Page 4

DELANEY

J agger is soaked into my skin like a secret I can't wash away.

And I don't want to wash it away. That's the part I hate the most.

A piece of me, the deeply shameful piece, wanted him to find me tonight. I can admit that now, standing here, wet and exposed, and furious at myself. I knew skinny dipping was risky.

Maybe I even wanted the risk.

God, I'm such a hypocrite. Another way I've been lying to myself for eleven months.

That kiss rattled me to my core. I've avoided Jagger, sure, in real life.

But not in my fantasies. Not in my bed at two in the morning when I slide a pillow between my thighs and grind against it, imagining him turning me around in that bathroom, pulling up my dress, and taking me right there against the sink.

The guilt eats at me every single time.

Because Maya is my best friend. When Jagger helped us move in freshman year, I couldn't help but flush at the sight of him. There was something there, that unspoken electricity you see in movies but assume isn't real. Except it was real. It was like a movie, all right. A horror movie.

Maya told me about growing up with Jagger, how used she felt when girls would pretend to be her friend just to get close to her brother.

It became a running joke at her high school—befriend Maya, hook up with Jagger.

She was so scarred by it she made me promise, on our very first night as roommates, to never think of him that way.

So I listened. I kept it buried. A little crush that I fed in secret but never, ever acted on.

Until he kissed me.

And even then, it became my dark secret. The thing I replay when I'm alone and hating myself for wanting what I can't have.

Now it's here, in my face, impossible to ignore.

And I just did something unspeakable. Something I caused by going to that lake alone, by stripping down, by giving him exactly what he wanted.

I could have walked away from all of this.

Could have kept my clothes on, stayed in my cabin, been the friend Maya deserves.

What kind of person am I?

Get it together , I tell myself. You have a friend you care about. You have a job to do. A client to impress. Brett's probably already back at his cabin writing notes about how to outshine you tomorrow.

The thought of smug, entitled Brett with his shitty smirk is exactly the cold shower I need. I square my shoulders and pick up my pace, determined to get back to my cabin and salvage what's left of my dignity.

That's when I round the corner and run straight into Brett.

"Whoa," he says, stepping back with that irritating grin, his flashlight flicking up to catch my face. The beam is too bright, making me squint and probably illuminating every tell-tale sign of what just happened. "You okay, Delaney?"

I force my expression into neutral territory. "Yeah. Fine. Just tired."

His gaze drops, taking in my appearance with obvious interest. I can practically see him cataloging details he can use against me later. "You look..." His eyes travel over my damp hair, my flushed skin. "Flustered."

I straighten my spine, channeling every ounce of ice queen energy I've cultivated in boardrooms full of men who think they can intimidate me. "I'm fine. Just got turned around on the way back from a hike."

"Right." His smirk deepens, and I want to wipe it off his face with my fist. "Your hair's wet."

He’s probably already planning how to spin this to Ms. Chen, how Morrison & Associates sent someone who can't even navigate a simple walk without getting into trouble.

"Went for a quick swim," I say. "Good for recovery after a long day."

"In the dark? Alone?" He takes a step closer, invading my personal space in a way that makes my skin crawl. "That's either really brave or really stupid."

The condescension in his tone sets my skin on edge. But I'll be damned if I let him see me sweat.

"I prefer to think of it as thorough preparation. Some of us take this experience seriously instead of treating it like a corporate retreat."

His face flushes, and I know I've hit a nerve. Good. He’s been coasting on his daddy’s connections his entire career.

"Careful, Holt," he says, his voice dropping to what he probably thinks is an intimidating whisper. "Wouldn't want Ms. Chen to think you're not team player material."

Before I can respond with something that will definitely get me in trouble, footsteps crunch on gravel behind me. I don't need to turn around to know who it is, like it's responding to some invisible signal only he can send.

"Everything all right here?" Jagger's voice slices through our conversation.

Brett straightens, clearly trying to look important in front of the head ranger. "Just checking on Delaney. She seems a little... disoriented."

"Does she," he says, and it's not a question. It's a statement loaded with meaning that only I can decode.

Our eyes meet across the space between us, and his gaze is like hands on my skin. He knows exactly what he's doing to me, the bastard.

"I'm perfectly fine," I say, injecting steel into my voice even as my pulse hammers against my throat. "Just heading to bed."

I push past both of them. But as I fumble with my cabin key, I can feel Jagger's eyes burning into my back.

The key sticks, of course it does, and I have to try three times before the lock finally gives. I can hear Brett saying something about early morning starts and wilderness safety, but it's white noise compared to the pounding in my ears.

I get inside and close the door, leaning against it as my heart rockets against my ribs.

I head for the tiny bathroom, splashing cold water on my face and staring at my reflection in the small mirror.

My hair is damp and matted, my lips swollen like I've been thoroughly kissed.

I look like exactly what I am—a woman who just had the most intense sexual encounter of her life without anyone actually touching her.

Get it together, I tell myself again. You need to be professional. Competent. The kind of person who deserves a promotion.

The kind of friend Maya deserves.

I change into an oversized t-shirt and brush my teeth, going through the motions of my nighttime routine while my body continues to hum with leftover arousal.

By the time I crawl into bed, I've almost convinced myself that I can handle this.

That I can spend the rest of my time here around Jagger without completely losing my mind.

I wake with a jolt, my heart knocking like it's trying to escape. The cabin is dark and silent, moonlight bleeding through the curtains in silver slashes. But something's wrong. The air feels different.

And then I see him.

Jagger.

He's inside my cabin, leaning against the wall by the door, as if he has every right to be in my private space while I'm sleeping. His ranger uniform is gone, replaced by gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt that hugs every muscle I've been trying not to notice.

He's watching me with those dark eyes, perfectly still, perfectly calm. Waiting for me to wake up so we can finish whatever game we started at the lake.

This has to be a dream. Has to be my subconscious playing tricks on me, conjuring him up because I can't stop thinking about what happened.

But the longer I stare, the more real he becomes.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" I call out.

"Told you, kitten. This isn't over."

That name again. Kitten . It makes my pulse spike and my temper flare in equal measure. I scramble upright, dragging the blanket up to my neck like it could somehow protect me from whatever this is. "You can't just break into my cabin, Jagger. This is insane."

He pushes off the wall and suddenly the small space shrinks around me. His presence swallows every corner, making the air thick and impossible to breathe.

"Insane is wanting you for years and pretending I don't," he says. "Insane is letting you run after kissing me."

He starts moving toward the bed with a confident stride that makes my stomach butterfly, even as my brain screams that this is a disaster waiting to happen. My pulse kicks into overdrive, and I can't tell if it's panic or desire making my hands shake.

"Insane," he continues, reaching the edge of the mattress, "is not taking what's mine right fucking now."

His possessive words should outrage me. Should make me tell him exactly where he can shove his caveman bullshit. Instead, they send liquid heat straight to my core, and I hate myself for it.

"We can't," I breathe, clinging to the last shreds of my sanity. "This is wrong on so many levels."

“Wrong? What’s wrong is pretending you don’t want this. What’s wrong is acting like that pretty cunt of yours isn’t already begging for me.”

I shake my head, but it's a weak denial and we both know it. My body has already voted otherwise. I squeeze my thighs together, chasing relief I’ll never find without him.

He climbs onto the bed, and the mattress groans under his weight. I scramble back, my spine hitting the headboard with a quiet, traitorous thud.

“Look at you,” he says, his voice threaded with heat. He crawls toward me like a storm dressed in skin. “Already backing away, and I haven’t even laid a finger on you.”

He stops only when there’s no air left between us, when his body swallows the light. One hand grips the headboard above my head. The other sinks into the mattress by my hip, boxing me in with heat and power and inevitability.

I feel it unraveling inside me, the slow, aching pulse of desire that builds with every breath. Heat surges down my thighs.

A smirk lifts on his mouth.

“Just like I thought. Deny me all you want, kitten. But your cunt has already decided.”

Before I can speak, he grabs the edge of the blanket and yanks it down, tearing it from my grip as if it never belonged to me. I gasp, my hands flying up in a useless attempt to cover myself, but he’s already there. His fingers clamp around my wrists, pressing them into the mattress.