Page 23 of Breaking Through

When we broke apart, his eyes were wide, pupils wide and dark. My heart hammered against my ribs, and I found my hands had settled at his waist, gripping lean muscle through soft flannel.

He was all warmth, youth, and possibility pressed against me, and, God help me, I wanted to explore every inch. I wanted to find out whether that golden skin disappearing beneath his collar was as soft as it looked and to trace the lines of what felt like a swimmer's build under those carefully chosen clothes.

"I..." Words failed. They always did when it mattered most. My thumbs had started moving in small circles at his hips without my permission, and the soft catch in his breath made me want things I had no business wanting.

"Wade..." The way he said my name—still slightly breathless—made my hands tighten at his waist.

The sound of a throat clearing came from the doorway. "Um, excuse me?"

We jumped apart like startled deer. A woman in expensive hiking gear clutched a trail map, her eyes darting between us. "The sign said to check in with the ranger about trail conditions."

Years of training kicked in. I shifted automatically into what Tom called my "ranger voice," even as Holden struggled not to laugh behind me.

"Yes, ma'am. Which trails were you considering?" My hand smoothed my uniform shirt—or tried to. Judging by her widening eyes, I probably made it worse.

"The, um, the one to Eagle Point?" She kept glancing at Holden, who I could see in my peripheral vision attempting to fix his hair using my window as a mirror. He wasn't having much success.

"Eagle Point." I grabbed a fresh map, desperately grateful for the familiar routine. "You'll want to stay on the marked trail. Recent storms have made the limestone unstable near the—" I stopped. The map was upside down.

Holden made a sound suspiciously like a smothered laugh.

The tourist's lips twitched. "Should I come back later? When you're less... busy with park documentation?"

"No, no." I flipped the map right-side up, hoping my face wasn't as red as I sensed. "The trail follows the ridge line here." My finger traced the route, steady despite everything. "Watch for yellow blazes. If you see orange markers, you've gone too far."

"Yellow blazes. Right." She accepted the map, amusement evident in her voice. "And how will I recognize Eagle Point?"

"Trust me," Holden spoke up, his voice only slightly shaky. "You can't miss it. It's the one with the angry squirrel gang."

I shot him a look that only made his eyes dance more.

"The... angry squirrel gang," she repeated slowly.

"Standard wildlife. Nothing to worry about." I tried for professional authority. "Unless you're carrying expensive trail mix."

She looked between us again, smiled, and backed toward the door. "Right. Well. Thank you for the... thorough trail information."

After she left, Holden collapsed against my desk, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. "Your face when you realized the map was upside down..."

"Glad I could provide entertainment." But I was fighting my own smile, the absurdity of the moment cutting through some of the tension.

"Hey." He straightened, reaching out to fix my collar with careful fingers. "At least she didn't notice your badge was crooked too."

The touch of his hands brought everything rushing back. He was so young, and yet I still wanted him. There were so many reasons it was an awful idea.

"I, uh..." He touched his collar, which had somehow gotten twisted. "Your uniform is a little..."

I looked down to find my ranger shirt completely askew, one side untucked. Perfect. Real professional image there. "Now you know why I never made sergeant. Couldn't keep the uniform straight even before..."

His laugh was soft but real. "If it helps, I think the disheveled ranger look works for you."

Reality crashed in like an icy wave. Christ, he was twenty-five. Twenty-five. When I was his age, he'd been in middle school. I stepped back, needing distance but aching to move closer.

"This is..." I ran a hand through my hair, trying to ignore how his lips were slightly swollen from our kiss and how his chest rose and fell with quick breaths. "I'm not good at..."

"Hey." His hand found mine, warm and steady. The gesture was so natural, so unguarded. It was precisely how someone his age should be with someone his own age. "Neither am I. But maybe that's okay."

The morning sun painted his hair with amber highlights, and all I could think was how beautiful he'd look spread across my sheets and how his optimism might taste in the early dawn. Dangerous thoughts. Impossible thoughts.

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