Page 9 of Claim Me, Colt
But it doesn't come.
Instead, there's just a sense of rightness I've never experienced before.
I slide out of bed and pad barefoot across the hardwood floor, the shirt brushing my thighs with every step. I find him in the kitchen, back turned as he stands at the stove. He's shirtless, and the morning light streaming through the window illuminates every line of muscle across his shoulders, every scar that tells a story I'm only beginning to understand.
He moves with that same economic precision I noticed yesterday—no wasted motion, every gesture deliberate and sure.
I lean against the doorframe, suddenly self-conscious.What must I look like? Hair a mess, no makeup, swollen lips…
But when he senses my presence and turns, there's nothing but appreciation in his dark eyes as they sweep over me.
"Morning," he says, voice rough from sleep.
"Morning." I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "You're up early."
"Always am." He gestures to the stove where something that smells incredible is sizzling in a cast iron skillet. "You hungry?"
My stomach chooses that moment to growl loudly, and I laugh. "Apparently. What are you making?"
"Nothing fancy. Eggs, bacon, toast." He plates the food with the same precision he uses for everything else.
He sets a plate in front of me at the small kitchen table. It’s the first time a man has made me breakfast. The thought makes my throat tight with unexpected emotion.
"Thank you," I manage.
He sits across from me with his own plate, and we eat in comfortable silence. I savor every bite of the simple but delicious meal.
"Can I ask you something?" I set down my fork, studying his face. "Why did you help me last night? You didn’t have to bring me back here."
He's quiet for a long moment, his dark eyes thoughtful.
"You climbed out of that creek yourself," he says finally. "Didn't cry or scream or wait for someone to rescue you. Just clawed your way up and kept going." He meets my gaze. "Most people would have given up."
"Most people haven't spent their entire lives performing for an audience," I reply. "You learn to keep going even when everything falls apart."
"Is that the real reason you ran away?”
I consider the question while I finish my eggs. Why did I run? Was it Jonathan's cheating, or my father's manipulation, or the sudden realization that I was about to become a stranger to myself?
"I ran because I realized I was disappearing," I say slowly. " Disappearing into the person they wanted me to be. Piece by piece, year by year, until there was nothing left of the real me."
He reaches across the table and covers my hand with his—calloused fingers gentle against my soft skin.
"You're not disappearing now."
"No," I agree, turning my palm up to lace our fingers together. "I'm not."AndI never will again.
Chapter 6
Colt
She'swashingdishesinmy kitchen sink, humming something under her breath.
It's such a simple thing—a woman doing dishes—but it does something to my chest that I haven't felt in years.
Contentment.Like all the jagged pieces inside me are finally settling into place.
She's changed into the sweatpants I left her, rolled up at the cuffs so she doesn't trip. My flannel shirt is tied at her waist now, and every time she reaches for another plate, it rides up just enough to show a strip of smooth skin above the waistband.
