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11

JENSEN

T he first light of dawn filters through the canvas of my tent, but I’m already awake. Old habits. Years in these mountains have trained my body to rise with the sun, alert and ready. I lie still for a moment, listening. Birds starting their morning songs. The distant babble of the creek. The steady breathing of my crew in their tents.

Yet something feels off.

I slip out of my sleeping bag and pull on my jeans. The morning air is cool against my bare chest as I duck through the tent flap, scanning the campsite. Cole’s and Red’s tents are still zipped tight. Eli’s boots are visible at the entrance to his, one fallen on its side. Everything looks normal.

Except Aubrey’s tent.

The flap hangs open, sleeping bag visible inside. Empty.

My heart rate kicks up a notch, though I tell myself there’s no reason for alarm. Probably just took a walk to do her business. But instinct has me reaching for my gun, tucking it into my waistband as I check the perimeter of our camp.

No sign of her.

No tracks indicating a struggle either, a fact I cling to as I follow the path down toward the creek. The trail is easy to read—one set of boot prints, Aubrey’s size, heading directly to the water. Nothing following her. Nothing dragging or carrying her away.

Relief washes through me, immediately followed by annoyance at my own reaction. She’s a grown woman who went for a morning walk, not some helpless city tourist who can’t handle herself, despite what the others might think of her. Still, something keeps me moving down the trail, drawn by a need to confirm she’s safe with my own eyes.

The sound of splashing reaches me before I see her.

I round the bend where the creek widens into a natural pool, deep enough to submerge in.

And there she is.

Aubrey stands waist-deep in the water, her back to me, morning sunlight turning her wet skin to gold. Water cascades down her shoulders as she lifts a bar of soap, running it along her arm in slow, deliberate strokes. Her dark blonde hair is slicked back, exposing the elegant line of her neck, the curve of her spine.

Fuck me.

I should turn around. Should walk away, give her privacy.

That would be the decent thing to do.

But I’m not a decent man.

I don’t move.

Can’t move.

The sight of her holds me transfixed. Water droplets glisten on her shoulders. The gentle swell of her hips rises from the creek’s surface. When she shifts to rinse, I catch a glimpse of the side of her breast, full and perfect.

My body responds instantly, predictably. Blood rushes south, and I’m suddenly very aware of the tightness in my jeans, the straining of my cock.

Just as I finally gather the will to retreat, she glances over her shoulder. Our eyes lock. I expect anger, outrage at my intrusion. Instead, her lips curve into a small, knowing smile.

“Enjoying the view, cowboy?” Her voice carries across the water, low and amused.

I should apologize. Should leave.

Instead, I find myself answering, “Hard not to.”

Her smile widens a fraction. “Water’s nice. Cold, but the sun is warm.”

It’s an invitation. Has to be. Still, I hesitate, giving her time to reconsider, to tell me to go to hell. She just turns back to her bathing, seemingly unconcerned by my presence or my blatant staring.

Because, shit, am I ever staring. Ogling, more like it.

Before I can overthink it, I’m pulling my shirt over my head, kicking off my boots. I leave my pistol carefully atop the pile, within easy reach. The jeans are last, and I’m acutely aware of my obvious arousal as I wade into the creek.

She’s right, the water is cold, though it could be worse. I barely notice. All my attention is fixed on Aubrey as I move toward her, stopping a respectful distance away.

“Not quite a hot shower, is it?” My voice comes out rougher than intended.

She turns to face me, making no attempt to cover herself. Her nipples are hard, pink pebbles seeming to tighten under my watch, while the water laps just below her breasts, leaving little to the imagination. “It’s good to cool off sometimes.”

Her eyes drop briefly, taking in my body with the same open appreciation I showed her, lingering on my cock, now standing thick and at attention. When her gaze returns to mine, there’s heat there that has nothing to do with the morning sun.

“Didn’t take you for an early riser,” she says with a smirk.

“Always,” I say hoarsely.

“Want some?” She holds out the soap, one eyebrow raised in challenge.

I close the distance between us, the cold water splashing up my legs, cock bobbing in front of me, as I take the soap from her outstretched hand.

“Turn around,” I say, voice low. “I’ll get your back.”

She hesitates for just a moment before complying, presenting her back to me. It’s a small gesture of trust that doesn’t escape my notice. I work up a lather between my palms and place my hands on her shoulders.

A small, breathy gasp escapes her as I begin to wash her back, my touch firm but careful. Her skin is smooth under my calloused hands, shoulder blades shifting as she leans into my touch. I work my way down her spine, painfully aware of our nakedness, of how easy it would be to pull her against me.

How much I want to.

So much it fuckin’ hurts.

“Your turn,” she says, taking the soap back when I’ve finished. “Turn around.”

I obey, feeling strangely vulnerable as I present my back to her. Her hands are smaller than mine but surprisingly strong, moving confidently across my shoulders, down the muscles of my back. She pauses at the McGraw tattoo on my shoulder.

“Is this your brand?” she asks. “I’ve seen it around the ranch.”

“Sure is. If it’s branded on our cattle, it’s only fair it’s branded on me.”

She brings her hands lower now. “You carry a lot of tension,” she murmurs, thumbs pressing into knots along my spine.

“Comes with the territory.” My voice is tight, controlled.

“The territory of running a ranch? Or something else?”

“Life in general is rife with tension, ain’t it?” I ask.

The tension between us shifts, transforms. No longer just sexual, but something more complex. The last thing I want is for Aubrey to start questioning the real business at the ranch, and the fact that Red and Cole aren’t the people she thinks they are.

“We should head back,” I say, though it’s the last thing I want. “Before the others wake up.”

She nods, but neither of us moves. We stand there, water lapping at our bodies, morning sun warming our faces, caught in a moment that feels charged with possibility.

Or with dead end trails that lead straight off a cliff.

“Jensen…”

My name on her lips sounds like a question, feels like a lifeline.

I step closer, unable to resist the pull between us any longer. Water parts around me as I advance, giving her every opportunity to back away.

She doesn’t.

We wade out of the creek together, water streaming down our bodies. I grab her towel where it’s thrown on the plaid blanket, holding it open for her. She steps into it, and I wrap it around her shoulders, my hands lingering longer than necessary. She looks up at me, droplets clinging to her eyelashes, lips parted slightly.

I stand firm, trying to resist.

She drops the towel and slips on the first layer of clothing, a long sleeved thermal.

But now that she’s covered up, it feels like a grave mistake.

After what happened in the barn last night, I told myself it wouldn’t happen again.

I don’t break many promises, only the ones to myself.

My hand cups the back of her neck, drawing her to me as I kiss her. Her lips are cold from the water but warm quickly against mine. For a heartbeat, she’s still, hesitating. Perhaps she made that same promise to herself too.

But then her mouth opens against mine, and she’s kissing me back with an intensity that steals my breath more than the mountain air.

I pull her against me, her breasts pressed against my bare chest. Her arms wind around my neck, fingers tangling in my wet hair. I taste creek water and something sweeter.

When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard. Her eyes have darkened, pupils blown wide with desire that matches my own. For a moment, we just look at each other, the world narrowed to this one impossible moment.

“We should get back,” she whispers, though she makes no move to step away.

“Yeah,” I agree, equally reluctant. “We should.”

But I don’t let her go. Not yet. Not when holding her feels like the first right thing I’ve done in years.

Do I deserve that feeling? Nah.

But I want more of it all the same.

I pull her to the ground, spreading out the blanket beneath us. We collapse onto it together, limbs tangling, lips meeting again with a hunger that can’t be deferred. She twists under me, pressing up against me, and I lose myself in the taste and feel of her.

When I move down her body, kissing my way over slick skin and finding all the places that make her gasp, she pulls me with her so we’re lying side by side. Her hand slides down my chest, lower, fingers wrapping around my cock with a surety that makes my vision blur. My mouth finds her breast underneath her damp shirt as she strokes me, and her moan sends a jolt of heat through my blood.

Then she’s shifting beneath me again until I’m on my back and she’s on top of me.

Straddling my shoulders, her supple ass to my face.

Brazen, bold, and a little bit greedy.

The sight of her like this—powerful and wanting and so fucking wet—is almost more than I can take. I grip her hips to steady myself and pull her down to my mouth.

Fuck, she tastes like pure sweet water.

She cries out when my tongue finds her clit, thighs tensing around me before relaxing into the rhythm I’m setting. She adjusts herself, leaning forward, and now her hand is curling around my cock again, guiding me to her mouth.

Taking me in so deep I see stars. Nothing has ever felt this good or this right or this utterly insane.

I lose track of everything but the wet heat of her mouth on me and the taste of her on my tongue. She’s moving against me now with abandon, matching each thrust of my hips with one of her own until I’m not sure where one of us ends and the other begins.

The world narrows to sensation—warmth and wetness and pressure building impossibly fast—and then she’s shuddering above me, crying out around a mouthful of me as she comes apart. The feel of it on my tongue sends me spiraling after her, groaning into her skin as I find my own release, shooting into her mouth.

She swallows me down, but I keep coming and coming until finally I’m spent.

Aubrey moves off me, just enough to sprawl across the blanket beside me, breathing hard. After a few minutes, when the world seems to be solid again, I push back her damp hair so I can see her face.

She looks at me with something close to wonder. It makes my heart trip all over again.

Not sure I like being reminded that I have a heart on the line.