Page 68 of Tame Our Wild

Her question has my lips tipping. I place the oar across my lap. “You ride as if you aren’t scared of anything. Terrified of a little water, dust bunny?”

“No,” she says a little too hastily, like it’s a preposterous question.

“Did you know that when you lie, the blood rushes to your cheeks and the center of your chest? This isn’t the first time I’ve caught you lying to me.”

Her breath hitches. Harlow lifts a hand, skimming her fingers across the pigmented apples of her cheeks, and I wish so badly they were mine. To feel the heat radiating from them despite the air that’s starting to chill as the sun continues to dip down.

“I’m not terrified of the water, but I hate not knowing what’s beneath me.” A laugh spills from me, and she drives the tip of the oar sideways across the surface of the water, splashing me. The water soaks through my jeans, and I flex my jaw. “I’m from Arizona! We have a few lakes, but not as many as you do here, and most of the time they are shallow or completely dried up.”

I wipe the water droplets off my hands onto my jeans. “I think you’re talking about pike.”

“Yeah, those! I’ve heard they attack people sometimes.”

I shrug. “Some bodies of water in Tennessee have them, some don’t.” She worries her bottom lip. Placing my hands on the edges of the canoe, I lock eyes with her, giving her a sinister smile. I rock the canoe a few times, and her hands whip out to grasp the edge for stability.

Harlow’s eyes harden. “That’s not funny, Colson!”

“I beg to differ,” I counter, rocking it side to side more with my body weight.

Bigger ripples flow outward, the canoe rocking until not even clutching the sides can save her from it tipping over. The last thing I hear is Harlow screaming my name in a way that has my restraint from keeping myself from her snapping, right before we both go under.

TWENTY-NINE | COLSON

The sting of the icy, early-spring water enveloping me quickly replaces the warmth of the sunshine that had warmed my skin. However, I can’t ignore the blistering dose of desire that’s been thriving in my veins.

My body is aching for her in ways I’ll never understand. It’s like my heart and my soul are seeing things in Harlow that I’ve never wanted to acknowledge.

My head surfaces, my eyes instantly clashing with cold blue ones that rival the temperature of the water engulfing us.

Harlow swims toward me. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Careful, don’t make too much movement, they’re attracted to it,” I taunt, referring to the fish she thinks exist in this lake. They don’t. I’ve fished this lake for over thirty years. If they were in here, I’d know by now.

When she reaches me, she propels herself upward, places her hands on my head, and shoves me underwater. I kick back up, meeting her cute scowl.

Her eyes widen, and she reaches for the top of her head frantically, patting around for her sunglasses. Oops. I lost my hat in the process, too, but the casualties are worth this glare she’s giving me. It makes my cock swell.

“I hate you,” she levels.

But there it is—that rosy hue that is gaining dominance over her chilled skin. I lift my hand, skimming my knuckles across the blush on her cheeks, noticing the way she draws in a shallow breath as her body magnetizes to mine.

“Do you?” I ask, kicking my feet to keep myself afloat.

Her irises are little ping-pong balls bouncing between mine. She’s trying to fight this—fight her feelings for me. She must hear my internal thoughts, because she lowers her head and closes her eyes while that battle rages in her head.

I place a finger below her chin, tipping her eyes back up to meet mine. “I want you to look me in the eyes and say it again.”

Harlow releases a pained breath. “Colson.”

She turns away from me as if she’s going to start swimming back to shore, but my hand whips out. My fingers wrap around the back of her neck firmly but not enough to hurt her as I drag her frame toward me and slam my mouth against hers. Our lips fuse, the chill water vanishing as it turns to a lake of liquid fire, burning us both.

As I suspected, one of her arms slides around my neck while she threads her fingers through my wet hair with the other. She clutches onto me with a grip that has me groaning, her hunger as strong as mine as we devour each other in the center of the lake. I wade forward, slapping my wet hand on the bottom of the canoe, which is floating upside down, to brace myself while my insides explode as her soft, wet lips explore mine.

My hand flexes against the surface for purchase as I thrust my tongue into her waiting mouth.

She opens eagerly, tasting like wildfire and temptation as our tongues brush and fight for dominance.

The PBR thinks she is a sweetheart—an angel amongst men who try to conquer beasts. Harlow Hartt rides with wings of fire. She’ll scorch anything that gets in her way, and for the last several years, I’ve been the one taking her heat. For the first time since I met her, I want her to fucking burn me to ashes so I can feel every beautiful, exotic, and torturous feeling that makes me feel alive.