Lara's POV
I didn't realize I had fallen asleep. The last thing I remembered was the crackle of the fire and the steady rhythm of the rain. But when I opened my eyes again, the storm was still roaring outside, and the light in the cabin had softened to a low amber glow.
For a second, I forgot where I was. Then my gaze shifted and my breath caught.
Marco was sitting beside me. His white shirt was gone, tossed carelessly over the back of a chair. The firelight carved shadows across his chest and shoulders, every line of muscle defined beneath the warm glow. Droplets of water still clung to his skin, glinting like glass.
I froze, my pulse stumbling. He turned slightly, his profile sharp and calm, but his eyes found mine in an instant.
"You're awake," he said quietly.
I pushed myself up, clutching his jacket tighter around me. The air in the cabin was warmer now, but my body still trembled.
"Are you cold?" he asked, his voice lower than before.
I shook my head too quickly. "No," I lied, though my teeth almost chattered.
His gaze lingered on me, and for a moment, I thought he could see right through the lie.
"You must be starving," he said finally, his tone softening just enough to make my chest ache.
He reached for a small plastic bag beside him and pulled out a pack of biscuits and a bottle of water. "I found these in the cupboard. Someone must still come here once in a while. They're not expired."
He handed the biscuits to me, and I took them clumsily, my hands still shaking. The sound of the plastic crinkling filled the silence between us. When I tried to twist open the bottle cap, it slipped from my damp fingers.
Without a word, he took it from me. His fingers brushed mine, and the touch burned hotter than the fire. He opened it easily, then passed it back.
"Thank you," I murmured, barely above a whisper.
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he moved closer, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. It wasn't just physical; it was something deeper, something that seemed to hum in the air between us.
I swallowed hard, pretending to focus on the biscuits in front of me. "You're warm," I said before I could stop myself.
His head tilted slightly. "Wolves run hot," he replied simply.
It took me a moment to process what he'd said. When I finally looked up, his expression was unreadable. A faint, teasing smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and my heart nearly stopped.
"Wolves?" I asked, trying to sound casual even though my voice betrayed me with a tremor.
He didn't answer. Instead, he turned his gaze toward the fire, his jaw tightening. "Eat," he said quietly. "You need your strength."
I watched him in silence, thinking about his words. Wolves run hot. I almost smiled. He must have been referring to himself, and somehow it fit him perfectly. He was strong, dominant, and commanding. Every bit the alpha male everyone feared and admired.
But of course, he had to be joking. Wolves didn't exist outside of stories and myths. He was probably just using the word as a metaphor to describe himself.
Still, the way he said it lingered in my mind longer than it should have.
I took a small bite, unable to stop myself from glancing at him. There was something different about him tonight. He looked unguarded and dangerously magnetic. The firelight danced across his face, catching his eyes and turning them into a strange shade of gold.
Something shifted inside me. He no longer felt like my boss but like a presence I couldn't escape, a gravity I didn't understand.
"Why are you being nice to me?" I asked suddenly, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
He turned his head, his eyes catching the light again. "I'm not," he said, his voice low. "I'm just making sure you survive the night."
The words stung, but there was something behind them, something that didn't quite match his tone. A hesitation and a crack in his armor.
I looked down at the biscuits in my hand, then back at him. "You really think I'm that weak?"
He leaned in, just enough for me to feel his breath brush my skin. "No, I think you have no idea what kind of world you've stepped into."
My chest tightened. "What does that mean?"
He didn't answer. His gaze held mine, burning and unreadable, and for a heartbeat, I forgot about the cold, the rain, the world outside. There was only him, the fire, and the terrifying, beautiful truth that no matter how much I tried to keep my distance, some part of me was already his.
The rain never stopped. It lashed against the cabin walls like an angry sea, the sound filling every corner of the room. The fire still burned, but its warmth barely touched me. My clothes were damp and clinging to my skin, and my body couldn't stop trembling.
Marco stood near the fire for a long moment, his back to me, his shirt long discarded. The flickering light cast shadows across his bare shoulders, each line and curve sculpted by the glow. He looked like he belonged to another world, something dangerous, something untamed.
When he finally turned, his eyes found me instantly. They swept over me once, sharp and unreadable, before softening just barely.
"Lie down," he said quietly.
I blinked, unsure I heard him right. "What?"
"You're freezing," he said, his voice firm, brooking no argument. "You'll get sick if you keep sitting there."
"I'm fine," I whispered, though my chattering teeth betrayed me.
He sighed, low and deep, and before I could protest, he moved closer. The wooden floor creaked under his weight as he crouched in front of me. His hand brushed the wet fabric at my shoulder, testing the chill. His fingers were warm and my breath caught.
"You're soaked," he said, frowning. "Your body temperature's dropping."
I didn't know what to say. My mind was a swirl of panic and awareness. He was Marco Blackwell. My cold, distant, impossibly composed boss. The man every woman admired but none dared approach. And here he was, close enough for me to feel the heat radiating from his skin.
"Take off the jacket," he said softly.
I hesitated but obeyed. My fingers fumbled with the zipper, and when I handed it back, he draped it over a chair, then pointed toward the narrow bed. "Lie down," he repeated. "Now."
I swallowed hard and did as he said. The sheets were cold against my back, and I curled up, trying to hold the remaining warmth inside me.
Then I heard him move again. The creak of the floorboards. The sound of the fire crackling louder. And then, the weight of the mattress shifting beneath me.
I froze. He was beside me. I could feel his presence before I even turned my head. The heat from his body reached me, pulling the cold from my skin.
"Mr. Blackwell," I breathed, my voice barely a whisper.
"Stop shaking," he said simply.
My pulse raced. "I can't."
He moved closer, his arm brushing mine. Then, without warning, his hand slipped around my waist, pulling me gently but firmly against him.
The warmth of his skin bled through the fabric of my wet blouse, seeping into every frozen inch of me. I wanted to protest and tell him this was too much, but my voice wouldn't come. My heart wouldn't cooperate either because I had been dreaming of being this close to my boss for so long.
And now that it was happening, my heart was beating so loud I was afraid he could hear it. I tried to convince myself he was only trying to keep me warm, nothing more. But I couldn't understand why he felt so warm when I was freezing to death.
"Relax," he murmured, his breath brushing the back of my neck. "You'll warm up faster this way."
He said it like it was nothing and just typical. But nothing about it felt that way. His chest pressed against my back, his breathing deep and steady. The rain outside seemed to fade, replaced by the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears.
I made the mistake of turning as I slowly rolled to face him. The movement brought us nose to nose, close enough for me to see the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw, the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. My breath hitched.
He just looked at me for a long time, quiet and still, and the air seemed to hum with unspoken tension.
"I don't want you to die in the cold," he said finally, his voice low and rough.
"I know," I whispered, though my chest ached with something far deeper than gratitude.
My hand brushed against his chest, and he didn't pull away. Instead, he exhaled slowly, the sound trembling at the edges. Then, before I could move and even think, his lips found mine.
It was soft at first, hesitant, as if he was testing a line neither of us should cross. But when I didn't pull away, his mouth deepened against mine, slow and deliberate.
Every part of me came alive. The cold vanished. The world vanished. There was only his warmth, his breath, his hands tracing the curve of my arm.
I kissed him back, helplessly, hungrily, as if I'd been waiting my whole life to taste this forbidden moment. The fire cracked louder, shadows dancing over us as the rain poured harder outside.
His fingers brushed the edge of my blouse, trembling slightly as he touched the soaked fabric. He paused, searching my eyes, giving me time to stop him. But I didn't. I couldn't.
Because this was Marco Blackwell. The man who had haunted my every thought, who looked at me like I was nothing, but touched me now like I was everything.
I should have felt ashamed and guilty. He was engaged to Serene. My mother raised me to be better than this, to never fall for what I could never have. But reason couldn't fight the pull between us.
Marco was fire, and I was already burning. I never believed in destiny because I knew he was a forbidden fruit, someone I could never have in this lifetime. He even reminded me that after Corbin left this morning, our worlds would never truly meet. But right now, none of that matters. All I can think about is how he kissed me, how his touch carried a longing that made my heart tremble.
As his warmth wrapped around me and his lips lingered on mine, I understood that some things aren't meant to be fought.
Maybe fate doesn't ask for permission. Maybe it simply takes what it wants. And tonight, it had taken me.