Page 84 of Claimed By 3 Mountain Men

JT steps even closer, his body nearly brushing mine, and I can feel the heat radiating off him despite the cold air. “You think you can do better?”

I lift my chin, meeting his gaze head-on, even though every nerve in my body is screaming at me to move away, and put some distance between us. But I can’t. The air between us is thick with tension, the kind that’s been building for days, weeks even. And now, out here, alone in the fading light, it feels like it’s about to snap.

“Yeah, I do,” I say, my voice tight, defiant. “Move over.”

He doesn’t budge. Instead, his eyes darken, and I see something flicker there—something more than just anger or frustration. It’s deeper, something raw and unguarded.

“Mac,” he says, my name comes out in a low, rough whisper.

Before I can respond, he reaches out and grips my arm. Not hard, but firm enough that I feel the weight of his touch. The world around us seems to narrow, the trees fading into the background, the cold night air forgotten as his fingers brush against my skin, igniting something inside me I wasn’t prepared for.

We’re tired, and on edge after spending the whole day outside.

“Let me go,” I say, but there’s no real conviction in my voice. It’s a half-hearted protest, and we both know it.

His grip loosens, but he doesn’t step back. Instead, his eyes search mine, and I see the conflict there, the battle between wanting to push me away and wanting to pull me closer.

And then, as if something inside him finally snaps, he pulls me closer, his free hand moving to the small of my back. His touch is hot, searing through the layers of my clothes, and my breath catches in my throat.

“Why do you always have to fight me on everything?”

“I’m not fighting,” I whisper, my pulse pounding in my ears. “Are we even going to talk about what happened last night?”

His gaze turns steely, a shield pulling over his emotions. "There's nothing to talk about," he grumbles, trying to step away.

"Nothing?" I ask, refusing to release my grip on his arm. "So, you touching me, fucking me like that was... what? Just a mistake?"

"Mac, we're here for a reason."

“And you think that reason has nothing to do with what's happening between us?”

There is silence, heavy and tense, before he finally looks up again. When he does, there’s a raw honesty in his eyes that shakes me to my core. “I don’t know what’s happening between us and my brothers,” he admits. “All I know is that every time I’m around you, I can’t think straight.”

"I'm not any better. I can’t focus on anything when any of you are near."

His grip tightens on me for a moment, his eyes searching mine. “Then maybe it’s better we keep our distance. We need to stay focused."

"Are we not focusing on the right things?"

"I don’t know what to focus on anymore," he finally admits, a hint of vulnerability creeping into his rugged features.

"Distracting or not, this... whatever it is... it's real.”

"We can't afford this right now, Mac.”

“What are you so damn afraid of?”

His jaw tightens, his grip on me loosens and the battle returns to his eyes. "I'm not afraid," he growls.

"You are.” There’s a fire in my chest that matches the one in my eyes. “You’re afraid of what this means. You’re afraid of what it might cost us.”

He looks away, as if he can't stand the accusation in my eyes. "Mac, you don’t understand…”

“Then make me understand!” I practically yell, pushing at his chest with my free hand. “What is it?”

His gaze drops, his jaw clenches. "Losing."

"Losing what?"

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