Page 3 of Chasing the Wild
The words should have stung. Should have made me back down or get defensive or any of the other reactions he was probably expecting. Instead, they made me furious.
"Maybe if your business had included an equipment list, we could have made better choices," I shot back.
His intense eyes locked on mine. My skin suddenly felt too tight. I was acutely aware of every inch of space between us—and how easy it would be for him to close that distance.
"Fair enough," he said, and then he stepped closer.
I had to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. I could see the faint lines around his eyes, the scar bisecting his left eyebrow. He was close enough that my body started screamingyes yes yeswhile my brain frantically tried to maintain control.
"But this isn't a courtroom, counselor," he said, his voice rough and intimate in a way that felt like a physical touch. "Clever arguments won't keep you alive when the temperature drops or keep you fed when your high-tech cooking system breaks down."
The challenge in his words made my pulse spike and my nipples tighten against my sports bra. This was a test. I could feel it. The way he was pushing me, waiting to see if I'd fold or fight back made every professional instinct I had telling me to back down and not make waves that could follow me back to the office. But something deeper—something I'd been suppressingfor years under layers of perfectionism and people-pleasing—refused to give him the satisfaction.
"Then teach me," I said, meeting his stare head-on and not letting myself look away even though the intensity of his gaze felt like standing too close to a fire. "That's what you're being paid for, isn't it?"
The silence stretched between us, loaded with tension that had nothing to do with survival gear and everything to do with the electricity crackling in the space between our bodies. I could feel energy,want,radiating from him. And my body was responding in ways I couldn't control and didn't understand.
Around us, the other lawyers watched like spectators at a tennis match, waiting to see who would blink first.
I couldn't read his expression. I couldn't tell if I'd impressed him or pissed him off or both. All I knew was that I couldn't do anything but stand there and wait for him to make the next move.
Finally, Sam nodded slowly, and his smile turned wicked. Possessive. Like he'd just won something I hadn't realized we were competing for.
"All right," he said, his voice carrying a promise that made me shiver with anticipation I definitely wasn't ready to examine. "Let's see how fast you can learn."
There was something in his tone that suggested this was going to be harder than any case I'd ever argued. But I realized I wanted the challenge to prove myself to this man because I desperately needed someone to see me as something other than a billable hours machine.
"I'm ready," I said, even though I wasn't. Even though nothing in my life had prepared me for whatever this was.
His smile turned truly sinful, and I swore I saw his eyes drop to my mouth like he was imagining kissing me.
"We'll see about that, counselor," he said.
And then he stepped back, breaking the spell, leaving me standing there with my heart racing and my hands shaking. I had no idea what the hell had just happened.
But as I watched him move on to the next lawyer, I caught him glancing back at me. Just once. Just long enough for me to see the desire in his eyes before he turned away.
Chapter 2
Jess
The next couple of days were a special kind of torture.
Sam put us through basic equipment drills—setting up tents, testing rain gear, learning to use our expensive equipment. Every time he came near me, my body went on high alert. Every time he corrected my technique, his hands would brush against mine and I'd lose my ability to think coherently.
This wasn't me. I didn't get flustered by attractive men. I'd learned years ago to compartmentalize, to keep my professional life separate from any hint of personal attraction. It was survival in a male-dominated field where showing weakness meant getting eaten alive. But Sam was dismantling my carefully constructed walls with nothing more than proximity and competence.
"You're fighting the tent," he said, appearing beside me as I wrestled with my four-season mountaineering tent. "Stop trying to force it."
"I'm not forcing it," I said through gritted teeth, even though I absolutely was. "I'm following the instructions."
"Instructions are guidelines. The tent will tell you what it needs if you pay attention."
"The tent is an inanimate object. It can't tell me anything."
He made a sound that might have been a laugh or a grunt of frustration. Then his hands were on mine, guiding them to the tent poles.
And I forgot how to breathe.
