Page 6

Why is she still stuck in my head a full day later? Why can’t I stop thinking about that damn smile, her warm laugh, tugging the braids in her hair and unraveling them as I pull her under me and finish all the half-dirty thoughts that she spelled out in her letter?

I finally read it – most of it.

Then I was ashamed of picturing her like that, spread out on my bed, watching me with a mix of hope and lust so potent that I didn’t want to resist. I could practically hear my name dripping from her tongue on a moan as she wrapped herself around me.

I snort quietly and keep working, clearing the trail one rock and broken branch at a time.

These paths cut close to where the fire hit years ago.

It’s hard to tell now—nature moved fast—but I still see the signs.

Saplings where old giants once stood. Burned-out stumps hidden beneath wildflowers.

Meadows where there should’ve been shade.

I look up—and there she is.

Nora.

She’s here, now, sitting on the edge of the trail with one leg stretched out, staring down at a bloody knee like it personally betrayed her. Not her ankle this time. Her knee’s scraped raw, and from the look on her face, she’s more annoyed than hurt.

I close my eyes for a second and exhale through my nose.

Another day. Another unexpected run-in with Nora.

Six days and she’s still here.

Why is she still here?

Maybe I was right about her being a ghost sent to haunt me.

And maybe I don’t hate it as much as I should, I think -unhelpfully.

I walk over and pull out the first aid kit from my pack. She looks up, eyes widening slightly—not with shock, but something closer to relief.

“Oh,” she says, a little breathless. “Hi.”

Then she glances down at her knee, watching the blood trickle down her leg. “I’m fine, really. Just part of being out here. Sometimes nature pushes back.”

“Better the ground than a bear,” I grumble.

I get down on one knee and reach out to her calf before hesitating.

My gaze drifts up her leg, to her bare thigh, along her hip, over her little waist, the swell of her breasts, one exposed collarbone, her elegant neck, those plush, welcoming lips, each freckle that’s begging for attention and affection, to her eyes.

Gorgeous, a soft green that I’ve never seen no matter how I’ve hiked through the woods.

She’s an angel not a ghost and touching her could ruin her . .. or me ... or both of us.

“I’m sure it’s just a skinned knee,” Nora whispers.

“With dirt in it,” I argue. “Are you always so careless?”

She looks away. “There’s so much to see. I wasn’t paying attention to the ground. I was looking at ...” her eyes drift. “This is where the fire was.”

I don’t bother to confirm her thought. She knows it and saying that we were here before will make this mean something. Which is strictly off limits. So instead, I clean out her knee, gently patting it with gauze and softly stroking her calf when she winces.

Nora’s impossibly soft and warm, to the point I don’t want to let go. I simply want to lose myself in her. Letting her go feels ... wrong. I look through the band-aids I have before selecting the biggest one. I cut the sticky ends so they’ll work better with her knee.

She thanks me, repeats that it’s unnecessary and she’s sure others need me more, but once I finish and meet her eyes, I realize she’s blushing fiercely and watching me while breathing heavily.

“Thanks...” she trails off and glances down where her hand lingers on my wrist, my hands still holding her leg in place.

It would be so easy to pick her up. There’s a small one-room shack close-by with a bed just below a fire watch tower.

I could carry her there in ten minutes and show her how much sweeter and nicer my touch could be.

She’d do more than blush for me. She could arch into my touch as my hands slide up her thighs and peel her clothing off her one piece at a time.

Until she’s not saying my name, she’s panting it, moaning it, using it as a plea.

As if she’s not a goddess of mercy that deserves worship.

My throat tightens. And my cock harden. God, I must stop picturing Nora’s generous body under mine…naked… Fuck, she will be the death of me!

I pull my hands away and stand, giving myself a second to breathe and calm down. Then I offer her one hand. I hope she will not see my erection… Christ, I sound like a 15 years old horny boy.

She hesitates for a beat, swallows, then nods. “Right.”

Her hand slips into mine—smaller, softer than I expect—and then she grips my wrist for leverage as she rises. The contact is brief, but it lingers longer than it should.

I keep my gaze steady, anywhere but her face. I don’t need to be here longer than necessary. I shouldn’t be here longer than necessary.

But the thought of someone else—another ranger stepping in, offering his hand, touching her skin—makes something twist in my chest. Makes my jaw clench. So it has to be me, and me only.

I pull her up with more force than intended. She stumbles into me, her body pressing against mine. My arm wraps around her on instinct, steadying her, holding her close.

She looks up, breath catching—eyes wide, pupils dark, a soft flush rising in her cheeks. The heat between us hums, sharp and immediate.

I ease my arm away and crouch to repack the first aid kit, needing the motion, the distraction. Something to break the hold she has on me.

But her scent stays with me—clean, warm, impossible to ignore. It clings to my skin, my thoughts, my restraint.

Even with space between us, she’s still everywhere.

“I think I’m going to head back to town before it gets dark,” she mumbles.

Then I see the slight limp in her step.

I exhale and close my eyes, running through every excuse I can think of to stay focused on the trail and not on her.

No reports of downed trees. No overgrowth. This path is one of the most popular—well-worn, easy to navigate, barely needs a ranger at all.

There’s no real reason to be here.

Except her.

And that’s exactly why I should keep moving. But it’s also exactly why I don’t.

“Did you go further on the trail, Nora?” I ask.

“Um, yes. I went to the loop point.”

“Was the trail clear and easy to follow?”

She pauses, keeping her knee slightly bent, careful not to put weight on it. “Yeah. It was clear. No trouble at all.”

Then she glances back the way she came. “I only tripped a few minutes ago—just off the edge near that last bend. My fault for not watching where I was stepping.”

She glances up at me, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Feel familiar?”

I huff out a breath. “You’re not in my arms. That’s the win.”

Her smile deepens, just slightly.

“As if being in your arms is something I’d complain about,” she murmurs.

Her eyes go wide the moment she realizes what she’s said. I exhale slowly.

“I mean… it wasn’t bad. For me,” she adds quickly, cheeks coloring. “I don’t know if I was too heavy or uncomfortable or—”

She flinches when her knee bumps mine, and I don’t hesitate.

I scoop her up again, one arm under her legs, the other steady at her back.

“Happy now? It’s a quarter mile to the parking lot,” I say.

She breathes out softly. “Right.”

I think of anything other than her as I walk.

I ignore how right she feels in my arms, how natural it is to curl her towards my chest, how fucking good she smells.

It’s only to make sure she doesn’t get hurt.

Only to make sure there’s nothing she can say to my boss that would get me in trouble, I tell myself.

We walk in silence for a while, the only sound the distant birds and the soft rustle of wind through the trees. Her weight is steady in my arms, but I can feel her watching me.

After a few moments, she speaks—not loudly, not hesitantly either. Just... thoughtfully.

“You get this faraway look sometimes,” she says. “Like you’re here, but not really.”

I glance at her, but she doesn’t look away.

“You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about happiness lately,” she says, her voice soft.

She takes a slow breath, as if weighing her words. “Do you ever stop and wonder if you’re truly happy, Calder?”

The question catches me off guard, and I blink, processing it before responding. “I’m content.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“You are very focused on wording,” I comment.

“Because words describe our reality.”

“Are you? Happy, I mean.”

She bites her bottom lip. “I’ve been chasing happiness for a while. You know, it’s basically promised that if someone does well in school and in college, they’ll get a good job and be happy, but I’ve only been content.”

“Content is better than miserable,” I say, keeping my tone even.

She tilts her head, studying me. “And a stone in your shoe is better than walking through fire, but that doesn’t mean it’s something you settle for.”

I glance at her. She is clever. Thoughtful. Not wrong.

“I don’t think happiness is something you find,” I say. “You build it. Piece by piece.”

She nods slowly, her gaze drifting to the trees.

“Maybe. But where you build it matters too. Belonging... feeling like you’re part of something—it’s not nothing.

The city doesn’t offer that. Everyone’s racing ahead, too busy to see each other.

Out here, things feel… slower. Simpler. Like there’s room to breathe. ”

“If you want it badly enough, you’ll make it happen,” I say, but it comes out more clipped than I mean it to.

She turns her head, eyes meeting mine. “That’s what I’ve been doing for the last five days. Trying. Looking.”

I pause, something tight in my chest as I watch her.

Her voice softens. “But I know if I’m too focused on the destination, I’ll miss the good along the way.”

She smiles then, bright and sure.

“And right now? The journey’s been really good.”

“You have a hurt knee and this is good?” I scoff.

Her fingers lightly brush my chest. “I have my reasons.”

“You’re an optimist,” I surmise.

“You keep giving me more reasons to be.”

When I set her down, I make sure that she can drive well enough with only her right leg, then watch as she pulls out. Her eyes flick to me once, then she heads on her way.

Like she should. She should keep going, leave town before she actually gets hurt.

Closing my eyes, I massage my temple and shake my head.

Even though she’s gone, I can still smell her sweet, fruity, yet gentle perfume. It haunts me and when I get home from work, I almost hesitate to toss my shirt in the washer. Snorting at myself, I force myself to do exactly that, get through a shower and go to sleep. That’s what I need to do.

Just purge her from my system. Dream about anything else.

“Yes, Calder. Yes,” she moans under me, gripping my shoulders and pulling me tighter as her feathery wings wrap around me.

It doesn’t matter that I’m a demon and she’s an angel, she wants my corruption. I pant and groan as I thrust into her, gripping her ass, memorizing the satiny feel of her skin as her lips part against mine, exhaling across my lips as she moans for me again.

“Nora,” I grit between my teeth. She feels so good, liquid wet heat coating my cock every time I bury myself in her. “Fuck, take it!”

“Please!” She arches against me, her breasts rubbing against my chest until my eyes open to drink in her face.

But my eyes open to darkness. I’m in my own bed, no demon tail, no Nora, nothing but my hard cock and sweaty body. I can’t want her. It’s wrong. She’s so young and I’m not the right man for her. I know that.

But my hand either doesn’t know or doesn’t care. It slides down my body to grip my cock. I shouldn’t do this, not to her, not to the thought of those innocent sweet eyes, to her freckles that demand kisses, to her general purity, but sleep is a hollow dream as long as I’m this hard.

And I want her, in the safety and secrecy of my own bed, I can admit it.

“I fucking want you, Nora,” I groan as I spit in my other hand, then really start stroking myself.

I need her, her warm, delicate soft body against mine. Her breasts rubbing and pressing against my chest, her nipples getting harder with each thrust I give her. The heat of her thighs spread around my hips as she pants against my neck.

“Calder ...” her soft voice tightening as she rides me, showing me what she’s been trying to offer in her letters, showing me exactly how I’ve haunted her dreams and her naughty thoughts.

God, so wet, so tight, so perfect. I lick my lips as I imagine her nipple brushing them. Her moans belong to me. Every gasp, every shiver, every ounce of pleasure—mine. Nora was made for this. For me . Wrapped around me, under me, completely mine.

I roll over, propping myself up on my knees as I imagine to thrust into her again and again, showing her exactly how badly I want her. Harder and faster, softening her moans with my lips before I bury my face between her breasts, marking her skin with my mouth, my teeth, making it clear she’s mine.

“Fuck, Nora,” I groan. “Fuck! Fuck!”

I come faster than I want to. I feel it against my belly, but I can’t care. I flop down in bed, shuddering. I want her. I’m starving for her . Fuck. I was hoping I’d see her today—even if I told myself I wasn’t.

I hate this. Hate wanting her. Hate wanting anyone . But especially Nora.

Because wanting her means admitting I care. And someone like her—soft, sweet, untouched—doesn’t belong with someone like me. I’m rough where she’s gentle, scarred where she’s still whole.

I’ll ruin her. Break her without meaning to.

But that doesn’t stop the wanting. Doesn’t stop the craving that burns through me every time she’s near.

As the post-orgasmic bliss fades, the guilt rolls in.

Here I am, stroking my cock to a woman fourteen years younger than me who’s trying to find her place in the world and all I can think about is ravishing her.

I’ll wear her down. Chip away at the softness in her. That lightness she carries—it doesn’t survive long around someone like me.

I can’t have her. I know that. No man is meant to have an angel.

So why the hell isn’t that enough to convince my heart to let her go?