Our Parents Wed in June, So I Spent the Winter Claiming My Stepbrother novel · Chapter 7 of 24

Chapter 7: Four in the Morning

Reeve's POV

The second storm of the week hit Wednesday.

At one in the morning I was in the truck with the blade down, clearing the long county road to the ranch gates.

Page sat in the passenger seat with a thermos between her knees and my spare wool hat pulled down to her eyebrows.

I had told her to stay in bed.

She had said, "I'm not sleeping in a house you're not in."

Thursday was her day off from the bakery, and she had decided to spend it awake.

I should have argued.

I was twenty-eight years old, and I had never in my life wanted to lose an argument so badly.

The road was empty.

Snow came down in the headlights in thick slow flakes.

The plow threw it off the right side of the truck in a long white wave.

I drove at ten miles an hour with the heater on low and the dash lights glowing green on her face.

She poured coffee into the thermos cap and handed it to me.

Her fingers were warm.

"You do this every night?" she asked.

"When it snows."

"It's beautiful."

"It's cold and it's dark," I said.

"It's beautiful because it's cold and dark."

I laughed.

She rested her head on the seat back and watched me.

I could feel it.

It had been five days, and I still couldn't get used to being looked at by her.

"Reeve," she said.

"Yeah?" I said.

"Keep your eyes on the road."

"I am."

Her hand landed on my thigh.

I kept my eyes on the road.

Her hand moved up, slowly, over the denim, and stopped at the seam of my jeans with her palm pressed flat over me.

I was already hard.

I had been hard since she climbed into the truck.

"Page," I said.

"Mm."

"I'm driving a plow."

"At ten miles an hour," she said.

She undid my belt with one hand.

I heard the zipper go down in the quiet cab, an enormous sound.

My hands went white on the wheel.

She slid her fingers inside my boxers and took me out into the warm air.

Her small hand closed around me and stroked.

I made a sound I had never made in front of another person.

"You like that," she said, soft.

"God. Yes."

"Keep driving."

I drove.

I couldn't have told anyone what the road looked like.

She stroked me slowly, from base to tip and back, with her thumb sliding across the head each time and spreading the wet there.

I felt every nerve in my body line up behind her hand.

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