Fire in the Mountains: Forbidden Nights at the Inn of Desires

**Fire in the Mountains: Forbidden Nights at the Inn of Desires** The wind sliced through the mountains like a blade, sharp and relentless, carrying with it the scent of pine and damp earth. Clara clutched her wool coat tighter against her body, her fingers numb on the steering wheel as the winding road unfolded before her, snaking between mist-covered ravines. The GPS flickered, uncertain, as if even technology hesitated before such wild vastness. She had been driving for hours, fleeing the city, the tight deadlines, the endless meetings that drained her energy like vampires. *Refúgio das Nuvens*, read the rustic wooden sign, nearly swallowed by the vegetation. A name too poetic for someone like her, who hadn’t known peace in years. The inn appeared suddenly, nestled between moss-covered rocks and ancient trees. A stone and wood structure, with balconies that stretched over the valley like open arms. The golden lights from the windows flickered, inviting, and Clara felt a weight lift from her shoulders. *Here*, she thought. *Here, at last.* She parked the car with a sigh, her back muscles protesting after hours in the same position. The icy air rushed into the vehicle when she opened the door, and she shivered—not just from the cold, but from the stillness. No honking horns, no voices muffled by concrete, no constant hum of computers. Just silence, broken only by the rustling of leaves and the distant murmur of a stream. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the sound envelop her, as if it could cleanse her from within. It was the scent of burning wood that brought her back. Clara followed the aroma to the inn’s entrance, where a heavy oak door opened before she even touched the bell. And then he was there. Lucas. He wasn’t tall, but there was something in his posture—broad shoulders, a firm chest beneath a plaid flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms, veins mapping stories of hard work. His dark hair, slightly tousled, fell over his forehead in unruly strands, and his eyes—oh, his eyes. Green like the forest after rain, but with a glow that seemed to burn. He watched her with an intensity that made her hold her breath, as if he already knew her, as if he saw exactly what she hid behind the facade of a competent executive. — Welcome, Clara — he said, his voice deep, with an accent she couldn’t place. It wasn’t exactly from the region, but neither was it from anywhere she knew. It was a voice shaped by mountain winds, rough and smooth at once. — Thank you — she managed to reply, surprised by the slight tremor in her own voice. — I... made the reservation online. Lucas smiled, and something in that gesture—slow, deliberate—made her stomach clench. — I know. I was waiting for you. The words hung in the air between them, laden with a meaning Clara dared not decipher. He stepped aside, inviting her in, and she passed by him, aware of the heat radiating from his body, the scent of soap and leather and something more primal, like wet earth and fire. The inn’s interior was even cozier than the photos had suggested. A fireplace crackled in the center of the main room, casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. Persian rugs covered the wooden floor, and worn leather armchairs invited rest. But what caught her attention was the view. An entire glass wall opened onto the valley, where mist curled between the trees like smoke. It was breathtaking. — Wow — she murmured, stepping closer to the glass. — It’s beautiful. — Wait until you see it in the morning — Lucas said, stopping beside her. So close she could feel his body heat without touching him. — When the sun rises, it looks like the whole world is on fire. Clara swallowed hard. There was something dangerous in the way he spoke, as if every word were a promise. Or a threat. — Do you work here? — she asked, trying to sound casual. — I’m the local guide — he replied, his green eyes fixed on her. — And I’m responsible for making sure guests don’t get lost. Literally. She laughed, but the sound came out strange, as if her throat were tight. — And if I get lost? Lucas’s smile widened, slow and predatory. — Then I’ll have to find you. The silence that followed was charged with something Clara couldn’t name. He broke it first, turning to pick up her suitcase. — I’ll show you to your room. You must be tired. — I am — she admitted, following him up the creaking wooden stairs. — Very. — Then I’ll let you rest — he said, stopping in front of a dark wooden door. — But if you need anything... — He handed her the key, his fingers brushing hers a second longer than necessary. — I’m always nearby. Clara nodded, feeling the weight of his gaze even after he walked away. She entered the room and closed the door, leaning against it with a sigh. The space was simple but cozy: a four-poster bed with white sheets, a fireplace already lit, a window overlooking the forest. She approached, touching the cold glass with her fingertips. Below, among the trees, she saw Lucas walking toward the barn, the twilight light bathing his back in gold. He paused for a moment, as if sensing her gaze, and looked up. Even from a distance, Clara could see the smile he sent her before disappearing into the shadows. And then, for the first time in years, she felt something that wasn’t exhaustion, or stress, or the constant pressure to be the best. It was desire. And that scared her more than any board meeting. The table was set like an invitation to sin. A white linen tablecloth, rustic ceramic plates that seemed molded by the very hands that made them, dull silver cutlery gleaming under the flickering candlelight. The inn’s dining room was small, intimate, with high windows revealing the blackness of the night outside, where the wind howled like a caged animal. Clara entered slowly, her heels sinking slightly into the plush carpet, the black dress—simple but clinging to her curves like a second skin—brushing against her freshly moisturized skin. She had chosen that dress without thinking, but now, under Lucas’s gaze, she felt as if she had planned every detail. He stood by the fireplace, one hand resting on the stone mantel, the other holding a glass of red wine he swirled slowly, as if reading the messages left by the liquid on the crystal’s walls. He wore a raw linen shirt, open at the collar, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong forearms marked by veins Clara imagined tracing with her fingertips. When he saw her, his lips curved into a slow, lazy smile, as if he already knew what was to come. — You came — he said, his voice low and rough, as if he had spent hours screaming in silence. Clara raised an eyebrow, challenging. — You seemed so sure I wouldn’t. — No. — He took a step forward, the firelight dancing in his dark eyes. — I was sure you would. I just didn’t know if you’d have the courage to admit to yourself why. She opened her mouth to retort, but the words died in her throat when he approached, offering her the glass. The gesture was casual, but his fingers brushed hers on purpose, a deliberate, electrifying touch. Clara felt the heat rise up her arm, spread through her chest, and descend to her belly. She accepted the glass, her lips touching the crystal where his had been. — And what would the reason be, according to you? — she asked, trying to sound indifferent, but her voice came out more breathless than she intended. Lucas didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned in slightly, just enough for her to catch his scent—burning wood, rosemary soap, something more primal, masculine, that made her nipples harden beneath the thin fabric of her dress. When he spoke, it was almost a whisper, as if sharing a secret: — Because you spent the whole afternoon thinking about how my fingers brushed yours when I gave you the key. Because you looked at my mouth when I smiled. Because when I said I’d always be nearby, you imagined exactly what that could mean. Clara swallowed hard. The wine burned as it went down, sweet and potent, like an omen. She should deny it. Should laugh, make a joke, change the subject. But something in the intensity of his gaze, in the way he stripped her bare without even touching her, kept her from lying. — And you? — she shot back, her voice steady now. — Did you spend the day thinking about how it would be to see me sitting at your table, or was it just a distraction so you wouldn’t have to deal with boring guests? He laughed, a deep, guttural sound that vibrated in the air between them. — Oh, Clara. — He moved closer, his knee brushing hers under the table. — I don’t have boring guests. I only have you. Dinner was served in silence, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. It was charged, like the air before a storm. The first course arrived: a pumpkin and ginger soup, steaming and fragrant. Clara dipped her spoon, bringing it to her lips, and Lucas watched her with an almost predatory attention. When she moaned softly—a sound of pure, involuntary pleasure—he smiled, satisfied. — Do you like it? — It’s delicious — she admitted, licking her lips. — But I think you already knew that. — I knew you would. — He brought his own spoon to his mouth, his eyes never leaving hers. — There are things we just know. The second course was brought by a middle-aged woman with a discreet smile, who barely glanced at them before disappearing again. A trout fillet, accompanied by chestnut purée and a Port wine sauce that glistened under the candlelight. Clara cut a piece, bringing it to her mouth, and the flavor exploded on her tongue—rich, complex, almost sinful. She closed her eyes for a second, savoring, and when she opened them, she found Lucas watching her with an expression bordering on hunger. — You’re looking at me like I’m the main course — she murmured, unable to stop herself from smiling. — And what if I told you that’s exactly what you are? Clara felt her face flush, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she picked up her wine glass and took a long sip, letting the alcohol burn her throat, calm her nerves. — I’d say you’re very sure of yourself. — And you like that. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. And she couldn’t deny it. — Maybe — she admitted, playing with her fork. — Or maybe I just like watching you try. Lucas laughed again, a sound that made something inside her clench. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, fingers intertwined as if restraining himself from reaching out and touching her. — Clara — he said, his voice low, almost a growl. — I’m not trying. I’m waiting. — Waiting for what? — For you to stop pretending you don’t want the same thing I do. The wind outside howled louder, as if echoing his words. Clara felt her heart beat faster, her blood pulsing in her veins. She should get up. Should leave. But the wine, the heat of the fireplace, the way he looked at her—as if she were the only woman in the world—all conspired to keep her there. — And if I say I don’t know what I want? — she asked, challenging. Lucas smiled, slow and dangerous. — Then I’ll have to show you. He stood up, walked around the table, and stopped beside her. Clara held her breath as he leaned in, his lips almost touching her ear. — Finish your dinner — he whispered. — Then I’ll take you somewhere the wind won’t bother us. And then, before she could respond, he stepped away, returning to his seat as if nothing had happened. Clara looked at her plate, her appetite suddenly different. It wasn’t hunger for food anymore. It was hunger for him. And, for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t sure she could wait until the end of the meal. The snowy forest enveloped them in a thick silence, broken only by the crunch of branches under their boots and the icy breath escaping between Clara’s lips. She followed Lucas along a narrow path, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her wool coat, her eyes fixed on his broad back, covered by a waterproof jacket that seemed molded to his body. The air smelled of pine and damp earth, and each breath burned slightly in her lungs, as if winter had teeth and sank them in slowly. — Watch out for that rock — he warned, turning just enough for her to see the half-smile. — I don’t want you to twist your ankle before we get there. Clara raised an eyebrow, amused. — Are you worried about me or the possibility of having to carry me back? Lucas laughed, a deep sound that got lost among the trees. — Both. But mainly the second. You look light, but I bet you’re heavier than you seem. She huffed, feigning indignation. — Is that a compliment or a provocation? — Why not both? — He extended his hand, helping her navigate a slippery stretch. His fingers were warm, even through the gloves, and Clara felt the heat rise up her arm, as if the touch had left an invisible mark. — Besides, I like challenges. She didn’t answer, but the flush on her cheeks had nothing to do with the cold. The path suddenly opened up, revealing a clearing where a small wooden cabin nestled among the trees. The roof was covered in snow, and a thin wisp of smoke escaped from the chimney, swirling in the icy air. Clara stopped, surprised. — What is this? — The ofurô — Lucas replied, taking off his gloves and tucking them into his pocket. — A hot bath, just for us. I thought after hours in the cold, you deserved to relax. Clara hesitated. The idea of undressing in front of him, even if it was just for a bath, made her stomach clench in anticipation. But the biting wind and the promise of warmth were too tempting. — And you? — she asked, trying to sound casual. — I already know the place — he said, with a smile that revealed nothing. — But if you want company, I won’t refuse. She laughed, nervous. — Funny. You don’t seem like the type to refuse anything. — Depends on what’s being offered. The air between them grew charged, and Clara looked away first, pretending interest in the cabin. Inside, though, something stirred—a mix of curiosity and fear of what might happen if she gave in. — Alright — she said, finally. — But only because my fingers are freezing. Lucas didn’t answer. He just opened the wooden door, letting the heat and steam envelop her even before she stepped inside. The cabin’s interior was small but cozy. A fireplace crackled in one corner, casting golden reflections on the walls of polished logs. In the center, a dark wooden tub, large enough for two, overflowed with steaming water. Dried flower petals floated on the surface, and the scent of herbs—lavender, maybe, or something more citrusy—mingled with the steam, creating a fragrance that made Clara’s head spin. — How did you do this? — she asked, taking off her coat and hanging it on a hook on the wall. — Magic — Lucas replied, closing the door behind him. — Or a very efficient heating system. You choose what you prefer to believe. Clara laughed, but the sound died in her throat when he began unbuttoning his own jacket. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if he knew exactly the effect he had on her. She turned her back, pretending to fix her hair, but her eyes couldn’t help following, in the fogged-up window’s reflection, the moment his shirt opened, revealing tanned skin and the defined muscles of his shoulders. — Are you going in like that? — His voice was closer than she expected, and Clara jumped when she felt his warm breath on her neck. — I... — She swallowed hard. — I didn’t bring a swimsuit. — Neither did I. The silence that followed was so thick Clara could almost hear her own heartbeat. She turned slowly, her eyes meeting his. Lucas wasn’t smiling anymore. His expression was serious, intense, as if he were waiting for something—permission, perhaps, or a sign that she was ready. — No need to rush — he murmured, as if reading her thoughts. — The water will stay hot as long as you need. Clara nodded, but her hands were already on the button of her jeans, her fingers trembling. She undressed quickly, as if removing her clothes could also strip away the shame, the doubt, the fear that, once naked, he would see everything she tried to hide. When she finally turned toward the tub, all that remained was her lingerie—a black lace set she had chosen that morning without any special reason, but which now seemed made for this moment. Lucas said nothing. He just watched her, his eyes tracing every curve, every line of her body, as if memorizing it. Then, with a fluid movement, he took off his pants and stepped into the water, sinking up to his shoulders with a satisfied sigh. — Come — he called, extending his hand. Clara hesitated for a second before approaching. The water was deliciously hot, almost scalding, and when she sank up to her neck, she felt her muscles relax instantly. The steam rose around them, enveloping them in an intimate mist, as if the outside world had ceased to exist. For a while, neither spoke. Clara closed her eyes, letting the heat seep into her bones, while Lucas leaned back against the edge of the tub, his arms stretched along the wood. She could feel his gaze on her, but she didn’t mind. There was something liberating about being there, naked and vulnerable, without having to pretend she didn’t want what was happening. — You’re beautiful — he said suddenly. Clara opened her eyes. Lucas watched her with an intensity that made her hold her breath. — You haven’t even seen me properly — she murmured, trying to ease the tension. — I’ve seen enough. She laughed, but the sound came out weak, almost inaudible. Then, without thinking, she reached out and touched his knee under the water. His skin was soft, warm, and Clara felt the muscle tense under her fingers. — And you? — she asked, her voice lower than she intended. — Are you beautiful too? Lucas didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed her hand and pulled her, making Clara slide through the water until she was between his legs. The movement was so quick she didn’t have time to protest—not that she wanted to. When she realized it, she was sitting on him, their bodies almost touching, separated only by the thin layer of water and the lace of her lingerie. — Why don’t you find out? — he whispered, his lips so close to hers she could taste his warm breath. She didn’t need any more encouragement. Her hands slid over his shoulders, feeling the texture of his skin, the contours of his muscles, the thin scar just below his collarbone—a secret she wanted to uncover. Lucas groaned softly when her fingers brushed his nipples, and Clara smiled, satisfied with the reaction. — Do you like that? — she asked, repeating the movement. — You know I do. She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear. — And this? Lucas took a deep breath, his hands gripping her waist. — Clara... — What? — She bit his earlobe, feeling him shudder. — Don’t you like it? — I like it too much — he admitted, his voice rough. — That’s what scares me. She pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. There was something there, a vulnerability she hadn’t expected, as if behind the confidence, there was a part of him that still doubted. — Why? — she asked softly. Lucas hesitated. Then, with a sigh, he cupped her face in his hands. — Because I don’t want this to end. The words hung between them, laden with meaning. Clara felt her heart clench, but before she could respond, Lucas pulled her into a kiss. This time, there was no hesitation, no game. It was a hungry, desperate kiss, as if they both knew this moment was too fragile to last. His hands slid down her back, pulling her closer, and Clara felt his erection pressing against her belly, separated only by the thin lace of her panties. She moaned against his lips, her body responding instinctively, her legs parting slightly, as if it knew exactly what it wanted. Lucas broke the kiss, his lips trailing down her neck, leaving a trail of fire on her sensitive skin. Clara arched her back, offering herself, and he didn’t waste time. His teeth grazed her collarbone, his tongue traced slow circles around her nipple, even over the wet fabric of her lingerie. — Lucas... — she whispered, her nails digging into his shoulders. — What? — he murmured, his mouth still busy. — Do you want me to stop? — No. — The word came out as a moan. — Please, don’t stop. He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against her skin. — Then tell me what you want. Clara hesitated. She had never been good at asking for what she desired, but there, in that moment, with her body on fire and her mind clouded by pleasure, the words came effortlessly. — I want you to touch me — she said, her voice trembling. — Make me feel... everything. Lucas didn’t need any more encouragement. His hands slid down her waist, pulling her panties aside, and then his fingers found the exact spot where she needed him most. She gasped, her hips moving instinctively, seeking more pressure, more friction. — Like this? — he asked, his fingers circling slowly, torturing her. — More — she begged, her voice almost a sob. Lucas obeyed, increasing the rhythm, and Clara felt the pleasure coil inside her, a spring about to snap. But before she could climax, he stopped, pulling his hand away. — Not yet — he said, his voice rough. — I want you to come with me. Clara opened her eyes, confused, but before she could protest, Lucas lifted her, sitting her on the edge of the tub. The water dripped down her body, leaving her exposed, vulnerable. He knelt in the water, his hands gripping her thighs firmly, and then, without warning, his mouth replaced his fingers. Clara cried out, the sound echoing through the cabin, her hands tangling in his hair. Lucas showed no mercy. His tongue explored, provoked, took her higher and higher, until she could think of nothing but the pleasure building between her legs. — Lucas, I... — she tried to warn, but the words were lost in a moan when he penetrated her with two fingers, curling them at the perfect angle. The orgasm hit her like a wave, shattering her into a thousand pieces, and Clara clung to him, her muscles trembling, her entire body surrendering to the pleasure. Lucas didn’t stop until she was completely spent, her moans turning into weak sighs. When he finally pulled away, he pulled her back into the water, wrapping her in a tight embrace. Clara rested her head on his shoulder, her heart still racing, her skin tingling. — That was... — she began, but couldn’t find the words. — Just the beginning — Lucas finished, kissing the top of her head. Clara smiled, but something inside her twisted. Because now, after tasting what he could offer, she knew it wouldn’t be enough. She wanted more. She wanted everything. And, for the first time, she wasn’t sure if Lucas would be willing to give it. He rolled to the side, reaching for the half-empty bottle of cognac on the nightstand. He poured two glasses and offered one to her. Clara propped herself up on an elbow, watching him as he drank, the muscles in his arm moving under his tanned skin. There was something different about him now—a vulnerability that hadn’t been there before. — What are you thinking? — she asked, taking a sip of the amber liquid, which burned her throat in a good way. Lucas hesitated, his eyes fixed on the fire. — About how this complicates things. Clara felt a chill in her stomach. — Complicates? He turned to her, his expression unreadable. — You’re leaving tomorrow. — And? — And I’m not the kind of man who follows women to the big city. She laughed, but the sound came out forced. — Who said I want you to follow me? Lucas didn’t answer. He just reached out and pulled her back into his arms. Clara let herself be enveloped, but the doubt had already taken root, like a seed planted in the dark. What if, after this night, there was nothing left? What if the fire that consumed them now was nothing but ashes by morning? The cognac still burned in her throat when Lucas pulled her back into the sheets, but now the fire was different—deeper, more voracious. Clara felt the weight of his body on hers, his skin hot against hers, his muscles tense like violin strings about to vibrate. He said nothing. He just looked at her, his dark eyes reflecting the flames from the fireplace, and then his mouth found hers with a hunger that left no room for doubt. Lucas’s lips were demanding but not brutal. There was precision in every movement, as if he knew exactly where to touch to make her arch her back, where to press to draw a muffled moan against his mouth. Clara responded with the same intensity, her nails digging into his broad shoulders, pulling him closer, as if she could fuse their bodies into one. The taste of cognac still danced between them, mixed with the salt of sweaty skin, the scent of burning wood, and the sweet perfume of their own desire. — You’re beautiful like this — he murmured against her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below her ear. — Disheveled. Defenseless. Clara laughed, but the sound turned into a sigh when his hand slid between their bodies, finding the exact spot where she needed to be touched. Lucas’s fingers were skillful, circling, pressing, until she couldn’t hold back the sounds escaping her throat. He smiled against her skin, satisfied, and then his mouth replaced his fingers, his hot, wet tongue provoking waves of pleasure that made her grip the sheets tightly. — Lucas... — she moaned, his name a plea. He lifted his head, his lips glistening, his eyes half-closed. — Tell me what you want. Clara hesitated. She wasn’t the type to ask. But something in that moment, in the way he looked at her, as if she were the only thing that mattered, made her want to surrender completely. — I want you — she whispered, her voice rough. — All of you. Lucas didn’t need any more encouragement. With a fluid movement, he turned her onto her stomach, pulling her hips up until she was on her knees, her hands gripping the headboard. Clara felt the cold air of the night against her exposed skin, but then he was there, covering her with his body, his erection pressing against her in a way that made her bite her lip to keep from begging. — Are you sure? — he asked, his voice low and rough, his fingers tracing lazy circles at the base of her spine. Clara nodded, the words stuck in her throat. He didn’t need them. Instead, she pushed her hips back, inviting him, and Lucas didn’t resist. With a muffled groan, he entered her slowly, inch by inch, until he was completely inside her. The pleasure was almost unbearable. Clara arched her back, her fingers gripping the wooden headboard tightly, while Lucas began to move, each thrust deep and deliberate. He wasn’t in a hurry. It was as if he wanted to memorize every reaction of hers, every sound, every tremor. And Clara surrendered to it, letting him take her to the edge, and then beyond. — Do you like it like this? — he asked, his voice a growl against her ear, while one hand slid forward, finding the spot that made her muscles clench around him. — Yes — she moaned, the word broken. — More. Lucas obeyed. He increased the rhythm, his thrusts becoming faster, more intense, until the sound of their bodies colliding echoed through the room, mingling with Clara’s moans and his low grunts. She buried her face in the pillow, muffling her cries, but Lucas pulled her hair, forcing her to arch her back. — Don’t hide — he ordered, his voice rough. — I want to hear you. She obeyed, letting the sounds escape freely, blending with his groans, the sound of skin against skin, the crackling of the fireplace. The pleasure built inside her, a wave about to break at any moment, but she held on, wanting to prolong that moment, that feeling of being complete, filled, possessed. Lucas changed the angle, hitting a spot that made stars explode behind her eyelids. Clara cried out, her fingers clawing at the sheets. — That’s it, like that — he murmured, quickening the pace. — Come for me, Clara. Come with me. She couldn’t resist. The orgasm hit her like lightning, tearing her apart from the inside out, making her entire body tremble. Lucas held her tightly, continuing to move inside her until he, too, reached his limit, burying himself deep and letting out a rough groan against the nape of her neck. For a long moment, the two of them lay there, breathless, their sweaty bodies pressed together. Then Lucas pulled out of her, lying down beside her and pulling her into his arms. Clara nestled against his chest, feeling his heart beating as fast as hers. — That was... — she began, but the words failed her. — I know — he murmured, kissing her forehead. They stayed like that for a while, in silence, just feeling each other’s presence. But then Clara shifted, turning to face him. — What is it? — Lucas asked, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her back. — Nothing — she lied, but he knew her too well by now. He rolled her onto her back, pinning her beneath his body once more, his dark eyes fixed on hers. — Talk. Clara hesitated, but then decided there was no more room for lies between them. — I don’t want this to end. Lucas didn’t answer right away. He just watched her, as if trying to decipher something in her face. Then, with a sigh, he rolled onto his side, pulling her on top of him. — Neither do I — he admitted, finally. — But you’re leaving tomorrow. Clara said nothing. She knew he was right. But that didn’t make things any easier. — What if it’s not the end? — she asked, her voice soft, almost shy. Lucas closed his eyes for a moment, as if considering her words. When he opened them again, there was something new in his gaze—something Clara couldn’t decipher. — Then we’ll figure it out — he said, pulling her into a slow, deep kiss. And, for now, that was enough. The first ray of sunlight slipped through the half-open curtain like a golden blade, cutting through the dimness of the room and landing on the rumpled sheets. Clara opened her eyes slowly, feeling the warm weight of Lucas’s arm still wrapped around her waist, his slow, deep breath against her neck. For a moment, she stayed still, absorbing the rough texture of his chest hair against her back, the scent of burning wood and dried sweat clinging to the sheets, the muffled sound of the wind outside, as if the whole world still slept under a blanket of snow. But the clock on the nightstand didn’t lie: six-thirty. Her flight left at ten, and the drive to the airport would take nearly two hours. Careful not to wake him, she slid out of bed, her bare feet sinking into the plush rug. The morning’s icy air prickled her naked skin, and she wrapped herself in Lucas’s robe, which still held his warmth and the citrus scent of his soap. As she approached the window, she pulled the curtain aside just enough to peek outside: the mountain was shrouded in mist, but the sky was beginning to lighten in shades of pink and orange, as if someone had brushed watercolor across the horizon. — Are you leaving like this? Lucas’s voice, rough with sleep, made her heart skip. She turned and found him propped up on one elbow, his tousled hair falling over his forehead, his eyes half-closed but watchful. There was something predatory in the way he looked at her, as if he hadn’t yet decided whether to let her go or pull her back into bed. — I didn’t want to wake you — she said, tightening the robe around her body. — Lie. — He smiled, slow and dangerous. — You wanted to leave me here, alone, with the memory of your scent on the sheets. Clara felt her face flush. That was exactly it. She didn’t want to share the goodbye, didn’t want to see his expression when she said farewell. But Lucas was already getting up, naked, the muscles of his back shifting under his tanned skin as he stretched. She looked away, but not fast enough: she saw the marks of her teeth on his shoulder, her nails scratching his thighs, the evidence of a night that wouldn’t end with dawn. — I need to take a shower — she murmured, trying to sound practical. — Do you? — He took a step forward, and Clara backed up until she felt the cold wall against her back. — Or are you just trying to run away? — Lucas... — Shhh. — He cupped her face in his hands, his thumb brushing her lower lip. — I know. You have a plane to catch. An office waiting. A life that doesn’t include a mountain guide with calloused hands and a taste for cheap cognac. She laughed, but the sound came out strangled. — It’s not that. — Then what is it? Clara closed her eyes. She didn’t want to say. Didn’t want him to know that, for the first time in years, she was afraid of something that wasn’t a late report or a meeting with investors. Afraid that, once she left that room, everything would turn into just another beautiful but empty memory. — I just... don’t want this to be goodbye. Lucas didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned in and kissed her forehead, then her nose, then her lips, slow, as if memorizing the shape of her mouth. When he pulled away, his eyes were serious. — Then don’t be. She didn’t understand until he turned and grabbed something from the nightstand drawer: a small notebook and a pen. He held it out to her, silent. Clara hesitated, but then opened the notebook and wrote her name, followed by a phone number. When she finished, she tore out the page and folded it in half, unsure what to do with it. — Leave it here — he said, taking the paper and placing it on the nightstand. — When I want to find you, I’ll call. — And if I want to find you first? Lucas smiled, but there was a shadow behind that smile. — Then you know where to find me. The bathroom was cold, the tiles icy under her feet. Clara turned on the shower and let the hot water run over her body, trying to wash away the feeling that she was making a mistake. But no matter how many times she lathered her skin, she still felt his touch on every inch—his fingers marking her hips, the throbbing between her legs, the salty taste lingering in her mouth. When she stepped out, wrapped in a towel, Lucas was already dressed in a flannel shirt and worn jeans. He stood with his back to her, looking out the window, but turned as soon as he heard her. — Is your suitcase ready? She nodded, pointing to the small suitcase by the door. He picked it up without a word and carried it to the bedroom door, but before opening it, he stopped. — Clara. She looked up, and what she saw on his face made her hold her breath. It wasn’t sadness, nor resignation. It was something more dangerous: hope. — Don’t forget me. The words hung between them, heavy. Clara felt a lump in her throat, but forced a smile. — Impossible. He opened the door, and the inn’s hallway was silent, only the distant sound of a whistling kettle in the kitchen. Lucas walked her to the reception, where the inn’s owner, a gray-haired woman with a shrewd gaze, already waited with a breakfast wrapped in aluminum foil. — For the road — she said, handing the package to Clara with a knowing smile. Clara thanked her, avoiding Lucas’s gaze. She knew that if she looked at him, she wouldn’t be able to leave. The rental car was covered in a thin layer of snow, and she spent a few minutes brushing it off, her hands trembling from the cold. When she finally started the engine, Lucas was still standing in the inn’s doorway, arms crossed, the wind tousling his hair. She rolled down the window. — Are you going to stay there until I’m out of sight? — Maybe. She laughed, but the sound came out broken. — Then I’ll take my time. He didn’t answer. He just stood there, motionless, as she shifted into gear and began the winding descent. In the rearview mirror, Clara watched him shrink, until he was just a dark speck against the wooden facade of the inn. And then, when she rounded the first bend, he disappeared. The drive to the airport was a blur of confused thoughts. She turned on the radio, but turned it off after a few minutes, unable to bear the cheerful music. Instead, she let the silence fill the car, broken only by the crunch of tires on snow and the sound of her own breathing. When she arrived at the airport parking lot, it was almost time for check-in. She grabbed her suitcase and the forgotten breakfast from the passenger seat, but as she locked the car, something caught her attention: a piece of paper tucked under the windshield wiper. With her heart racing, she pulled it out. It was a page torn from the same notebook where she had written her number. In large, uneven letters, Lucas had written: **"It wasn’t a goodbye. It was a ‘see you soon’."** And below, in smaller letters: **"Call me when you get there. Or before. Or never. But know that I’ll be waiting."** Clara pressed the paper to her chest, feeling the hot tears stream down her face. It wasn’t the end. It wasn’t even a goodbye. It was a promise—a promise of fire, of mountains, of forbidden nights yet to come. And, for the first time in a long time, she believed in promises.