forgets every other name butmine.

But I want to do that tohimtoo.

“Morning,” she says, voice slightly raspy, and I wonder if it’s from sleep or from screaming Rhett’s name.

“Hungry?” I ask, lifting the spatula. “I made enough for everyone.”

She nods, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Starving, actually.”

Our fingers brush when I hand her a plate, and the contact sends electricity shooting up my arm. Her eyes meet mine, and for a second, I swear she feels it too—that current between us, undeniable and strong.

Rhett clears his throat, and the moment shatters.

“Looks like the weather’s clearing,” he announces, staring out the window.

The reminder that this—whateverthisis—has an expiration date settles like ice in my stomach.

Soon, she’ll leave.

Where does that leave us?

“Good thing we stocked up before the storm,” Damien comments, seemingly oblivious to the tension. Or maybe he’s just better at ignoring it. “Got enough supplies for another week at least, just in case.”

Another week. Seven more days of this exquisite torture. Sleeping under the same roof and wanting what I can’t fully have.

“How’d you sleep?” I ask Aria, keeping my voice casual, though there’s nothing casual about the question.