Lark
The forest is alive around us—rustling leaves, distant birdcalls, the occasional snap of a twig underfoot. I try to focus on the sounds, on the rough, uneven ground beneath the extra pair of boots Hunter gave me to wear, but my gaze keeps drifting to Hunter’s back. There’s a raw power in the way he moves, like he’s part of the wilderness itself. He’s in his element here, confident and completely unbothered by the rugged terrain.
Meanwhile, I’m struggling to keep up. Sweat dampens my shirt and I have to bite back curses as branches snag at my hair. But I won’t complain—not in front of him. He’s already got that infuriating smirk every time I trip over a root or stumble on loose rocks.
Hunter stops abruptly, and I nearly slam into him. He turns, catching me off guard, his eyes locking onto mine. There’s an intensity in his gaze that sends a jolt straight to my core. It’s like being caught doing something I shouldn’t, and I feel heat rise to my cheeks, but I lift my chin stubbornly.
“Think you can find the water source I told you about?” he asks, his voice low, teasing.
I narrow my eyes at him, refusing to back down. “What, you don’t think I’m capable?”
A slow, half-smile tugs at his lips, and it’s both infuriating and disarming. “Oh, I think you’re more than capable, Lark. But I also think you’re easily distracted.”
I can’t help it—I laugh, the sound escaping before I can stop it. “Maybe it’s your constant staring that’s the real distraction, Hunter.”
He steps closer, his grin deepening, a wicked gleam lighting his eyes. “Can’t help it. You’re kind of hard to look away from.”
The words hit me harder than I expect, a flicker of heat sparking low in my stomach. I know I should look away, but something about the challenge in his eyes keeps me locked in place. I force myself to keep my voice steady, even though my pulse is anything but.
“Focus, Hunter,” I say, trying to sound firm.
His grin only widens. “Is that what you’re trying to do? Focus?” He leans in, his presence suddenly overwhelming. “Because from where I’m standing, you look a little…flustered.”
I swallow hard, my heart hammering in my chest. His scent—wood smoke and something darkly masculine—invades my senses, making it nearly impossible to think. I grit my teeth, determined not to let him see how much he affects me.
“Just teach me how to find the damn water,” I snap, frustration mixing with something hotter.
Hunter’s gaze darkens, shifting from playful to something more primal. He doesn’t back off; instead, he reaches for my hand, his rough fingers surprisingly gentle as they guide mine to the trunk of a nearby tree.
“Feel that?” he asks, his voice low, husky.
I shiver at the contact, the warmth of his skin searing into mine.
“The moss?” I manage to ask, my voice barely steady.
His eyes stay on mine, unyielding. “Yeah. It grows thicker on the side that’s closest to the water source.”
His hand lingers on mine, and the world seems to shrink until it’s just us. The forest around us goes silent, the air heavy with unspoken tension. I can feel his breath, warm and steady, and my own comes in short, uneven bursts. It’s like every nerve in my body is suddenly on edge, acutely aware of how close he is.
His thumb brushes against my wrist, a small, deliberate caress. “Lark,” he murmurs, his voice rough, uncertain. “If I’m making you uncomfortable…”
I shake my head, my throat tight. “You’re not.”
The intensity of his gaze deepens, and his grip on my hand tightens just a fraction. “Good,” he says, but there’s a promise in that single word—one that’s equal parts thrilling and dangerous. “You know–you’re a helluva lot more sassy than the women and families I lead to safety in Afghanistan. Where’s your sense of appreciation, Sugar?”
A grin lifts my lips before I can stop it. I shoot back: “Military man, huh? That explains a lot. Especially the bossy and controlling part.”
He laughs out loud then and I feel it all the way down to the tips of my toes.
“I like that about you–” his voice lowers an octave, “that you still challenge me even under these circumstances.” He lingers, eyes catching mine and I see a warmth there that I’m not used to. Then he steps back suddenly, breaking the moment, but not the charged energy between us. “Let’s find that water,” he says, his tone steady but still laced with heat.
We move forward, side by side, the tension between us palpable. I try to concentrate on my steps, but it’s hard when I can feel Hunter’s eyes on me, feel the weight of everything we’re not saying. When I trip over a root, he’s there in an instant, his hands steadying me at the waist.
“You need to watch your step,” he says, his voice rough, but his thumbs make small circles on my sides, sending sparks up my spine.
I try to sound annoyed, even though my body is anything but.
“I am watching,” I snap.
