“So, Holt… Are you always so grumpy or do you just like ordering people around?” My voice is sharper than I feel, but I catch the way it softens at the end, and I see the glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes.
He leans back slightly, arms crossing over his chest as he looks down at me. “You’ve got a mouth on you, city girl. Let’s see if you’re as tough as you talk.” He gestures toward the rock face,his grin infuriatingly confident. “And I do like ordering people around. Now start climbing.”
I want to wipe that look off his face, but more than that, I want to prove him wrong. I turn to the rock, planting my hands on the rough surface. The stone is cool under my palms, gritty against my fingers, and I try to focus on that instead of the way Holt’s presence feels like a weight pressing down on me.
“Put your foot here, and lean into the wall,” he says, his voice low and close to my ear as he steps up behind me, his breath warm against my neck. He presses a hand against my lower back, guiding me forward, and the contact is like a jolt of electricity racing through my veins. My pulse quickens, and I struggle to keep my breathing steady, forcing myself to follow his instructions.
Holt catches the shiver that runs through me, and his hand tightens slightly against my back. His voice drops lower, turning huskier. “What’s wrong, Lila? Too close for comfort?”
There’s a challenge in his tone, a deliberate push, and I can’t tell if he’s testing me or if he’s just enjoying seeing me squirm.
I grit my teeth, forcing my voice to stay steady. “I’m not scared of you.”
The words are breathless, but I won’t let him win this. I shift my weight, trying to find my footing, but my boot slips against the rock, and I stumble back into him, colliding with his solid chest.
Holt’s arm wraps around my waist, holding me steady, and for a moment, I feel the hard planes of his body pressing against mine, his muscles taut under his faded T-shirt. His breath skims over the side of my neck, his voice dropping to a rough whisper that sends shivers through me. “Maybe you should be, princess.”
His fingers press into my hip, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind me of his strength, his control. It’s infuriating, but it’s also... something else, something I don’t want to admit tomyself. My skin burns where he touches me, a heat curling low in my belly, and why do I like it when he calls me princess? I push against his chest, twisting out of his hold.
I turn to face him, glaring up at him, refusing to show how much he’s rattling me. “You may intimidate most women but I’m not most women.” My voice shakes, but I make sure to hold his gaze, daring him to push me further.
Holt takes a step back, raising his hands in mock surrender, but there’s a knowing heat in his gaze that sends another wave of warmth through me. “You certainly aren’t, are you? But if you want to make it to the top, you’re going to have to get used to taking orders and being pushed.” His voice is rougher now, like he’s struggling to keep himself in check, and there’s a challenge in his eyes that stirs something dangerous inside me.
I clench my jaw, turning back to the rock face, determined to ignore the way his voice makes my heart race. I plant my hands firmly on the stone, focusing on the climb, but I can feel Holt’s gaze tracking my every move, the weight of his presence like a physical touch.
I channel my frustration into my movements, clawing my way up the first few feet of the climb, each step a small victory. I try not to think about how close he is, how his voice wraps around me like a low, teasing caress. But with every touch of his hand, every adjustment of my stance, I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more than just the mountain between us.
“Good,” he says, and his voice is warmer now, like he’s seeing me in a different light. “Now, keep your hips close to the rock. It’ll help with your balance.”
I shoot him a quick glare over my shoulder, but I follow his advice, adjusting my stance. I hate that it actually helps, that I’m starting to find a rhythm in the climb. But I can’t deny the thrill that shoots through me when I hear the hint of approval in his voice.
As we climb higher, the mountain air cools the sweat on my skin, but my cheeks burn under Holt’s watchful gaze. I focus on the rock beneath my hands, trying to ignore the way he steps closer, his hands brushing against mine, guiding me through each hold.
When we reach a small ledge, I pause, panting from the effort, my arms trembling with the strain. I lean back against the rock, trying to catch my breath, but Holt doesn’t give me a moment to recover. He steps into my space, crowding me against the stone, his arm braced above my head.
“Not bad, princess,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver racing through me. “You’re tougher than you look after all.”
I tilt my chin up, meeting his gaze with a defiant glare, even though my pulse is racing. “You wish you could scare me off. But I’m not going anywhere.”
Holt’s smirk widens, and he leans in, his mouth inches from mine, his breath warm against my lips. “Good. Because I’m just getting started.”
For a heartbeat, the air between us crackles with tension, thick and charged, and I can’t help the way my breath catches in my throat. Then, with a final, infuriating smile, Holt pulls back, stepping away from the ledge and leaving me reeling, my heart thudding against my ribs.
“Lesson’s over for today. You did better than I expected,” he says, turning away like he hasn’t just knocked the ground out from under me. “You’re impressive, city girl.” His grin quirks to one side. “You have grit, I like that about you.”
I swallow hard, forcing myself to follow him down the trail, my mind spinning with frustration and something darker, something hotter. I tell myself I don’t care what Holt thinks of me—that I’m just here to get my story and leave. But as I watch him move with easy confidence ahead of me, I know thatsomething between us shifted on that ledge, whether I’m ready to admit it or not.
And judging by the knowing look Holt shoots me over his shoulder, he knows it too.
Chapter Four
Holt
I cling to the rock, feeling the strain in my shoulders and the steady throb in my knee, a reminder of how much I’ve lost—and how much I’m still fighting to hold onto. The sun dips lower, painting the granite cliffs with streaks of gold, shadows creeping up the side of Devil’s Peak. But it’s not the view that has my focus—it’s Lila, a few feet above me, navigating the rock face with a determination that borders on stubbornness.
She’s different today—our second lesson on the mountain and she’s more surefooted, more willing to push herself. She’s still clumsy as hell, but she’s got this fire in her, something fierce that matches the wildness of the mountain. And damn if it doesn’t draw me in, making it impossible to look away.
Her foot slips on a small ledge, sending her body jerking against the rock. I swear under my breath, my instincts kicking in before my mind catches up. My hand shoots out, gripping her ankle. Her skin is warm, soft, even through the chill of the mountain air, and I feel the shiver that races up her leg at my touch.
