Page 5 of Depths of Desire (The Saints of Westmont U #4)

FOUR

OLIVER

The road curled upward, winding through a forest that looked like something off a postcard.

It was too quiet, too perfect, too still.

Snow clung to the bare trees in soft heaps, and the tires made a crunching sound as they moved off the last stretch of cleared asphalt.

The heater hummed low. Lennox’s hands rested on the wheel like he had all the time in the world.

I did not have all the time in the world.

I didn’t say anything, though. There was no point.

This wasn’t his fault, technically. The storm had hit early. Roads were closing. The lodge was a decent solution.

Still, I hated the delay. I hated the change in schedule. I hated not being where I was supposed to be.

But more than that, I hated that I noticed how pretty the light looked on Lennox’s cheek as it filtered through the pines.

I turned back to the window.

The forest passed slowly outside, pale and clean and quiet. It made my skin itch. I didn’t like quiet. I liked water. The rhythm of breath and stroke and turn. I liked lane markers and clocks and the ache of muscles that told me I’d earned every second of rest.

This stillness felt like a trap.

I shifted in my seat and pressed my shoulder against the door, trying to angle away from him. Lennox didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he did and was just too polite to react. Or he didn’t care to notice me at all. I hoped for the last one to be true.

He looked calm. Focused. His profile was stupidly nice. Sharp jaw, warm mouth, hair in that casually tousled mess that probably just happened. The kind of guy who got numbers without asking and never had to try too hard to be liked.

He was exactly the kind of guy I never let myself get close to.

I rolled my neck and forced a breath through my nose.

This wasn’t a big deal.

One night. A storm. A warm place to sleep.

Nothing would happen.

Because nothing could happen. I was training.

I had to stay focused. I had to be sharp.

I’d built my whole damn life around control, around pushing harder, and shutting everything else out.

Distractions didn’t belong in my world. Especially not ones with easy smiles and dark, careful eyes who used to live two streets over and had grown into someone I didn’t know how to talk to anymore.

My jaw flexed. I pressed my tongue against the roof of my mouth.

He didn’t know. About me. About anything.

And he wasn’t going to.

I just had to make it through the night without looking too long or saying something I’d regret. Simple.

Lennox slowed the car as the trees cleared slightly. I saw the lodges ahead, all dark wood, soft lights glowing through frosted windows, smoke curling from chimneys. A few cabins sat scattered around, tucked in against the trees, like the whole place had exhaled into the snow.

It looked…fine. More than that, it looked warm and safe. And temporary.

I swallowed and braced my hands on my thighs.

I could handle this. One night. One storm.

As long as I didn’t look at him too much.

As long as I kept my mouth shut.

As long as I stayed focused.

I would survive.

But a heated palm tapped the back of my hand resting on my knee, and I startled, glaring at Lennox for letting his flesh touch mine with no warning. “Huh?”

“I’ll hop in and arrange a house,” he said.

Obviously , I thought. “Fine.”

Lennox let his gaze linger on my face for a heartbeat too long, making me sweat. I could see a question rising to his lips, his eyebrows contorting into a puzzled expression, but he wiped his face clean of emotion a moment later. “Be right back.”

Lennox hopped out of the car and hurried into the long, single-story reception lodge.

I leaned against the headrest and watched the thick flakes swirl with the wind, falling faster and harder than before.

Lennox returned a few minutes later, shaking snow from his hoodie as he climbed into the car. His cheeks were pink from the cold, his hair flecked with melting flakes. He held up a plastic key card like he’d won a prize.

“They’ve got a few cabins left, but they’re going fast,” he said. “A lot of people got caught by the storm.”

I didn’t say anything, just nodded once. A small pit opened in my stomach.

Lennox pulled away from the reception lodge and followed the narrow path deeper into the resort. The road curved between trees and low banks of snow, flanked by occasional streetlamps glowing soft amber. The snowfall had picked up, heavier now, drifting sideways in gusts.

He parked in front of a small cabin tucked beneath a pair of tall pines. It looked like a movie set. Lights glowed softly behind frosted glass. Smoke rose from a chimney. The roof wore a blanket of fresh snow, perfect and undisturbed.

Lennox grabbed both duffels from the back seat and led the way up the shoveled path. The porch creaked under our steps. He slid the key card into the lock, and the door clicked open.

I stepped inside behind him and stopped.

The cabin was small, but not cramped. It was warm, the air smelling faintly of cedar and something buttery, like cookies had been baked there recently.

Wood panels lined the walls and ceiling.

A fireplace sat on one side of the room, across from a little living area with a two-seat couch and a deep armchair.

A kitchenette stood against the left wall, with a bar-height table and two stools.

To the back, half-screened by an open wooden beam divider, was the bed.

One bed.

One large bed, centered neatly under a wide window.

I stared at it for one long, frozen second before I dragged my eyes away.

The couch was too small. So was the armchair. There was no spare mattress, no fold-out anything.

Lennox dropped the bags by the kitchenette and gave a little stretch. “This place is kinda nice.”

I didn’t answer. My brain was busy running calculations. Angles, distances, options. None of them good.

He walked over to the fireplace and extended his arms, palms forward. Flames danced up behind the glass. He rubbed his hands together and glanced at me over his shoulder.

“You want first dibs on the shower?”

I shook my head. “You go.”

He gave me a curious look, then nodded and grabbed his bag, vanishing into the bathroom.

The door closed behind him with a quiet click.

I stood in the center of the cabin and stared at that bed again.

My chest tightened. I could already picture the night ahead.

Too much heat, not enough space, the unbearable proximity of his skin.

And Lennox, warm and close, relaxed and asleep, while I spent the night doing breathing exercises with my limbs nailed to the mattress.

This was not survivable.

But it would have to be.

I checked the kitchenette again like I might’ve missed something at first glance.

I opened the cabinets: nothing but plates and two mismatched mugs.

I tried the coat closet near the door. Just hangers.

I even squinted at the couch like it might magically grow a second cushion or foldout if I looked at it hard enough.

It didn’t.

From the bathroom came the sound of running water. Then humming, soft, off-key, like Lennox was in a shampoo commercial.

I gritted my teeth.

How was he relaxed? How was he humming right now, like this wasn’t completely insane? Like we weren’t two guys about to share one bed during a snowstorm with no escape and nowhere else to go?

I turned in a slow circle, then stopped myself before I could scan the room again. There was no point. The layout wasn’t going to change just because I hated it.

The bed sat there in the back, neat and innocent. Like it didn’t know what it was doing to me.

I dropped down into the armchair and sat stiffly, arms folded across my chest. My bag sat untouched by the door. I couldn’t even think about changing. My skin already felt too tight.

I told myself it wasn’t a big deal. Just one night. No one was asking me to do anything but sleep.

And yet…

Something about Lennox made my thoughts spin. The way he moved, the way he looked at me, the way he smiled without warning, and then the smile stayed in his eyes for a while after.

I’d caught him watching me earlier in the car. He’d turned away fast, but not fast enough. There’d been something in his expression. Something open and quiet and curious.

I didn’t have proof. I was probably reading into things. Wishful thinking, which was dangerous. He could be straight. Hell, he could be gay and still not want anything to do with someone like me.

Better to keep the walls up. Better not to want anything at all.

The bathroom door opened.

I didn’t look at first. I knew I shouldn’t. I stared into the fire like it was talking to me.

Then movement caught in the corner of my eye, and I looked anyway.

He stepped out with a towel slung over his shoulder, wearing nothing but a pair of black briefs.

Just briefs.

His skin was damp. His hair was darker, pushed back, water still beading at the ends. He was wiping his face with the towel, like it hadn’t occurred to him that walking out half-naked into a shared space might be a problem.

My eyes dropped before I could stop them. Broad shoulders. Long legs. Lean, defined lines that weren’t just aesthetic—they were functional. Power and discipline made into shape. He wasn’t even trying, and it was undoing me.

I wanted to look away.

I didn’t.

Something clenched deep in my gut. It was both painful and familiar. Like want edged with guilt.

I didn’t do this. Not often. Not like this. I kept things physical when I needed to, distant and forgettable. I didn’t let people get under my skin. I didn’t sleep next to anyone.

But Lennox wasn’t forgettable.

He turned toward the kitchen, stretching a little, and the line of his back curved with it. My breath caught.

How the hell was I supposed to survive the night?