Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
Lark woke to the overwhelming sensation of heat—and the shocking realization she wasn’t just near Ty Grady. She was plastered all over him.
Her cheek rested on his chest, his heartbeat steady under a t-shirt that smelled of pine soap, smoke, and something raw and male.
Every inhale filled her with him, dizzying and addictive, surrounding her with his very essence.
His chest rose and fell beneath her, solid and strong, a reminder that he was very real, very alive, and very much wrapped around her.
He had an arm hooked shamelessly around her hip, cupping her ass, anchoring her there.
Possessive. Protective. The weight of his hand sent a shiver spiraling through her, awareness shooting low and sharp.
Another hand rode under her shirt, a heavy, searing brand against the skin of her low back, hot and comforting, as if he’d claimed her without even meaning to.
She straddled him; her legs falling on either side of his hips, and there was the hard, unyielding ridge pressed against her, proof she wasn’t the only one affected.
Her breath caught, heat coiling through her belly and pulsing between her thighs.
God, she shouldn’t want this. Not him—gruff, infuriating, bossy Ty.
But her body wasn’t listening to reason.
Every nerve ending hummed with the intimacy of his hold, every inch of her drawn helplessly toward him.
She’d wanted adventure. She hadn’t expected to wake up craving the man carrying her through it.
So much for a “two-person” tent. It was one person too small when one of them was built like a mountain.
Add Caesar wedged at their feet, and there hadn’t been an inch of space to spare.
Cramped. Suffocating. And scandalously intimate.
Caesar was no longer there. He’d probably escaped at some point to scout the area or get some space from the two humans.
At least she hadn’t woken up cuddling the dog too.
The storm had been gentler than Tyler had predicted—just a steady, soaking rain—but it had been enough to make her grateful for shelter and, apparently, for the furnace of his body.
Her muscles protested as she shifted. Thighs, shoulders, back—every inch of her screamed from the ride the day before. She stirred, groaning softly, then froze.
He was awake.
Her lashes lifted, and his eyes were on her. Dark. Steady. Unapologetically fixed on her face, a smirk on his face, at the way her body tangled over his.
“Morning, sweetheart,” he drawled, voice a low rumble that scraped over her skin. “Didn’t take you for a cuddler.”
Her cheeks burned hot. “I wasn’t—I didn’t—”
“Relax.” His grin was slow, wicked. “Not the first time a woman’s crawled on top of me.”
Her pulse kicked. “I did not crawl on top of you.”
His gaze dropped pointedly to her thigh thrown over his. “Looks like you did.”
Heat rolled through her in a dangerous wave.
She should move. She couldn’t. Her muscles protested even the slightest twitch, as though her body had already chosen for her.
The tent shrank to nothing; the world outside vanished.
It was only him, only them, the air thick and charged, sparking with tension that hummed against her skin.
Her gaze betrayed her, sliding to his mouth—full, firm, devastatingly tempting. She imagined the scrape of his stubble against her lips, the weight of his kiss, the way he’d taste—wild and dangerous and utterly addictive.
He saw it. His eyes darkened, slow and knowing, as though he’d been waiting for her to look, daring her to admit what simmered between them.
One large hand tightened on her waist, fingers spanning her hip with proprietary ease, hauling her flush against him.
She gasped, feeling every hard line of his body, the raw strength he barely leashed, and the sharp ache low in her belly answered with traitorous longing.
His mouth curved into a smile, hungry and satisfied, like a predator who had her cornered. The kind of smile that promised she wasn’t getting away—not unless he let her. His breath brushed her cheek, warm and unsteady, his lips hovering close enough that she swore she could already feel them.
One more tilt forward and they’d be kissing. And God help her—she wanted it.
“Careful, city girl,” he murmured, nose brushing hers, the scrape of stubble grazing her cheek. “You keep looking at me like that, and I’ll kiss you.”
His thumb traced her jaw, slow and deliberate, before sliding higher to brush across her bottom lip. The light, possessive touch made her breath hitch, her lips parting instinctively.
Her pulse thundered as she leaned in, lips brushing his—heat sparking through her veins—
And Caesar barked.
The sharp sound was followed by the thump of paws and the scrabble of claws. Before she could even blink, the dog shoved his muzzle against the zipper, nosed it down, and wormed his way into the tent. A wet nose jammed between them, tail wagging furiously, tongue lolling in a triumphant grin.
Lark squeaked and scrambled back, every sore muscle screaming in protest. “Oh God—”
Tyler groaned low in his chest, half laugh, half curse. “You’ve got incredible timing, mutt.” He gave Caesar a firm nudge to the side, but the dog just plopped happily across both their legs like a furry barricade, effectively killing whatever moment had been about to explode.
With a low chuckle, Tyler rolled out of the tent in one smooth motion, unzipping the flap the rest of the way. Outside, the gray morning light spilled in, catching the unapologetic line of his arousal as he adjusted himself lazily. He glanced back with a wolfish grin.
“Get moving, sweetheart. We’ve got pictures to take. Unless…” His gaze swept her, hot and smug. “You’d rather finish what you started.”
Her jaw dropped. “I didn’t start anything!”
His laughter rumbled, rich and shameless, as he strode away. Caesar barked once, almost like agreement, before circling and flopping back onto Tyler’s still-warm sleeping bag.
Lark sagged onto her own with a groan, burying her flaming face in her hands. Every nerve still buzzed with the memory of his hands on her waist, his thumb on her lips, his mouth a breath from hers.
One week of this? Between Tyler Grady and his meddling dog, she didn’t stand a chance.
Ty stalked across the damp clearing, boots sinking into the soft earth. The rain had eased, leaving the air heavy and cool, but his body still burned from the feel of her sprawled on top of him.
Hell. He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, then adjusted himself again, trying to will the ache down. He was too old, too damn disciplined, to be walking around half-hard like some kid at his first rodeo. But Lark Prescott, with her soft curves pressed tight, lips parting under his thumb—
“Christ,” he muttered, dragging in a breath of wet pine to steady himself.
He crouched by the horses, running a hand along Scout’s back first, then down the gelding’s flank, checking for any signs they’d been restless in the night.
The animals were calm enough and he hadn’t heard any restless activity overnight.
They would have alerted him or Caesar if there had been any threats overnight.
Habit had him tracking beyond the camp, tracking in ever-expanding circles, scanning the ground for any signs.
His gaze snagged on the tracks in the mud beyond the camp’s edge.
Broad, wide-padded, too fresh for his liking.
Mountain lion. He crouched lower, fingertips brushing the impression, judging size and weight.
Big male, hunting. Not close enough to push the horses into a panic, but close enough to make his pulse spike.
Ty rose, scanning the tree line, every muscle coiled and ready. Too damn close, though mountain lions don’t usually attack humans or horses, but the one was just a bit too close.
He really should consider going to the cabin.
It was safer for Lark. She might have wanted the full backcountry experience, but she wasn’t built for it—not the way he was.
She should’ve been in one of the company’s cabins, safe and warm, not out here in a nylon tent that pressed him between lust and common sense.
Her father had pushed for it, wanting her tested—or maybe wanting her to fail. She might have wanted something “genuine,” but he doubted she realized that meant real risk. Out here, the mountains didn’t care about her pedigree or her camera.
He should never have agreed. But he was in too deep now. If he admitted a cabin had always been an option, she’d never forgive the lie. And she was just starting to trust him.
And yet… he could still feel the imprint of her body against him. Could still taste the almost-kiss that never happened.
The distraction was dangerous. For her. For him. Out here, there wasn’t room for slip-ups. He had to keep his head clear, his focus sharp. She wasn’t his to want, wasn’t his to touch—she was his responsibility.
Ty exhaled hard, forcing his gaze back to the horizon. Protecting her was the only thing that mattered.
Even if she looked at him like she wanted him to sin.