Page 11 of Wild Peak

But I can’t fucking let her go.

One kiss turns into two, three, ten, twenty, until my lips tingle and Brooke’s own mouth is extra pink from beard burn. Somewhere in the middle, she takes off her glasses and places them carefully on a side table. So goddamn cute I could howl.

The sun sinks toward the treeline, the afternoon fading away as we cling together on the deck. My knees are numb against the wooden boards, and the wicker creaks like crazy every time Brooke shifts position.

The breeze is colder now without the blazing sun. The trees nearby come alive with chatter as birds settle in for dusk, all of them squabbling over the best roosts. Their din echoes over the mountainside, while the freshwater lake glows silver in the fading light.

“It’s getting cold,” Brooke whispers, breaking the spell at last. I nod, resigned. Nothing perfect can ever last. I shouldn’t get greedy.

“Yeah. We’d better get inside.”

* * *

If I had an ounce of self preservation earlier, I would’ve fixed up Brooke’s scrapes and bruises, bandaged her ankle, then driven her the rest of the way down the mountain in my truck while the light was still good. I could’ve dropped her back at her apartment in town, gotten her safe and settled, then called Jake to come and check in on her. Could’ve made sure she had plenty of painkillers and food and whatnot, and had a nosy glance around her apartment before clearing out of there unscathed.

Now, that option is gone. First of all, because it’s too late to drive safely down the mountain path in this dimming light, and secondly, because I’ve never been more goddamnscathedby anyone or anything in my life.

The memory of Brooke’s satin skin makes my palms itch as I help her inside, supporting her weight again as she hops along on her sprained ankle. The vanilla bean scent of her hair is well and truly lodged deep in my nostrils, where I’ll probably never stop getting random whiffs of her.

My insides are all jangled up, rioting in the wake of those kisses, and if I didn’t have to play host right now, I’d go for a punishing ten mile run over the peaks, darkness be damned. If I got chased by wolves, at least that adrenaline might purge the conflicted arousal from my system.

Does kissing Brooke like that make me a monster?

Will she wake up tomorrow and feel horrified?

I’d hate that so much. Just the thought makes me want to hurl.

As it is, I settle Brooke down at the simple wooden breakfast bar that separates the kitchen area from the rest of the cabin, and she doesn’t seem to loathe me just yet. She clambers up onto the stool and gives an embarrassed smile, and then that hole in my chest hurts all over again.

Brooke always was so self conscious about being clumsy, but she’s far more graceful than she thinks. And even if she bumps into things sometimes, who cares?

“Don’t worry.” I nod at the sofa by the wall. “There’s a fold out bed. Jake crashes here sometimes.”

Brooke’s eyebrows pinch together. She’s wearing her glasses again, and they make her look adorably stern. “Okay. But why would I worry?”

There’s a long pause where we both stare at each other, pointedlynotlooking at the main double bed where it’s nestled in one corner.

“I was planning on making a casserole for dinner.” Hey, if I move on to the next topic, maybe all this awkwardness will go away. “Does that work for you?”

Brooke nods. “Sure. Thank you.”

Honestly, it’s a relief to move into the kitchen and have the breakfast bar safely between us. It helps me fight the constant urge to touch Brooke again, to kiss her, to lick her neck and wrap her thighs around my waist and grind up against her, putting the solidity of that breakfast stool to the test.

In the kitchen, I flick on the overhead lights then start opening cupboards, fishing for ingredients. Eager to hide my flushed face for a second.

I address the spice rack. “You can rest up here for the night, then I’ll drive you back down to town first thing tomorrow.”

I’m chit-chatting, but there’s no reply.

Just strained silence.

And when I turn around, Brooke’sreallyfrowning. She looks hard at me, two spots of color staining her cheeks. With those glasses, the stern librarian look is dialed up to eleven.

“So that’s it,” Brooke says flatly.

My gut tenses, and I stand frozen with one hand reaching into the cupboard for tinned peas. Feel like I’ve been caught trying to smuggle a book out under my jacket. “What do you mean?”

“We kiss likethat, for hours and hours, then it’s a fold out bed and you’ll drive me back home first thing in the morning. After everything.”

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