Page 43 of Tempted By the Alpha Outlaw

“That must be…hard,” I say, my heart aching for him. “To not know where you came from.”

He shrugs, his movements stiff, like he’s brushing off more than just my concern. “I don’t really think about it anymore. No point in dwelling on the past when it’s gone.”

His tone is so matter-of-fact, so final, that it leaves me at a loss for words. I want to comfort him, to tell him that his past—or lack of one—doesn’t define him, but something tells me he wouldn’t want to hear it. Instead, I reach for the jar of preserves, scooping up a bit of the sweet, sticky jam and spreading it on another piece of bread.

“Well,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “For what it’s worth, I think you turned out pretty well for a guy with no history.”

Colt glances at me, his expression softening just slightly. “Yeah? That supposed to be a compliment?”

I grin, holding out the bread. “Take it however you want.”

He hesitates for a moment before taking the piece from me, his fingers brushing mine. “Thanks, Magnolia,” he says.

I shrug, trying to play it cool even as my heart flutters in my chest. “Just telling the truth.”

We sit in silence for a moment, the meadow around us alive with the sound of birdsong and the gentle rustle of the breeze through the flowers. I nibble on another piece of bread, lost in thought, when I suddenly feel something sticky on my lips. I reach up to swipe at it, but before I can, Colt’s hand shoots out, his fingers brushing my mouth.

“You’ve got—” he starts, but then he pauses, his thumb grazing the corner of my lips in a way that makes my stomach flip. He pulls back, holding up his finger with a smudge of strawberry jam on the tip. “There.”

“Oh,” I breathe, my cheeks flaming as I realize how close he is, how his gaze has locked on mine. “Thanks.”

I don’t know what I expect him to do next, but it isn’t this. Colt lifts his finger to his mouth, his eyes never leaving mine. His lips part slightly as he slides his finger between them, his tongue flicking against the jam.

The air between us shifts, thickens, until it feels like I can barely breathe. My pulse pounds in my ears, every nerve in my body on high alert as I watch him, unable to look away.

“Sweet,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “The jam?” I manage, though my voice comes out shaky.

His lips curl into a faint smirk, his gaze dipping briefly to my mouth before meeting my eyes again. “Yeah,” he says, but the way he says it makes my entire body buzz with awareness.

I fumble for the thermos, pouring myself another tiny cup of coffee just to have something to do with my hands. “Well, uh…there’s plenty more where that came from,” I mumble, my cheeks still burning.

Colt leans back on his hands. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says.

I don’t know whether to laugh or scream, but one thing’s for sure—I’ve never felt anything like this before. And as much as it terrifies me, I can’t bring myself to walk away from it.

And I badly need a distraction…before I explode.

I reach into the picnic bag, my fingers brushing past the leftover bread and thermos before I find what I’m looking for—my old camera. The faded teal casing is scratched in places, but it’s still functional, and it feels right. I need to capture this moment, perfectly ordinary but also…not.

It feels like I’m on the cusp of something. A massive change, a tidal shift.

“What’s that?” Colt asks as I pull the camera out.

“A Polaroid,” I say, holding it up with a grin. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we don’t exactly have smartphones at the den. This is what I use when I want to remember something.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Figured you were the sentimental type.”

I scoff, lining up the shot as I glance through the viewfinder toward the field. “Everyone’s sentimental. We just show it differently.”

The camera clicks, and the soft hum of the developing photo fills the silence. I pull the square of film from the slot, shaking it gently before laying it on the edge of the blanket to develop. The meadow’s wildflowers look beautiful in the soft lighting, like a scene from a storybook.

I turn the camera on Colt next, but his smirk fades. “Yeah, no. I don’t do pictures.”

I frown, lowering the camera slightly. “What? Why not?”

Colt shrugs, his expression guarded. “Just don’t like them.”

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