Page 26 of Roughing It

“Fine?”

He drops a plate with a sandwich and chips in my lap. “I said fine.”

Wiggling my expertly bandaged feet, I collapse onto the couch among the contents of my unpacked luggage. I can’t ignore that Hudson Brooks is breaking more and more of his rules for me. Or the giddy way that makes me feel.

CHAPTER SEVEN

hudson

Dropping the sandwich I made in Blakely’s lap, I bolt for the porch. What am I doing? Bringing her luggage in, agreeing to share a bed. What’s next? Taking her on a romantic picnic? This woman’s got me disregarding every rule, crossing every boundary I’ve put in place over the years.

Keep the relationship clear. Client and guide. Keep the walls up. The rules serve me well. You carry your own shit. You leave when I say it’s time. You sleep on the couch, or your bedroll, or tent, or wherever I tell you to.

Clients balk from time to time, but they always fall in line. Not Blakely Bradshaw. She pushes and pushes, and while it drives me batty, I also can’t get enough of it. I want her to push me. Push me to my breaking point, so when I snap and kiss the breath out of her, I can have an excuse for my actions.

Plead temporary insanity. It’s not my fault, officer; the bewitching goddess drove me to it.

These feelings must be guilt over not checking her boots before we went on that clusterfuck of a hike. That’s all. I screwed up. What guide worth their salt doesn’t check theclient’s gear? Those turquoise eyes filling with tears had my gut twisting and my chest aching.

I may be direct, but I never want to be the reason a woman cries—even when that woman drives me up the fucking wall with her never-ending questions, stubbornness, and sexy little body.

The faint sound of water running draws my attention. She’s taking a bath. Is she using the Epson salt like I told her? Did she remove the moleskin? Is she able to situate herself? Is she wet and soapy? Does she need someone to wash her back?

My cock strains against my pants, the image of Blakely covered in suds and nothing else sending all the blood in my body below my belt. With a growl, I launch myself from the swing and stomp towards the forest line. I need to burn off some excess energy before I make a terrible, wonderful mistake.

I can’t let this woman get to me. This isn’t me. I’m the responsible one. The clear-headed, rational one. Not like my brothers, who follow their whims wherever they may take them. No. I’m practical. There’s no room in my life for a woman like Blakely, a spoiled social media starlet who plays pretend all day. I live in the real world, where things aren’t handed to you because of your name. You have to work for them.

The real world, where when you let someone in, they stomp all over your heart and throw it back at you like it’s chicken shit. Where the bright lights of the city draw in women like Blakely Bradshaw like a rooster to the dawn.

Focus, Hudson.This is nothing more than an opportunity to grow the business. Help spread Peak Adventures’ name. Nothing else.

Pine trees and the October air fill my lungs. Each deep inhale settles me. The quiet cleanses the desire and irritation lingering in my system—except not really, because somehowin less than forty-eight hours, Blakely Bradshaw has wormed her bratty way under my skin.

I can’t pinpoint why. She’s a client like any other.

Liar.My mind taunts me with flashes of blue-green eyes and honey-blonde hair. Curves that put the winding mountain roads to shame. And a fiery mouth I want to fuck so goddamn bad.

Groaning, I run my hand through my hair and force myself to focus on why this woman is wrong for me. Starting with her pampered ass complaining about the couch. I’ll show her how much she’s overreacting—typical princess behavior. Of course, a couch isn’t good enough for her. She needs eight thousand thread count sheets and baby goose feathers or some shit.

With righteous indignation on my side, I trek to the cabin. I have enough sense to peek my head in before storming inside in case she’s still soaked and slippery. Instead, I find her on the bed, my grandma’s quilt tucked around her, like it’s where she fucking belongs.

“Welcome back.”

Instead of answering, I grab the first aid kit and work on properly drying her feet and tending the sore spots with ointment. I may have dropped the ball once today, but I won’t do it again. It’s my job to make sure she’s safe.

“Enjoy your walk? Or whatever you were doing in the dark, alone in the forest.” She grins. “I’m not saying you’re giving off serial killer vibes, but…”

Fuck if she doesn’t have the cutest little toes. I bet she’d giggle if I sucked them… and like a startled deer, I jerk away, dropping her foot onto the bed.

“Hey, careful.” She wiggles those pink-tipped toes at me, and I retreat to the safety of the bathroom, taking my time cleaning up before stomping to the couch and flopping down. The lumpy cushions give beneath my weight, causing thesprings to jab into my back. Gritting my teeth, I toss until I find a semi-comfortable spot.

“I can hear your back aching from here.”

I don’t say anything; instead, I tuck my arms behind my head and close my eyes.

Unbothered by my lack of response, Blakely keeps talking. “I’m so glad I brought toilet paper. Did you know you only have one-ply? It’s barbaric.”

“What?” Her words catch me off-guard, and I forget my resolve to ignore her.

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