Page 79 of Wilder

The second the words left my mouth, Wilder moved.

No hesitation, no thought. Just pure instinct.

Without warning, his hand shot out, his fingers catching my face, clutching my cheeks between his calloused palms.

My brain short-circuited within seconds.

I had no idea how to breathe, my entire face growing hot. Not just from his touch, but from the slow, creeping heat spreading up from my neck, over my ears and straight to my cheeks.

For a split second, he just held me there, his thumb barely brushing against my cheekbone, his gaze locked onto mine like he didn’t even realize what he’d just done. Then, just as quickly as he’d grabbed me, his eyes widened—something startled and almost horrified flashing through them.

His fingers snapped apart, pulling away from me like he suddenly remembered who he was touching, realized this shouldn’t be happening.

Oh, hell no.

Before he could back away or completely disengage and pretend none of this was real, I snatched the seam of his button-down, my fingers tightening around the fabric to hold him right in place.

A small noise escaped him—surprise, if I had to guess, judging by the way his eyes went even wider, but he didn’t pull away again. He didn’t try to move at all.

It was stupid, having this moment right in the middle of trying to solve a crisis like someone potentially trying to poison the horses’ food supply, but I wasn’t going to let him run from this now.

“Weren’t we supposed to talk?” I murmured.

I felt him swallow, his throat bobbing visibly. “You... remember.”

The way he said it—low, softly spoken, like he didn’t quite believe it was real—sent a different kind of heat curling through me.

I tilted my head slightly, fingers tightening around his shirt just a fraction. “What, were you hoping I’d forget?”

Because if he said yes, if he told me he had actually been hoping I wouldn’t remember what I said that night, that might just make me drop dead.

A hole in the Earth would need to open up to swallow me whole to save me from that level of embarrassment.

He searched my face, his gaze sweeping over every inch of it like he was looking for something; some kind of confirmation to the question that was buzzing around the inside of his head.

His lips parted slightly, just enough for me to catch the way he darted his tongue out, wetting his bottom lip.

“I...” He trailed off.

He isn’t telling me no.

Oh, I was in trouble.

My boldness was starting to take over now, commanding the reins before the rational part of my brain could catch up and tell me to stop or slow down, to look at the big picture before I could get us both in trouble.

Right now, I hardly cared about the consequences. All I could focus on was the rapidly tightening bulge in my jeans.

Carefully, I walked him back into the alcove, my steps measured while keeping my eyes from wavering from his.

Wildly, he let me. Following my lead, his hands twitching at his sides as he tried to fight with himself on whether to reach for me or push me away. I couldn’t say I blamed him. We’d never been this close to crossing the line before.

The second his back hit the wall, he sucked in a short inhale, his chest expanding right against mine.

“Asher.” My name tumbled from his lips, his voice gravelly and strained, a soft plea for mercy.

The truth was he wasn’t going to get any. Not from me. Not when I had him trapped against this wall and right where I wanted him because I couldn’t help myself.

I’d gone so long carrying this desperate, one-sided crush. Biting my tongue, swallowing it down every time my chest ached with something I wasn’t allowed to have. Every stolen glance, every fleeting touch, every quiet moment where I wished things were different—I had locked it all away and told myself to be smart, be careful, to keep things professional.