Chapter 10
She gave him the privacy of dressing, turning her back as if the simple act might steady her.
Everything had been chaos since the moment she’d collided with him, terrifying, insane, bad, and good all at once.
Yet in the middle of that storm, he made her want to rebel.
Against fear. Against the ties that had bound her to a life stripped gray, all the color washed away when Dani died.
She’d been blind since then, color-blind, hope-blind, blind to herself. Now, all at once, she was seeing again.
Because of him.
He had saved her life. Twice. He was temptation carved in muscle and sinew and bone, the feel of his hands still seared into her skin. Yes, there was lust. She couldn’t lie to herself about that, but it wasn’t just that. Not anymore.
He had retreated, and that left her unsettled. There had been connection. She had felt it as surely as the bruise blooming across her hips. So why was he gone, and why was she standing here aching for him, body and heart both?
The jungle clung to her skin, damp earth in her hair, the echo of violence thudding in her chest. She had just watched Brawler strip himself bare. Not with words, not entirely, but with the way he stood before her as though he had nothing left to hide. That kind of courage made her breath falter.
Had she ever been that brave? Or had she been retreating all these years, mistaking penance for purpose?
She’d hidden in her dissertation, poured herself into datasets and camera traps because numbers didn’t leave, equations didn’t crack their heads and die. Ben had been a placeholder, a man who would never ask her to risk her heart. She had let that feel safe.
But Christian Beckett, big, beautiful, maddening Christian, had cracked her wide open without even trying.
She read between the lines of his silences, the weight behind his humor, the dog that never left his side.
He was unraveling in front of her, yet somehow still holding steady for everyone else.
Vulnerability had never looked so good on a man, and it made her ashamed of how much she had hidden from herself.
Since Dani died, she had lived without joy, without risk, without love. A self-imposed exile from happiness because she thought that was her punishment.
Shame burned, hot and sudden. Had she been a coward all this time? Wasn’t true courage the willingness to feel, to risk, to live?
She turned just enough to glimpse his retreating back, his armor already back on, his purpose redrawn.
She waded from the pool, crouched by her pack, and pulled out her toiletries.
Stripping fully, she winced at the mottled bruise across her waist and hip.
Ugly. Painful. Worth every ounce of discomfort.
She thought back to the cliff rescue, how hard he had fought to keep his weight off her even as he held her life in his hands.
That man had integrity in spades. Steadiness. Humor slipping through the cracks of his stone face. Dedication that made her want to stand taller. Beneath it all, a hunger, untamed, unhidden, that called to her own.
She cleaned her top and underwear, but when she got to her pants, she emptied out the pockets and froze when she got to that strange fin-like scrap she’d found before those men had chased her. Again, she turned it over in her hands, but still had no idea what it was.
She set it aside, then laid everything out in the patch of sunlight where heat pressed down like a blessing. Then she returned to the pool and submerged herself, sliding into the deep end where water cascaded in a clear, clean drop.
She lathered herself, scrubbed hard, scouring away sweat, grime, blood.
The waterfall poured over her shoulders and crown, beating against her skin until it felt like it was driving straight through to her bones.
Each rivulet carried away dirt and fear, swirling downstream as if the jungle itself wanted to rinse her clean.
She tipped her face into the cascade, breath caught, the rush of water closing her eyes, stealing her air for a heartbeat.
A shiver tore through her as memory flickered, Dani, still at another pool, the silence that had haunted her ever since.
For years, water had meant loss. Now, it felt like absolution, that weight pressing her down even as it lightened her, counterbalancing the guilt she had carried for so long.
Emily Shade wanted to anchor him the way he anchored everyone else. To meet his bravery with her own. To stop running, stop punishing herself, stop settling for scraps when what she craved was this, connection, risk, the terrifying possibility of joy.
For the first time since Dani, she felt like she deserved to not only be loved, but to love.
But could her self-imposed exile truly end? Could she allow herself to find happiness after her punishing penance, or did it all hinge on understanding her grief and forgiving herself for that single moment’s pleasure that had ended in her sister’s tragedy?
Still unsettled by what had happened at the pool, he couldn’t be near her and not want her. So he’d taken Beast and pushed into the trees for a perimeter check, trying to bleed off the restless hum under his skin.
By the time they returned, he expected to shoulder the work. But inside the cave, a compact tent stood pitched neatly on the other side of the waterfall wall. A stack of firewood waited beside a small pit she’d dug under the gap in the stone ceiling.
His gut tightened. “Emily?”
No answer.
Cold spread through him. He scanned the pool, empty, except for the clothes she’d been wearing. His breath slammed to a stop.
“Goddammit.” He stalked out, voice rough. “Beast. Emily. Track.”
The Malinois dropped his nose and took off, Brawler right behind him, boots chewing through damp earth. The trail was obvious—snapped fronds, churned soil, brush shoved aside. His pulse pounded harder with every step until something red flared in the sun.
Relief buckled his knees.
Her hair. Loose, brilliant, flowing in the breeze like a banner.
Beneath it, damn. A blue top clung to her breasts and ribs, khaki shorts cutting high over freckled thighs.
Heat shot low and hard, staggering in its intensity.
He must be an idiot, because freckles, fucking freckles, had no business turning him on this much.
“Emily!” His voice cracked out, harsh, raw, half agonized.
She startled, dropping the bundle in her arms. The square of cloth spilled open, scattering its contents across the ground: round guavas, spiny starfruit, glossy nuts, and a handful of bitter greens.
In her other hand, dangling from a length of twine, three hare-sized jungle rodents, mottled brown and limp.
A snare hung from her belt, proof enough of how she’d caught them.
He stopped dead. His mouth dropped open. Relief, fury, and something hotter tangled in his chest like live wires sparking.
Her eyes narrowed, chest rising sharp with indignation. “Dammit, Brawler. What the hell is wrong with you? You scared the hell out of me.”
He barked out a laugh, raw and incredulous. “I scared the hell out of you? What the fuck, Shortcake. You vanish, and I come back to find your clothes at the pool like you’d been dragged off. You want to talk about scaring someone? Didn’t I just tell you I don’t like it when you disappear?”
She planted her fists on her hips, that pixie face pinched into annoyance, though her cheeks still glowed from the heat between them.
“I’m sorry! You did! But you left in a huff after what we shared.
So you needed space, fine, but I was starving.
We need meat for Beast, food for us. I’m not the type to sit around waiting for the big, strong man to provide. I’m a jungle pixie, remember?”
His blood surged hot. He closed the distance in two strides, looming over her until she had to tilt her head back.
“You think this is funny? I tell you to stay put, and what do you do? You swap out SD cards, swoon over paw prints, and nearly tumble yourself into an early grave. I tell you again to stay put, and I find you scribbling in your goddamn journal while I’m losing my shit, thinking someone has you.
Then…” His voice cracked harsh. “Then you turn me inside out in the pool, and I don’t know which way is up anymore.
So I take a perimeter check, try to claw back some peace, and what happens? You’re gone again .”
Her eyes snapped, fierce green fire threaded with glints of gold, a blaze that dared him to come closer and tangle with her. “You’re bossy! I don’t need your permission to go on a shopping trip. I don’t like to be controlled!”
“Bossy? A shopping trip? This isn’t civilization, Emily, and I’m telling you like it is.
It’s not aggression or control. It’s me scared shitless because every time I turn around, you’re gone.
” Her breath caught, and he felt it like it was his own, a sharp hitch in his chest that didn’t belong to him.
The blaze of her defiance wavered, thinned by the ripple of recognition sliding through her.
She heard him. For one beat, her stubborn fire cooled, and what pressed against him wasn’t anger at all but the quiet throb of understanding.
Then the flare came back, chin high, arms crossed, ready to battle him again, but he couldn’t shake the sweet aftertaste of that flicker. Couldn’t ignore that, for a split second, she’d let him feel that his fear had reached her.
“This is the jungle, and it’s filled with danger. I’m trying to protect you. What is it about that you don’t understand?”
Her frown softened. “I’m not used to it. Okay? I take care of myself.” She folded her arms and lifted her chin. “We needed provisions, and I’m holding up my half of the bargain.”
He blinked. “What bargain is that?”
She shoved at his chest, hard. “You’re stepping on the nuts, you stubborn, overprotective oaf. Move.”