The sun filtered through the trees as we made our way back up the rocky slope toward our makeshift picnic camp. My legs were still dripping, my shirt was likely in a beaver’s living room, and Ben Jensen walked beside me like temptation personified, barefoot, wet, and all carved jawline and smug charm.
And heknewit.
Of course he did.
He had that look again. The one that said he was still amused by the great beaver heist of the hour, but also deeply aware of how close our bodies had gotten in the lake. How close they still wanted to be.
My pulse hadn’t returned to normal since we climbed out of the water.
And the way his hand brushed against mine every few steps wasn’t helping.
“I can’t believe you got kicked out of a rodent’s home,” he said, glancing sideways at me with that crooked smile of his.
“I didn’t getkicked out,” I huffed. “I withdrew voluntarily in the interest of wildlife conservation and wardrobe preservation.”
“That beaver is probably wearing your shirt like a silk robe right now.”
“Bold of you to assume it’s her taste.”
“Oh?” He raised a brow.
I gave him a dramatic look.
We reached the clearing, and the two sleeping bags lay out on the flattest patch of rock like we were about to stargaze in a REI ad, except it was the middle of the day.
I bent to unzip the pack that had our food, but before I could even brush the zipper, a warm hand slid around my waist.
“Hey—” I started, straightening, but his arms caught me, pulling me back against his bare chest before I could protest.
My breath caught as he lowered his mouth next to my ear.
“You know,” he murmured, his voice like gravel wrapped in velvet, “we never actually finished what we started earlier.”
I turned my head slightly. “We gotverydistracted.”
“You distracted me.”
“You kissed me.”
He hummed. “You kissed me back.”
Before I could fire off a response, his lips brushed the back of my shoulder, bare now, thanks to the lack of beaver-approved outerwear, and I melted so fast I was basically a human marshmallow.
His hand slid to my hip, pulling me gently until I turned toward him.
And then?
He kissed me again.
Hot. Focused. Deep.
Like he’d been waiting since the canyon wall to get his hands on me again and now he was going to make every second count.
His hands found the small of my back and mine found the curve of his shoulders, and I gave in, completely. There was nopoint in pretending I didn’t want him, that I wasn’tstarvingfor more of him. Every inch of skin that touched his felt like it lit up from the inside out.
When his chest brushed mine, bare and warm and real, I gasped against his mouth. It was a kiss that blurred the edges. The kind that made you forget you were standing on dry land and not falling headlong into something you wouldn’t be able to take back.
But then, just as suddenly, he pulled away.
