Caroline kept her hands on Thorne's face like she was afraid the moment might slip away if she let go.
His skin was warm under her palms. His stubble scratched lightly at the base of her thumbs. The fire in the main room had burned down to coals, and the cabin held that late-night quiet that felt almost holy—snow muffling the outside world, the air inside softened by heat and pine.
Caroline kissed him again. The first kiss had been a promise. The second was an answer. She felt him inhale, felt the control in his body tighten and then loosen when she didn't pull back.
She didn't want to pull back.
For years, she'd treated desire like a trap: a door you opened from the inside that someone else could slam shut on your fingers. Jasper had taught her that. Prison had reinforced it. Wanting
