Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 119746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
And beneath it all, a deeper silence, watchful and waiting.
Jensen’s tent is only a few feet from mine. I try not to think about him lying there in the darkness, try not to remember the warmth of his hand or the intensity in his eyes when he looked at me. When he asked me if I wanted the lines crossed again.
Try not to wonder what other secrets he’s keeping, and whether finding them out will destroy us both.
Or if something in these mountains will get to me first.
11
JENSEN
The first light of dawn filters through the canvas of my tent, but I’m already awake. Old habits. Years in these mountains have trained my body to rise with the sun, alert and ready. I lie still for a moment, listening. Birds starting their morning songs. The distant babble of the creek. The steady breathing of my crew in their tents.
Yet something feels off.
I slip out of my sleeping bag and pull on my jeans. The morning air is cool against my bare chest as I duck through the tent flap, scanning the campsite. Cole’s and Red’s tents are still zipped tight. Eli’s boots are visible at the entrance to his, one fallen on its side. Everything looks normal.
Except Aubrey’s tent.
The flap hangs open, sleeping bag visible inside. Empty.
My heart rate kicks up a notch, though I tell myself there’s no reason for alarm. Probably just took a walk to do her business. But instinct has me reaching for my gun, tucking it into my waistband as I check the perimeter of our camp.
No sign of her.
No tracks indicating a struggle either, a fact I cling to as I follow the path down toward the creek. The trail is easy to read—one set of boot prints, Aubrey’s size, heading directly to the water. Nothing following her. Nothing dragging or carrying her away.
Relief washes through me, immediately followed by annoyance at my own reaction. She’s a grown woman who went for a morning walk, not some helpless city tourist who can’t handle herself, despite what the others might think of her. Still, something keeps me moving down the trail, drawn by a need to confirm she’s safe with my own eyes.
The sound of splashing reaches me before I see her.
I round the bend where the creek widens into a natural pool, deep enough to submerge in.
And there she is.
Aubrey stands waist-deep in the water, her back to me, morning sunlight turning her wet skin to gold. Water cascades down her shoulders as she lifts a bar of soap, running it along her arm in slow, deliberate strokes. Her dark blonde hair is slicked back, exposing the elegant line of her neck, the curve of her spine.
Fuck me.
I should turn around. Should walk away, give her privacy.
That would be the decent thing to do.
But I’m not a decent man.
I don’t move.
Can’t move.
The sight of her holds me transfixed. Water droplets glisten on her shoulders. The gentle swell of her hips rises from the creek’s surface. When she shifts to rinse, I catch a glimpse of the side of her breast, full and perfect.
My body responds instantly, predictably. Blood rushes south, and I’m suddenly very aware of the tightness in my jeans, the straining of my cock.
Just as I finally gather the will to retreat, she glances over her shoulder. Our eyes lock. I expect anger, outrage at my intrusion. Instead, her lips curve into a small, knowing smile.
“Enjoying the view, cowboy?” Her voice carries across the water, low and amused.
I should apologize. Should leave.
Instead, I find myself answering, “Hard not to.”
Her smile widens a fraction. “Water’s nice. Cold, but the sun is warm.”
It’s an invitation. Has to be. Still, I hesitate, giving her time to reconsider, to tell me to go to hell. She just turns back to her bathing, seemingly unconcerned by my presence or my blatant staring.
Because, shit, am I ever staring. Ogling, more like it.
Before I can overthink it, I’m pulling my shirt over my head, kicking off my boots. I leave my pistol carefully atop the pile, within easy reach. The jeans are last, and I’m acutely aware of my obvious arousal as I wade into the creek.
She’s right, the water is cold, though it could be worse. I barely notice. All my attention is fixed on Aubrey as I move toward her, stopping a respectful distance away.
“Not quite a hot shower, is it?” My voice comes out rougher than intended.
She turns to face me, making no attempt to cover herself. Her nipples are hard, pink pebbles seeming to tighten under my watch, while the water laps just below her breasts, leaving little to the imagination. “It’s good to cool off sometimes.”
Her eyes drop briefly, taking in my body with the same open appreciation I showed her, lingering on my cock, now standing thick and at attention. When her gaze returns to mine, there’s heat there that has nothing to do with the morning sun.