Page 9 of The Hotshot's Prize
I hesitate, only for a second, then let him help me up. The moment I sit, he settles in front of me and lifts my leg, the flashlight tucked beside us casting golden shadows across his face. He’s focused. Gentle. His fingers skim over the dirt-streaked skin on my shin, inspecting a shallow scrape near my ankle with far more care than necessary.
“Does this hurt?” he asks, glancing up.
“Not really.” I swallow. “You don’t have to—”
“Let me,” he cuts in softly. “You had a hell of a fall. I’d rather be sure.”
My breath hitches. Something about the way he says it makes my chest tighten. He cleans the scrape with a swab, and I flinch at the sting.
“Sorry,” he murmurs gently. “Almost done.”
“You don’t do this for all the cute girls you rescue, do you?” I joke, trying to diffuse the heat curling through my veins.
He looks up at me again. Smiles slowly. “No. Just you.”
My breath catches at the words, and his hand drifts down my calf, thumb brushing just below the bandage.
“How’d it happen?” he asks. “You don’t strike me as the reckless type.”
I laugh under my breath. “I’m not. Not usually…I’m a wildlife photographer. I was out here shooting for a piece on endangered species. Spotted two Mexican spotted owls right before the weather turned. I got a little too close to the edge trying to get the perfect shot, and here we are.”
He lifts his brows. “That’s rare. The owls.” Then he chuckles. “That kind of shot might even be worth the fall.”
I nod, grateful for the distraction. “Exactly. I couldn’t pass it up. Even though my anxiety was already at a ten.”
He tilts his head, and something about his gaze softens. “You’ve got anxiety?”
I nod, suddenly self-conscious. “It’s…a thing. I try not to let it stop me, but sometimes it gets loud.”
“Well, you sure as hell didn’t let it stop you today.” His hand is still on my leg. “You hung in there. You climbed into that harness. You did what you had to do. That’s brave as hell, Ella.”
The way he says my name…like he’s tasting it. It makes my stomach flip in a funny way.
“You don’t even know me,” I whisper.
“I know enough.”
His hand moves slowly, sliding up just a little to my knee, warm and firm. The space between us shrinks. His other hand moves to brush a strand of hair out of my face, his knuckles grazing my cheek.
And then, the world narrows.
To him.
To the heat in his eyes.
To the tension sparking between us like dry branches catching flame.
“Zack…” I say, though I don’t know if I’m warning him…or myself.
He doesn’t answer. Just watches me. Watches my breath hitch. Watches my lips part.
His hand shifts to my jaw, calloused fingertips brushing the curve of my cheek, and it’s like the whole damn cave is holding its breath. I lean unconsciously into his hand as his thumb traces the corner of my mouth. My eyes flutter closed.
And then his lips brush against mine. Soft. Hesitant. Like he’s giving me the chance to pull away.
I don’t.
I kiss him back, slowly, tentatively, my lips trembling beneath his. His hand slides behind my neck, pulling me closer as he deepens the kiss. He takes like ice and fire. Wild. Unexpected.
