Page 67 of Fight

“No.” I rest my palms on her knees to restore our physicalconnection. It takes me a moment to figure out who she could be talking about. I haven’t been with anyone since her. Realization hits and my brow relaxes. “That was my sister, Teddy,” I say, trying not to laugh. I loosen her arms and place them back on my shoulders. “I’ll introduce you when we get back.”

“Oh.” Her face flushes as if she’s embarrassed.

I glide my hands up her thighs and rest them on her waist. My fingers itch to squeeze the soft curves I’ve been reliving in my mind during every shower since Oregon. This woman is Kryptonite.

“You really think we’re going to get back?”

“Yes,” I reply with absolute confidence. Nothing will stand in the way of seeing her sign those divorce papers. I tuck a few loose strands of hair behind her ear and swallow.

We search each other’s eyes for answers.

“So where does that leave us?” I ask.

“I know what I want, but it’s likely there will be more challenges ahead. What do you want?”

My gaze drops to her mouth, and I lean in, then pause. The divorce proceedings haven’t even begun. I said we would wait… I need to make a decision. Am I really willing to enter a physical and emotional relationship with a married woman?

For Prescott? Yes.

She meets me in the middle, and her lips ghost over mine.

“Fuck it.”

With one hand pressed to her lower back, I cup the nape of her neck with the other and bring her mouth to mine.

My tongue sweeps across her bottom lip, and her small sigh spurs me on. Nails dig into my shoulders, waking up every nerve in my body. I skate my thumb over her chin, giving myself access to take her mouth like I’ve wanted to for weeks. She’s like that first high.

With each brush of our lips, I forget why this situation is so complicated. Soft gasps and firm grasps areall I need to know she’s with me. This time, it will be different. This time, we’re doing it right. Andnothingfeels more right than this.

Her fingers press against my chest. “But what do youwant?” she repeats.

“I want us to be more than fun, Prescott,” I state. “I wanna make you mine.”

Kissing Scottie feels as natural as breathing air. Depriving myself will only make me crave her more.

I silently say a prayer of thanks for this storm. I’ve never been so grateful to be stranded at the top of a mountain facing a merciless Mother Nature. Without this lookout, I can say with complete certainty Callahan and I would still be hiding our cards.

We wouldn’t have had that kiss or be wrapped up in each other’s arms in this twin bed, gripping one another like we’re trying to hold onto a dream we could wake from at any moment.

With my head on his chest, he sinks his hands into my hair and runs his fingers through the strands. Like he did in Oregon, because he knows what it does to me. Callahan knows it’s my favorite. He presses his lips to my temple, and my weary eyelids flutter closed.

The last thing I hear before falling asleep is his gruff, hushed voice. “God, I missed you.”

DAY 3

After we got cleaned up with the help of body wipes, washcloths, soap, and warm water, we’re both feeling better having the dirt and funk knocked off us. We made a paste with some baking soda, but neither of us have a toothbrush, so we’ve been using small pieces of paper towel to scrub our teeth with it.

The lookout windows are fogged up thanks to our slightly damp clothes hanging from random hooks and furniture while drying. When Scottie saw I had a spare change of clothes in my bag, she insisted we launder the ones we showed up in using a bucket, our leftover “bath water”, and a bit of Campsuds. I’m used to being filthy for a week or more when spiked out on a fire, a few days is nothing. Scottie? Not as much.

I’m not even a little bit mad about it, because seeing her in nothing but socks and a T-shirt—myfire shirt—is sexier than any lingerie. It nearly reaches her knees, and the short sleeves hit her at the elbow. I scrub a hand down my face. It’s distracting as ever. A small Sky Ridge IHC logo of a bear holding a chainsaw sits over her breast, large letters read FIRE across her shoulderblades. It’s about all I can do to keep my dick relaxed while I sit on the rug, leaning against the bed in only socks, boxers, and a hoodie.

Focus.

“J-3.” I’m feeling good about this one.

“Miss.”

Damn it. That shirt’s the reason I’m losing this game of Battleship, I swear. I’m more attracted to her than ever, especially after we hashed out the reason we fell apart. She’s got a fucked-up past, that’s for sure, but I can understand the reasoning behind her actions now.

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