Page 34

“Barely.”

She rolls her eyes dramatically while I step around her, reaching over her shoulder for the coffee grounds.

Her body stills instantly when my chest brushes her back.

Tiny reaction.

But I feel it.

So does she.

“You always invade personal space like this?” she asks quietly.

“Only yours.”

The silence shifts immediately.

Heavier.

Hotter.

I lean down slightly, close enough that my mouth almost brushes her ear. “Move.”

Her breath catches before she steps sideways.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

I fix the coffee without another word while she watches me suspiciously from the counter.

“You know,” she says slowly, “most kidnappers at least try to be charming first.”

“I’m making you coffee.”

“That’s not charm. That’s Stockholm syndrome foreplay.”

My mouth twitches. “Drink it first.”

She does.

Then immediately narrows her eyes at me over the mug.

“That’s annoyingly good.”

“I know.”

“You’re smug about coffee now too?”

“I’m smug about a lot of things.”

“Clearly.”

The storm might’ve settled outside, but inside the cabin the tension’s only getting worse.

Every glance lasts too long.

Every accidental touch feels deliberate.