Page 45 of Roughing It

“I thought I knew, but lately I’m thinking I don’t know shit.” His hands grip my hips. “Including how to do this.”

“How to do what?” My words come out as a whisper, and my stomach flutters when my chest brushes against his.

“Not want you.” Then he tugs me forward and presses his lips to mine in a breath-stealing repeat of the kiss we shared four days ago.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

hudson

Kissing Blakely is as effortless as breathing. It’s also the best bad idea I’ve ever had. There’s no way this ends in anything other than heartache and disaster. But dammit, she fits against me like she was cut to be mine.

Blakely’s lips part, and I have to hold myself back from fucking her mouth with my tongue. With a groan, I break the kiss. She steals a few more small kisses, pecks really, but they make me want to own her mouth with mine.

“Fuck, Spitfire.” I hold her arms, bracing her away from my chest. “I swear I didn’t bring you out here to make out. I wanted to talk.”

She leans in again, eyes heavy-lidded. “We talked. This is better.”

I nip her lip and chuckle. “Let’s get out and enjoy the picnic.” As soon as I say the p-word, I sigh because I know what’s coming?—

“It is a picnic! I knew it! You big softie.” She shifts from my lap and I immediately miss the press of her body, the slight weight of her against me.

The air is brisk now that we’re out of the hot spring, and I fight a grin when the towel I toss to Blakely hits her in the face.

“Rude.” She huffs as she wraps it around herself.

She dries off and slips into my clothes, and damn if that doesn’t call up something primal from deep within me. As she struts towards the food, I see her in a new light.

A self-made princess—so much more than the spoiled brat I assumed she was.

And she’s enjoying being outdoors. With me. It’s in the way her eyes soak up the majesty around us, the way she lifts her face to follow the calls of the birds.

Questions rest on the tip of my tongue, but before I can ask them, a grape bounces off my forehead.

“Tell me more about your family.” Blakely stretches out on a large rock, her hair shining like spun gold.

“There isn’t much to tell.”

Another grape hits me in the chest. “Just tell me about them.”

“Stop throwing fruit.”

“Start talking, and I’ll stop throwing.”

“What do you want to know?” I plop onto the rock next to her, sitting up straighter when she scoots closer.

She nibbles a piece of cheese. “How is it working together? I could never work with anyone related to me. Do you ever wonder why your dad taught you your wilderness skills the way he did? What did your mom think of his methods?”

I stiffen. “My parents are great. What’s wrong with the way I learned?”

Blakely shrugs. “You spent a good chunk of your life literally guiding your brothers through the wilderness. Teaching them how to survive after learning it on your own. That’s a lot of pressure for anyone.”

“I told you, my dad trusted me. It was a privilege to be responsible for them.”

“And now?”

I stare at her.

“Are you still responsible for them?”

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