Page 22 of Falling for Him (Honey Leaf Lodge #3)
Ben
I was going to combust, not metaphorically or emotionally, but actually physically combust. I was about to erupt like a man-shaped volcano made of caffeine, desire, and the overwhelming need to kiss the hell out of Fifi again.
She was ten feet ahead of me on the canyon trail, the sun catching in her dark hair, her laughter echoing off the red rock walls like something carved straight from joy itself. She wasn’t even trying to drive me crazy. That was the worst part.
She just… was.
Barely-there trail? She took it like a champ.
Loose gravel? She tackled it with a grin and a one-liner.
Me, trailing behind and trying to focus on anything but the swing of her hips in those jeans? A lost cause.
I needed a distraction.
So, I suggested the path that curved above the lake, the red stone stretching out like a ribbon of sandstone. It was warm underfoot, radiating heat through the soles of my boots. The sun was climbing higher, painting the canyon in copper and rust, and the wind whistled low between the rock walls.
Fifi scrambled up a short incline and turned to look back at me. Her cheeks were flushed, her smile wild and unfiltered.
“This is incredible,” she breathed, hands on her hips. “I mean, I hate to give you credit since this was technically my idea, but good call on the detour.”
I smirked, wiping sweat from my brow. “Happy to be part of the plan, even if I wasn’t in on it.”
She laughed and kept going, hopping down from the ledge. “Sienna would love this. She’s the real hiker in the family. She once did a six-day backpacking trip with a sprained ankle and refused to tell anyone until the end.”
“And you?”
She shot me a look over her shoulder. “Me? I’m more of a stare-at-the-scenery-and-make-up-stories kind of girl.”
I snorted. “That tracks.”
“Oh, you think so?”
“Yeah. You’re the kind of person who gives names to trees.”
“I do that!”
“Of course you do.”
She reached the edge of another overlook and spun around slowly, arms out. “It’s like being inside a painting. One with too much color and probably a dragon hiding somewhere.”
I watched her, hair wind-tangled, lips parted, cheeks sun-kissed, and every thought I had about restraint evaporated into the heat haze.
This wasn’t just a crush.
This wasn’t just chemistry.
It was gravity.
And it was pulling me straight into her orbit whether I liked it or not.
I made the mistake of looking at her mouth again.
It was a mistake because I knew exactly how it tasted, and because I knew exactly how much I wanted more.
She started walking back toward me, brushing her hand across the sandstone as she passed. “So, Mr. Broody Florida Man—”
“Please never call me that again.”
“—what do you actually do to relax? Because hiking clearly isn’t your go-to.”
“I usually keep to myself,” I said. “Long drives. Books. Silence.”
“Wow. Living the party life.”
“I was until someone lured me into the wilderness with muffins and sleeping bags.”
She grinned, eyes gleaming. “You’re welcome.”
She tried to pass by me on the narrow stretch of rock, her shoulder brushing mine.
And that was it.
That was the match on the fuse.
I caught her wrist.
She paused, startled.
I stepped closer, enough that I felt her breath stutter between us.
“You really don’t play fair,” I said, voice low.
She blinked up at me, wide-eyed. “I don’t?”
“You don’t even try, ” I said. “And it still wrecks me.”
She didn’t move away. Didn’t blink. Just swallowed hard and whispered, “Then stop trying not to be wrecked.”
And just like that, I kissed her again.
There was no slow lead-in this time. No gentle pause.
I backed her against the red stone wall and kissed her like I couldn’t get close enough. Like every second I hadn’t been kissing her had been a mistake I needed to fix immediately.
She melted into me with a gasp, her hands sliding up my chest, fingers curling into my shirt like she’d been waiting for this all morning.
Her mouth opened under mine, and I took full advantage, tasting her, devouring her. I felt her shiver and pressed closer, letting her know exactly how much she was affecting me.
Every barrier I’d built, the walls, the distance, the carefully constructed detachment, cracked open under the weight of her kiss.
She kissed me like she meant it.
And God help me, I kissed her like I’d forgotten how not to.
Her hand slid to the back of my neck, pulling me closer, and I let out a low groan, deep and unfiltered, because this — she —was undoing me in every way that counted.
And I didn’t care.
When we finally pulled apart, both of us breathless, her hands still fisted in my shirt, she looked up at me with flushed cheeks and a wicked, dazed smile.
“Well,” she murmured. “Hiking is starting to grow on me.”
I pressed my forehead to hers, still trying to catch my breath. “Don’t tempt me to make out with you every quarter mile.”
“Oh no,” she whispered. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
I stared at her.
And then I laughed…honest, helpless, full-bodied.
She laughed too, and for the first time in a long time, everything felt right.
Even if it scared me.
Even if I had no idea what came next.
I wanted more.
And right now, more looked a lot like Fifi, smiling like sin and sunlight beneath a canyon sky.
“I need to jump in that lake,” I said, still breathless, still pressed against the canyon wall like I hadn’t just devoured her mouth in broad daylight.
Fifi blinked up at me, flushed and grinning like she’d just won something. “Seriously?”
I nodded, lips brushing hers one last time before I forced myself to back up an inch. “Yeah. Or you’re going to have to carry me back up that trail. One or the other.”
She tilted her head and made a show of inspecting me. “Hmm. You don’t look that heavy.”
I gave her a look. “I bench sarcasm for breakfast.”
“Then consider this your hydration break.”
“I’m not joking. I’m five degrees away from spontaneous combustion. It’s either you or the hiking that is heating me up.”
Her grin widened, and then, because this woman could never not surprise me, she said, “Let’s do it.”
I blinked. “What?”
“The lake,” she said, already turning toward the sloping trail that led to the water’s edge. “You’re not the only one who could use a cool down.”
I watched her walk away for a beat, her ponytail bouncing like she hadn’t just short-circuited every logical thought I’d ever had. “What about the food?”
She glanced over her shoulder, face suddenly all business. “We can swim first. We shouldn't eat right away.”
“Why?”
“Cramps,” she said seriously, waving a hand. “You know, the thing your mother used to warn you about when you got too enthusiastic with lunch and cannonballs?”
I stared at her.
“You’re applying childhood pool rules to this situation?”
She shrugged. “Listen, I may kiss like a reckless romantic, but I picnic like a responsible adult. ”
I barked out a laugh. “God help me.”
By the time I made it to the water’s edge, she was already pulling off her hiking boots and socks, stepping into the shallows with the kind of confidence that should’ve come with a soundtrack.
The water lapped at her ankles, sending little ripples across the surface.
She wore nothing but a thin white bra and her floral underwear.
“Coming in or chickening out?” she called, squinting into the sun.
“I’m just emotionally preparing myself.”
“For what?”
“To see you soaking wet.”
She snorted and flicked water in my direction with her foot. “Pervert.”
“I prefer appreciative observer. ”
I kicked off my boots and peeled off my shirt, catching the way her gaze dipped and her breath hitched. She didn’t even try to hide it. Her eyes skimmed from my chest down to the waistband of my jeans before she caught herself and looked away too fast.
“Just trying to make sure you don’t drown,” she muttered, cheeks pink.
“Consider me supervised,” I said, stepping into the water beside her.
The lake was cold. Shockingly cold. Like slap-you-in-the-face cold. But also perfect. My overheated body practically sighed in relief.
Fifi was already waist-deep, arms outstretched, face tilted up toward the sky like she belonged in a travel brochure.
I dunked under and came up gasping.
“Holy hell,” I breathed, slicking my hair back.
She laughed and splashed me. “Told you it’d help. You’re not in Florida anymore, buddy.”
I stared at her, wet hair, water clinging to her lashes, skin glowing from the cold, and thought help was an understatement. Her nipples hardened under her wet bra, and I nearly died.
“You okay over there?” she asked, tilting her head.
“No.”
She waded toward me. “What’s wrong?”
“You exist,” I said flatly.
She laughed again, splashing water in my face. “That’s your complaint?”
I wiped my eyes. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
Her smile faltered for a second, just a flicker, and then softened. “Actually… I think I might.”
There was a moment between us then, still and electric, like everything around us took one slow breath and held it. I could feel the pull again, the magnetic draw to get closer, to kiss her again, to never stop kissing her.
But she swam a few strokes away, breaking the tension with a flick of her hair.
“Okay,” she said. “We’ve cooled off. Now we sun dry, and then we eat. I brought sandwiches and fruit. And one single brownie we have to fight over.”
“Why would you do that?”
“To remind you that I’m the boss.”
I chuckled and treaded water beside her, watching as she floated on her back like she did this every weekend. “You planned that much?”
“I take snacks very seriously.”
“Apparently.”
We swam a little more, floated, laughed, and splashed like kids playing hooky from our real lives. And for the first time in months, maybe longer, I wasn’t thinking about what came next.
I wasn’t overanalyzing or bracing for the emotional fallout.
I was just here.
With her.
Soaking wet. Breathing easy. And wondering what it would feel like to wake up next to this woman and do normal things like make breakfast and argue over coffee brands.
The thought hit me hard enough to make me pause.
Because I wanted that.
With her.
She glanced at me, floating lazily on her back. “You’re quiet again.”
“Just thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
“Always.”
She smiled at the sky. “What are you thinking about?”
I swam closer, close enough to brush her hand underwater. “Lunch.”
“Liar.”
And maybe I was.
But I was also starting to believe this, us, could be something real.
Even if I didn’t know where it would lead.