Page 7 of Chasing the Wild
"You can." His certainty was absolute.
"Okay," I whispered.
"Okay," he echoed, and kissed me again. Softer this time, sweeter, like he was sealing a promise.
When we finally made our way back to the group, I wondered if everyone could see the way Sam's hand lingered on my lower back or the flush on my cheeks and the swollen state of my lips
I didn't care.
For the first time in years, I didn't care what anyone else thought. Didn't care about the whispers or the judgment or the professional consequences.
Chapter 3
Jess
The next day was both better and worse than the others.
Better because Sam's criticism didn't sting anymore—not when I knew it came from a place of genuine care rather than dismissal. Not when every correction was accompanied by patient instruction and encouragement.
Worse because I was hyperaware of every moment he was near me. Every touch, every look, made my entire body languid with desire. I couldn't stop thinking about or replaying the feeling of his hands in my hair and the way he'd held me.
"Jess, focus," he said, appearing beside me as I tried to start a fire with flint and steel. "You're thinking too hard again."
"Sorry," I said automatically.
"Don't apologize. Just try again."
I struck the flint, but the spark died before reaching the tinder.
"Your tinder's too wet," Sam said, crouching beside me, close enough that his shoulder brushed mine. "And you're not giving it enough oxygen."
He reached over to adjust my hand position, and the contact sent electricity up my arm. His fingers were rough with calluses.
"Like this," he said, his voice intimate even though there were people around us. "Let the spark catch, then blow gently. You're trying to coax the flame, not force it."
Coax. The word made me think of his mouth on mine, the way he'd coaxed responses from my body I didn't know I was capable of.
Focus, Jess. Fire. Fire is dangerous.
"Try again," Sam said, not moving away.
This time when I struck the flint, the spark caught. I blew gently, and the tinder began to smolder. A thin wisp of smoke rose between us, and then—suddenly—flame.
"I did it," I said, unreasonably proud of myself for accomplishing something humans had been doing for thousands of years.
"You did," Sam agreed, but he was looking at me instead of the fire. "You're a fast learner when you stop overthinking."
"I'm good at overthinking," I admitted. "It's kind of my superpower."
"Yeah, I noticed." His hand came up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, the gesture casual and intimate at the same time. "We're going to work on that."
"On my overthinking?"
"On you learning to trust your instincts instead of your anxiety."
Before I could respond, the sky chose that moment to darken ominously. I looked up to see thick clouds rolling in with terrifying speed, the temperature dropping noticeably even in the few seconds we'd been watching.
"Everyone, gather up," Sam called, his voice sharp with authority as he stood. The relaxed intimacy of moments before vanished, replaced by focused intensity. "We've got weather moving in. Fast."
