Page 76 of Tempt Me

There it was.

She wished brilliant, ambitious Jamila were her daughter and not aimless Natalie, drifting along on whatever breeze blew past.

“I’ve got to go, Mother.” I shut the door and trudged down the stairs to the leased convertible.

When we reachedthe part where the rough trail—the one used by bobcats and, apparently, Jamila Jallow—crossed the smoother one, I bent with my hands on my knees to catch my breath.

As much as it pained me, I huffed, “Hold up!”

“What?” Jamila doubled back from where she’d already started to climb again. My new hiking boots had rubbed a blister on my heel that ruined my admiration for her shapely hamstrings and glutes in her hiking shorts.

She pulled her canteen out of her tiny hiking backpack and screwed off the lid. “Oh, yeah, great view.”

Right. The view. The one I couldn’t see because of the sweat dripping into my eyes. I straightened and pressed my hand into the stitch in my side. Hiking, at least with Jamila, was harder than it looked and not nearly as fashionable as I’d envisioned when I chose the cutest pair of boots at the sporting-goods store.

She’d refused to follow the flattish path that wound gradually up the mountain, the one everyone else used. No. She forged ahead, following markers, which she’d told me were the “blazes” of “trailblazing,” on paths that I’d have thought only the most surefooted deer could follow. Her long legs easily scaled the rocks and exposed tree roots we used to ascend the slope. My hamstrings begged me to turn back. But Jamila would never quit until she’d scaled the mountain and beaten it into submission.

“Drink some water,” she said. “We’re almost there. Only another half hour or so to go.”

“Half an hour?” I wheezed. Half an hour was no big deal on the treadmill. But this was more like the elliptical. An elliptical with rusty nails hammered into the pedals to prick my heels with each step.

“Hey.” She put a hand on my sweaty shoulder. “You okay?”

Before today, I hadn’t known my shoulders could sweat. I unclipped my fancy new canteen from my belt and took a gulp. “I’m fine.”

“The view up top is amazing. It’s totally worth it.” Her fingertips danced over my breast to the belt of my hiking shorts.

I shivered at her touch. “I deserve more than a panoramic view if I make it to the top. What’s my reward for surviving this death march?”

“Death march? It’s only graded moderately strenuous.”

I snorted. “For a mountain goat.”

“There aren’t any mountain goats in California. Only bighorn sheep.”

“Fine. This path is better suited to bighorn sheep than to humans.”

“Bighorns don’t hang out down here. If you want to see them, you’ve got to climb that one.” She pointed to a taller mountain in the distance.

“Maybe next time.” That was a lie. If I wanted to see a sheep, I’d go to the zoo. Where the paths were flat and more conducive to handholding.

“I guess hiking’s not your thing. Thanks for being a good sport, baby girl.” When she tugged me tighter, I didn’t care about my blisters or how red my face might be. I focused on her lips, soft and kissable.

“Maybe I need some motivation to keep going,” I murmured.

“I’ve got some gorp in my pack.” She nuzzled my temple.

“Unless that’s what you call your vibrator, it’s not the kind of treat I had in mind.”

“On your left!” A voice called from a few yards away.

We’d heard that call from faster hikers and bikers all morning, but this voice sounded terrifyingly familiar.

Instead of burying my face in Jamila’s chest like I should have done, I sprang away from her and faced the threat. My heart stopped beating when I saw my brother, Jackson, standing on the pedals of his mountain bike, trailed by his adopted son, Noah, on a similar bike.

Ho-ly crap.

“Nat?” He held up a hand to signal a stop.

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