Page 29 of Fool Me (Timberline Peak #1)

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

HARLOWE

His deep, teasing voice follows me into the bathroom. It’s the first time my cozy little home has felt claustrophobic. And hell, my clothes feel too tight right now as I shuck them off. He’s worried about me getting dizzy in a hot shower. To hell with that. I need a cold shower.

I can be both.

What was I thinking? Calling him a good boy and baiting him like that when we are spending the night in such close quarters.

And this is not all my fault. No, sir.

Why does he have to be so damn imposing? And how come I find this domineering side of him just as enticing as the sweet side of him? Pick a lane, buddy, you’re getting my ovaries all tangled up as they chase you around, begging for attention from both sides of you.

Adjusting the knob so the water is cold but not unbearable, I peel my underwear and sticky sports bra off. Then, when I remember Atlas is just feet away, I nudge the handle back a little more, just to be safe. Can’t be turned on and frozen—that’s just common sense.

I’m giving myself ten minutes in this shower to get my shit together, because this flirting is going to be the end of me. Goosebumps immediately spring up across my skin when I step into the shower.

But it doesn’t wash away the self-deprecating monologue running rampant in my head. I’m angry with myself because Atlas keeps making me want to kiss him when no one is around, like that’s a solid option.

He misses his family. Maybe not his brother, but his parents . . . this community. He wants friends here—one of my best friend’s husband’s—and if I fuck this up by catching feelings for my fake boyfriend, we’re both going to lose.

I’ve already got one Kane brother in town I’m trying to avoid.

There’s about a zero percent chance we can make this work with both our pasts, and I don’t need to spend my days dodging him, especially if he and Denver rekindle their friendship.

It’ll make things so fucking awkward. Both of us will be the adults we are and pretend it doesn’t bother us, but the dynamic will change no matter how hard we try to be cool.

This fake relationship is all we can have, and I need to remember that.

Gingerly, I wash my face careful to keep my bandage dry. It’s really just a quick rinse to get the grime off. Any serious maintenance will have to wait until my gash has had time to start healing.

We have two more weeks until we go to California together for Vivienne’s wedding and by the time we get back I should be almost through with the interview process. One more month, maybe a little longer, and we can amicably split on good terms.

It’s fine. I can handle this.

And I’m almost convinced that’s true as I rinse my face. Then there’s a knock at the door.

“You okay in there?”

I sigh and I’m right back at square one, because he cares enough to check. I really am just a girl who wants to be taken care of by a man who wants to be there.

“Almost done. I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Take your time. I need about five more minutes to finish up.”

After rinsing my body, I step out of the shower and reach for my towel. I sit on the toilet to dry off because, honestly, bending just makes my head pound.

“Shit,” I mutter when I scoop my clothes off the ground, only now realizing that I don’t have anything to change into and Atlas is right outside this door. There’s no avoiding him.

Slowly, I pull open the door, peeking out. He’s leaning against my counter, facing the door as he scrolls his phone.

Unlike the other day when I spilled ice cream on my shorts, I don’t ask him to turn around, and he doesn’t move a muscle. My pep talk in the shower vanishes into thin air with his heated stare lighting up every inch of my skin.

“I forgot to grab clothes. So . . . I’m just going to go do that.” Only, my feet don’t move. I’m too frozen by watching him watch me, stuck to the floor of my kitchen as his jaw flexes, and his hands find the counter behind him, knuckles blanching like he’s holding on to the island for dear life.

“Harlowe.” My name drags from his throat. It’s a croak filled with so much pained restraint that I tighten my hold on the towel before I take the first step toward the stairs leading to the loft. Taking the stairs as quickly as I can, I drop to the end of my bed, my heart pounding wildly.

There’s no door, no privacy. He could move ten feet to the left and see everything. Part of me wants him to take things out of my hands and push us over this line we’re straddling.

I lie back on my bed, letting go of my towel.

With my eyes closed, it’s too easy to imagine him standing at the end of my bed when I open them.

A breeze from the window I left open earlier caresses my sensitive skin, making my nipples tighten to twin peaks, because, in the fantasy playing out behind my closed eyelids, it’s his warm breath.

I count backwards from three in my head, letting myself enjoy the possibility.

Three . . . Two . . . One . . .

Clinking of metal just below me lurches me back to reality and I open my eyes.

Alone.

I sit up, leaving my towel on the bed and pull open the drawer under my bed a little angrily, almost taking my toenail off in the process.

Am I really mad at him for not invading my space, for not steamrolling my boundaries? No, I’m mad at myself for wanting him like this and believing in the possibility when I know how stupid it is.

Grabbing a comfy pair of underwear, cotton shorts, and a crop top, I get dressed before heading back downstairs.

Once again, I’m assaulted by the audacity of my own desires when I find Atas plating our meals.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’d spent time here before with how at home he looks in my space.

Other than his large frame taking up what feels like all the available space in the kitchen, it’s just as easy to imagine as the fantasy from the loft.

The warm smell of ginger wraps around me and I sink down on a stool, less apprehensive, less frustrated. Because how can I be when he’s . . . him.

“That smells like heaven.”

“Did you doubt me?” He sets both plates down and takes the stool next to me.

“Honestly, yes.” Canyon and I only ever ate take-out together. And even after months of being together, sleepovers were nonexistent. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn he survived on toaster strudels and grilled cheese alone.

“Let me guess. He didn’t cook.”

“I thought we weren’t talking about this.” I raise an eyebrow at him.

“We aren’t,” he grits out, pushing a hand through his tousled hair, still mussed from the helmet. “I just can’t wrap my head around it.”

“That, at one point in time, I found him charming?” Cutting a piece of tender chicken, I bring it to my lips.

The glare he throws at me makes me chuckle.

“It’s true. We started out as friends—he was helpful, eager to show me the ropes, and easy to like when I first moved here.

Plus, he was already close with my dad, so I trusted him.

And, I don’t know, those things just put me at ease.

I wrote off some things that otherwise would’ve been red flags and explained them away by him just being that guy. ”

“He’s great at making people see what he wants them to see.”

“I trusted him. My dad trusted him. And then, after he just walked away, there was no remorse, no amends. He shattered my trust, nearly cost me everything, and it was like no big deal to him.”

“It shouldn’t bother me as much as it does.”

“What shouldn’t?”

“That you two were together.” His voice is cautious, like he’s afraid to let the words out into the world.

I take another bite, putting off my reply because what am I supposed to say to that? “I can’t change the past.”

“No. It’s not even that.” He pushes a piece of chicken around his plate. “He didn’t deserve you as a friend, or . . .”

I cover his hand with mine. “Hey.”

His fork clatters to the plate and he turns toward me, taking me by surprise. “I hate it—that he got you like that. And I hate what that says about me. But I don’t blame you.”

“He doesn’t have me anymore.”

But you could , the voice in my head insists. It’s a steady refrain getting louder all the time, demanding my attention.

Atlas’s eyes drill into me like maybe he can hear it too. There’s a blink-and-you-miss-it shake of his head before he says, “No, he doesn’t.”

There’s not enough space between us to contain the heat and tension. I need to change the subject and my eyes dart around for anything to help, landing on the couch. “You should really take the bed. That couch is going to be too small for you.”

“Absolutely not. You need rest.”

“We both need rest, and you’re not getting any with your feet hanging over the edge.”

“Let me worry about that.”

“Or . . .” My vegetables are suddenly fascinating. “We could platonically share my bed.”

“That’s certainly an option. But as we’ve discussed, you need rest.”

“I can rest with you next to me.”

An unreadable sound starts in his throat. “It’s better if I sleep on the couch—you’ll sleep better if I’m not taking up space in your bed.”

“Fine.” I’m not going to beg the man to share a bed with me. “If you’d rather wake up with a cramped neck, have at it.”

I finish my chicken in silence, feeling more rejected than I care to admit. When we’re done, Atlas refuses to let me help clean up, so I feed Echo and grab the book from my end table. I’ve got it spread out across my lap when Atlas notices.

“What are you doing?”

“Studying for the assessment and interview.”

“That’s not resting.”

“You’re being a pain in the ass again.”

“I’m trying to make sure you don’t overdo it. You could still have a head injury.”

I close the book, my finger keeping my place as I flash him an annoyed look.

He puts the last pan on the drying rack and wipes his hands on the towel. Then he’s crossing the kitchen and taking the spot next to me on the couch, holding out his hand for the book. “Let me help.”

“Considering I don’t have the energy to argue, knock yourself out.”

“It would be pointless, anyway.” His lips tip into a teasing smile. “How do you want to do this?”

“Why don’t you just tell me, since you seem to make all my decisions today.”

“Brat.” He opens the book to the page I had marked. “I’ll give you the option of me reading aloud or quizzing you.”

“So generous of you.”

“Careful, Clover, mood swings are a sign of neurological distress. Keep being uncharacteristically sassy, and I’ll take it as a sign of trouble.”

“This is who I am. Now that I trust you, you get to see my entire sparkling personality.”

He places a hand over his heart mockingly, but soft appreciation makes his amber eyes shine under the soft glow from the sunset outside. “Touched, truly. Shall I begin our lesson?”

“Yes, but I’d like you to do voices.”

He closes the text, looking from the cover to me. “It’s a reference book.”

“Your point? Make it interesting,” I demand feeling every bit of the brat he just accused me of being.

He reads in his normal voice and I lean against the back of the couch, listening to him talk about interagency coordination.

After a minute or two, I clear my throat and Atlas changes his voice to something deeper, more serious, as he reads about a NPS jurisdiction where NPS lands border public land and the implication to rescue operations.

As he talks about leaving no trace, his voice becomes distant.

Next thing I know, I’m surrounded by strong warmth and the earthy scent of him as he climbs the stairs.

“You’re going to kill us both, Doc.” I keep my head tucked against his chest.

“Nah, already here, safe and sound,” he whispers while lowering me onto my bed and helping me under the covers.

“Impressive.”

“You’re tall, but I can handle you.”

The bed shifts as he moves to stand, but I reach out, curling my hand around his forearm. “Last chance to stay.” The words blend in my half-awake state.

“I’ll be right downstairs.”

I huff out a breath. “What’s a girl gotta do to get spooned around here?”

There’s that noise he keeps making that I can’t decipher. It’s a low rumbling, almost pained sound. “Not have a potential head injury when she asks, for starters. Rest. I’ll be up to check on you later.”

Atlas moves to leave again, but I tighten my grip. “Thanks for taking care of me today. You’re a good guy.”

Instead of pulling away like I expect when I release him, he leans forward and places a kiss on my forehead. “We took care of each other. Night, Clover.”

“Good night, Atlas.”