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DELANEY

T here's one rule I swore I'd never break. Never touch your best friend's brother. Well, I broke it spectacularly last summer at Maya's birthday party. But I'm pretending it never happened, which should count for something.

Except right now, staring across the overcast clearing at Colville National Forest, I'm remembering exactly why that rule exists in the first place. Maya's brother, Jagger, stands with his back to me, pointing out something on a trail map to the park coordinator. Even from here, I can see the way his biceps strain against his ranger uniform sleeves. He’s always been muscular, but this is different. He’s broader, more filled out, carved into something harder.

His sandy brown hair is short but messier now, like he forgot to care and somehow got hotter for it.

When he turns slightly, I catch the scruff covering his jaw where he used to be clean-shaven.

My stomach drops, a sudden freefall I can’t stop.

This is supposed to be my brilliant career move.

Landing the Trailbound Outfitters account by showing I can walk the walk, not just write killer ad copy about outdoor brands.

Two weeks volunteering with the forest ranger program, getting authentic experience, proving to the client that Morrison & Associates understands their mission of adventure and conservation better than Sterling Creative.

It all comes down to me versus some guy named Brett from the competing agency who keeps shooting me these intense stares, trying to psych me out. Honestly, he just looks constipated.

The client made it clear: whichever agency can prove they truly "get" the Trailbound spirit will win the account.

And with it, the promotion I've been killing myself for all year.

I need this win. I've earned it through late nights, working weekends, and turning down every social invite for the past six months.

This isn’t supposed to be a reunion with the man I’ve spent eleven months avoiding after he kissed me.

I’ve worked hard to erase him, to scrub him from my thoughts.

After that kiss, he texted me three times.

I deleted them all without reading past the first few words.

Then came the phone call six months ago.

No message, maybe even a butt dial. I ignored that too.

When Maya invited me to a family party, I suddenly developed a mysterious stomach bug.

The memory of that kiss crashes over me.

Jagger backing me against the bathroom wall after he'd pulled me inside and locked the door.

The taste of mint on his lips. Months, maybe years, of restraint snapped in a single moment.

My knees buckled. I actually went weak, the way romance heroines always do.

I melted into him, my body boneless, helpless against the pull of him.

"You even taste like trouble," he'd growled against my mouth before biting down on my bottom lip, his hand sliding up to wrap around my throat. The sound that escaped me was so needy I barely recognized it. And it had the nerve to be for him.

Then Maya had called my name from the party, and reality crashed back in. I'd pushed him away, mumbled some excuse, and spent the next eleven months pretending it never happened.

"Delaney!" Sarah, the program coordinator, waves me over with enthusiasm that makes me want to hide behind the nearest tree. "Come meet your leader!"

No. No no no. This isn't happening. But my feet are already moving, carrying me across the clearing like I'm walking to my execution.

The other volunteers, a mix of genuine outdoorsy types and obvious fish-out-of-water types, cluster around as Sarah makes introductions.

At least I'm not the only one who looks like I'd rather be anywhere else.

One woman is already swatting at imaginary bugs.

"Everyone, this is Jagger Maddox, our head ranger. He'll be guiding you through the program."

Jagger turns. His eyes sweep over the group and land on me like a sniper's scope. Eyes that see everything. Eyes that are currently glaring at me with the enthusiasm of someone who just found a skunk in their tent.

He wasn't supposed to be here. I know he's a ranger, but Maya said he was assigned to some forest in Idaho.

I never bothered to ask which one because I try not to talk about him at all around Maya.

So how did he end up here? He wasn't listed on the park website when I checked. And I definitely checked. Twice.

I steel myself. I've got a client to win over and a promotion to secure, and I refuse to let my complicated feelings about nature boy and his stupid perfect biceps mess up everything.

"Welcome to Colville National Forest," he says, his voice exactly as deep and rough as when he growled against my lips. "You'll be working on trail maintenance, wildlife monitoring, and visitor education over the next two weeks. Any questions?"

A woman next to me raises her hand. "What kind of wildlife might we see?"

"Whitetail and mule deer, elk, moose, bighorn sheep, mountain goats, and black bear. Occasionally a grizzly." His tone is matter-of-fact, like he's reading from a grocery list. "Standard precautions apply. Stay with the group, never approach or feed any animals."

"What about those stories of people going missing out here?" someone else asks.

Jagger's eyes find mine again, and the look he gives me is pure ice. "Some people ignore the rules and pay for it."

Heat floods my cheeks. The way he's looking at me, it's like I'm being personally scolded for existing. Which is rich, considering he's the one who kissed me.

"The key," he continues, still holding my gaze, "is following instructions. Paying close attention to everything I say out here and following every order."

He’s really emphasizing that last part. Is he seriously insinuating I don't follow rules? The only rule I've broken is kissing him, and that was his doing. I cock my head and give him a confused look, and he glares at me before turning away abruptly.

"All right!" Sarah claps her hands together, oblivious to the tension crackling between us. "Let's head to the trails and get started!"

The group forges ahead, buzzing about trail conditions and team bonding. I hang back, blending into the crowd, doing my best impression of just happy to be here while avoiding all eye contact with Jagger.

"Holt." His voice slices through the chatter. "You're with me. Up front."

A few heads swivel my way. Brett-from-Sterling gives me a smug little side-eye and mutters, "Teacher's pet," like we're in sixth grade and not out here pretending to be wilderness warriors.

Meanwhile, Ms. Chen, Trailbound's CEO and the human embodiment of nail this or you're fired , watches with the kind of interest that makes my career flash before my eyes.

Perfect. Nothing says "team player" like being singled out five minutes in.

My stomach does a slow, traitorous flip, but I slap on my best professional smile and say, "Of course," like I wasn't just contemplating throwing myself into a ditch to avoid this exact moment.

There's no point arguing. Not with Ms. Chen studying every move. So I fall into step beside Jagger, close enough to catch his cologne. Earthy, woody, coffee and chocolate with a hint of flowers. I remember that scent so well, how it wrapped around me while he kissed me against that bathroom wall.

Stop it, Delaney. I slam the door on that memory and focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

It's fine. I'm fine. Just me, him, and a mile of trail to pretend we're strangers and not former wall-leaning, breath-stealing mistakes. Not my best friend's brother and the woman who should have known better.

The forest is absolutely gorgeous. Towering evergreens shoot up like nature's skyscrapers, while big leaf maples glow butter-yellow against the Douglas firs. Red alder leaves drift down in perfect copper spirals. The air has that rich, musky scent that brands would kill to bottle.

Under literally any other circumstance, I'd be taking mental notes for the Trailbound campaign. I'd be thinking about hashtags, angles, storyboards.

Instead, all I can focus on is the guilt gnawing at my stomach. I kissed my best friend's brother. The one person who should have been completely off limits. I thought I could avoid this, avoid him. But here we are.

What is he thinking? Is he remembering that kiss too, or has he filed it away as a meaningless mistake?

And why can't I stop stealing glances at the way his shoulders move?

I need to get through two weeks of this without imploding my career or my friendship.

Two weeks of pretending my pulse doesn't race around him.

"Delaney," Jagger says suddenly, his voice loud enough to snap my head up. "Since you're here for the Trailbound account, why don't you tell the group which of these pines is a lodgepole?"

Are you kidding me right now? Of course he'd put me on the spot like this, right in front of Ms. Chen.

I spent hours cramming plant identification guides before coming here, but memorizing pictures in my apartment is apparently very different from standing in an actual forest where every damn tree looks exactly the same.

My mouth opens, but my brain delivers nothing except a panicked slideshow of identical green things.

A few people glance over. Brett from Sterling is already smirking. Ms. Chen lifts an eyebrow like this is the pop quiz portion of the pitch.

"Um… is it the one with the…"

Jagger folds his arms across that annoyingly broad chest. "The lodgepole," he says, gesturing to a tree behind me, "has needles in clusters of two, thin scaly bark, and grows straight up like a telephone pole. Hence the name."

A couple of people snicker. One of them wheezes. Brett actually laughs out loud.

Fire spreads across my cheeks. I force my mouth into what I hope passes for a smile. What the hell is Jagger’s problem? He doesn't get to put me on the spot when Ms. Chen is right there taking mental notes.

It continues for the next couple of hours. He singles me out again, asking me to shave tinder from a piece of bark while the entire group watches my clumsy knife work. Then comes the bowline knot demonstration, my fingers fumbling uselessly with the rope.

By the time we make it back to base camp, I'm wrecked. Physically from the hike, sure, but mostly from the mental gymnastics of trying to keep up with whatever forest-themed chess game Jagger is playing.

"Dinner's at six in the main lodge," Sarah calls out. "Free time until then!"

The group starts to scatter toward the cabins, laughing, chatting, already bonding like this is a summer retreat and not some twisted reality show where my accidental ex-hookup is the leader from hell.

I check the assignment sheet. Cabin 7. Just me, my duffel, and two weeks of praying Jagger forgets I exist.

I find the cabin tucked back under a canopy of fiery-orange maples, the porch littered with crisp fallen leaves. It's cute. Quiet. Exactly what I need to get inside, wash the day off, and reset my nervous system.

But the key won't turn.

I jiggle it. Yank it out. Try again.

Nothing.

"Seriously?" I mutter, trying to shove the key in a third time when a large hand slaps against the doorframe beside my head.

Every muscle in my body locks up. Air catches in my throat as I turn.

Jagger.

"Can't manage a key, Holt?"

His voice has just enough bite to make my blood simmer.

I step back instinctively, my shoulder brushing the outside of the cabin. "Maybe if the lock wasn't prehistoric. You're in charge around here, right? Shouldn't stuff like this be fixed on your watch?"

He doesn't move. Doesn't even blink.

"I think I get it now," he says, eyes scanning mine like he's reading fine print. "You didn't come here for the program. You came here for me."

My jaw drops. "You’re delusional."

"I just can't figure out why you ran away from me," he adds, voice colder now. "You scared of a kiss? Or scared of what would've happened after?"

"I'm not scared of you or what happened. I just won't do that to my best friend."

His eyes narrow. "So you're scared of Maya?"

I scoff, turning back to the lock. "I'm loyal to Maya. There's a difference."

"Right," he drawls behind me. "That's why you're shaking like a leaf. Why your skin's covered in goosebumps." His knuckles brush down my arm in one slow stroke, and I yank away from him.

I shove the key back in, hard enough to rattle the knob. "You think I came here for you? I didn't even know you'd be here. Maya said you worked in Idaho."

"Sure," he teases, clearly enjoying himself. "Coincidence is cute."

"You're such an ass," I snap, jamming the key again with enough force to probably break the lock altogether.

Still nothing.

"Gonna wrestle that all night, or are you finally gonna admit you need me?" he asks, leaning in so close his voice rumbles against my neck.

"I'd rather eat moss,” I mutter, coiling into myself and trying to shrink away from the way he makes my skin prickle.

He takes the key from my hand like I'm a child with a toy, and with one calm flick of his wrist, the door clicks open.

"Wow," I bite out. "What a man."

"Any time, kitten."

My stomach flips at the sound of it. Kitten. Maya used to call me that back in college, said I looked soft and sweet with my messy curls and big eyes, but I'd hiss and claw the second someone pushed me.

It was sweet when she said it.

When Jagger says it? It's not sweet. It's not kind. He's playing with me, like I'm his favorite toy.

I don't even dignify it with a response. I shoulder past him, stomp inside, and slam the door in his face.

Let him find someone else to play with. I've got a promotion to win, and I'm not about to let some brooding forest jackass with a god complex derail my career.