Page 44 of Better than Famous

A smile touched the corners of her mouth, but her eyes stayed serious. "You fought it pretty hard."

"I was fighting myself," I corrected gently. I brushed a damp tangle of blonde hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear. "Never you. I have never been more okay with anything in my entire life, Sutton."

She let out a long, quiet breath and settled her head back down. Her cheek flattened against my chest. "Good."

I swallowed hard. My arm tightened around her waist, anchoring her to my side. "When the storm abates and the sun comes out, we fight them together."

She shifted, her cheek flattening against my chest. "You hold the door. I’ll bring the fire."

I let out a rough exhale, completely leveled by the sheer force of the woman in my bed. "Deal."

The room cooled down as the night wore on. The air conditioning remained off, but the temperature dropped with the storm outside. Her breathing deepened and evened out shortly after. She fell asleep in the quiet aftermath, trusting me to stand guard.

I stayed awake as the wind shrieked around the corners of the cottage. The rain lashed the metal shutters in endless, rhythmic waves. Stroking her soft blonde hair, I untangled the knots with my fingers.

A cold truth settled deep into my bones. There was more going on here than helping another human. Or attraction leading to sex. I could fall for this woman. Hell, if I was being honest, I already was. I loved her fight, her resilience, the way she looked at me like I was a safe harbor instead of a street thug. She didn’t ask me to change. She accepted the ugly parts of my history and kissed the scars they left behind.

A profound sense of peace washed over my sated body. I’d spent years trying to earn my place in the world by serving others, but tonight, I claimed something entirely for myself. Tomorrow would bring new trials. Storm damage and an eventual media circus. And Nash. But holding Sutton in the dark, I was fortified. I was ready to face the siege. The monster was gone. Only the man remained. I closed my eyes and let sleep pull me under.

Chapter Nineteen

SUTTON

The storm blew itself out by dawn. Sunlight sliced through the gaps in the storm shutters, painting bright, dusty stripes across the white sheets. I woke slowly, my body heavy with a deep, satisfying ache. The roaring wind was gone, replaced by profound, peaceful silence.

The space beside me in the bed was empty, the mattress cooling, but the lingering scent of cedar and clean sweat made me inhale deeply. I rolled onto my back and stretched, a quiet groan escaping my lips. My muscles were sore in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with dance rehearsals or stage choreography. A satisfied smile widened my lips as memories of the dark bedroom rushed back. Ben pulling me against his chest. The slide of his hands over my skin. The anchor of his weight pressing me into the mattress while the hurricane battered the walls.

I climbed out of bed. Finding the clothes Brenna had delivered yesterday before the storm hit, I pulled on the black leggings and the soft cream-colored sweater, marveling at how perfectly they fit. When I walked into the living room, the hurricane lamps sat cold on the coffee table. I laced up my canvas sneakers sitting near the entry, took a deep, steadying breath, and unlatched the front door.

The sky over Dove Key was an impossible, piercing blue. Isaac had scoured the atmosphere clean, stripping away the oppressive humidity and leaving crisp, fresh air in its wake. But the yard was another story. Fallen branches, shredded green leaves, and scattered coconuts littered the grass, transforming the usually tidy property into an obstacle course.

Ben stood near the edge of the gravel driveway. He wore faded jeans and a dark blue shirt, dragging a massive, waterlogged cypress branch toward a growing brush pile near the road. The muscles in his back and shoulders shifted under his shirt with every heavy pull. I stepped down the wooden stairs and walked into the damp grass. My sneakers soaked up the moisture instantly, but I didn’t care. I grabbed the trailing end of the cypress branch, dug my heels into the mud, and hauled backward to help him.

Ben stopped and turned around. He dropped his end of the branch into the damp grass as a slow, brilliant smile broke across his face and lit up his green eyes. After pulling off his leather work glove and tossing it onto the debris pile, he closed the distance between us in two long strides and cupped my jaw. His bare hand was warm against my skin. He leaned down and captured my mouth in a slow, deep kiss. I let go of the branch to rest my palms against his chest, registering the steady, solid thump of his heart through the damp cotton of his shirt. He pulled back to drop another kiss on my nose, then wiped a streak of dirt from his brow using the back of his wrist.

"Morning, you." His voice was rough and deep, sending a low, pleasant ache down my body as I remembered the exact same tone from last night.

"Hi there." I stepped back reluctantly, pulled a smaller palm frond from the grass, and tossed it onto the pile. "You let me sleep. I should be out here too."

"No reason to rush the cleanup. This stuff isn’t going anywhere." With a sigh, he returned to the branch and hefted it toward the pile.

I bent down and gathered a cluster of broken branches, snapping them in half to make them fit. The rough bark scraped against my palms, and dark soil wedged under my fingernails. I dumped the debris on top of his branch and wiped my hands on my thighs, leaving prominent mud stains across the black leggings.

Nash would’ve hyperventilated at the sight of dirt on my clothes. A stray hair or a smudged cuticle usually warranted a twenty-minute lecture on brand management and public image. Standing in a ruined yard in dirty clothes, I didn’t care about my brand. The sweat cooling on my neck and the sting of a small scratch on my wrist provided fierce, undeniable satisfaction. The physical labor grounded me in reality. I was hauling branches, breathing fresh air, and existing outside of a soundproof studio.

Ben pulled his cell phone from his pocket as it pinged with three rapid, successive chimes. He swiped the screen open and read the messages.

"Cell service is back up," he announced as he typed a quick reply with his thumb. "Eli just checked in. The dive boat made it through the storm without a scratch. They doubled the mooring lines yesterday afternoon, so Sunset Diver didn’t take any damage."

"Is the dive shop okay?" I dragged another heavy frond to the pile and brushed my hair out of my eyes.

"Some water intrusion under the back door. Nothing a mop and a wet vac can’t fix." Ben scrolled down to the next message, his brow furrowing slightly as he read. "Austin says his boat, Line Dancer, is secure. Heron House is standing tall. Iris lost a few shutters, but the roof held."

I gathered another armful of shredded leaves while Ben managed the family logistics. He replied to his brothers, confirming everyone’s safety and checking on their power situation. He anchored the family network, providing structure and calm assessment.

Nash managed crises by screaming at assistants, freezing bank accounts, and throwing glass objects. Ben managed his people with quiet, unshakeable competence. He ensured their safety before even glancing at the property damage around his own home. The contrast highlighted exactly why I trusted him with my life.

The low hum of an engine broke the morning quiet. A sleek, black SUV rolled down the gravel lane. The vehicle didn’t match the rusted, utilitarian trucks driven by the local fishermen. It was immaculate, heavily tinted, and imposing.