Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
Lark crawled out of the tent, groaning as every sore muscle reminded her of the day before.
The ride, the sleep on the barely-there mat, then waking up on top of the hard edges of Ty Grady.
He was not soft, not anywhere on his body, and she carried the heated imprint of his body on her own.
Her thighs felt like they’d been shredded by barbed wire, her shoulders one big knot.
The cool, damp air hit her face, and she blinked against the morning light filtering through the pines.
Ty was crouched a distance away, studying the ground. His broad shoulders were tense, his body wound tight, every line of him radiating alertness. Caesar sat beside him, ears perked, tail still.
She padded over, hugging her arms against the chill. “What’s wrong?”
He glanced up at her, eyes narrowing just slightly, as if debating how much to tell her. Then he gestured at the mud. “Tracks.”
She leaned closer, frowning at the broad paw print pressed deep into the damp earth. “That’s not a dog.”
“Mountain lion.” His voice was flat, steady. “Big male. Passed through sometime last night.”
Her pulse stuttered, her heart thudding in her throat. “Should I be worried?”
His gaze met hers, dark and sure. “Caesar’ll warn us if anything comes close. Cats don’t usually bother with humans. Too much work.”
“Oh,” she said faintly, even though she wasn’t sure if she could believe it. “Good to know.”
He stood, brushing off his hands, towering over her in that easy, commanding way of his. “Eat quick. We’ve got a long climb ahead.”
Breakfast was a blur—instant oatmeal, burnt coffee, definitely not the fare she had enjoyed on any other vacation she’d taken.
Caesar thumped his tail at every bite as if hoping for something to drop, even though he’d had his own breakfast already.
Ty tossed him a few pieces of jerky, which Caesar caught mid-air and swallowed in one motion.
Before long, they were saddling the horses and heading out, the steady rhythm of hooves and cool wind filling the silence.
By midmorning, Ty led them into rougher terrain, dismounting at the base of a steep slope.
He hobbled the horses to let them have the freedom to graze but be close by when they were ready to leave.
“We leave the horses here.” His gaze slid to her boots, then up to her determined chin.
“Think you can handle the climb, city girl?”
She lifted her chin higher. “I can keep up.”
His mouth quirked. “Prove it.”
And then he was moving, long strides eating up the incline, boots digging into slick stone.
Lark gritted her teeth, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her struggle.
But the slope was brutal. They reversed positions, Ty providing back-up for Lark, support in case she needed help.
The rain-slick rock, not yet dried from the sun, was treacherous.
She slipped, her foot skidding out from under her, and she gasped, her arms flailing for something to grab onto.
Strong hands caught her waist, yanking her back against the solid wall of his body.
Her heart slammed as she was transported back to that morning and the feeling of his body under hers.
He held her close, his grasp secure and safe.
His breath brushed her ear. “Easy,” he murmured.
His grip tightened, steadying her, holding her just a moment longer than necessary, then he released her, his hands stroking down her arms in a brief caress.
Heat rushed through her, sharp and undeniable. Every nerve in her body screamed to lean back, to sink into him. She swallowed hard and forced herself forward, breaking his hold.
By the time they reached the summit, her lungs burned, but the view stole her breath all over again.
A small herd of bighorn sheep moved across the slope, scattered along the broken ridge like pieces of living stone.
Their coats blended into the rock, tan and gray against the cliff face, so still at first, she almost missed them.
Then one shifted, muscles bunching as it stepped with effortless balance onto a narrow ledge.
The rams’ horns curled back from their heads in heavy arcs, catching the light, while ewes and younger lambs picked their way through the scrub.
A few lowered their heads to graze on tufts of grass pushing through the cracks, others lifted their noses to the wind, alert and watchful.
“Oh my God. They’re beautiful,” she whispered, fumbling for her camera.
She lifted her camera and snapped frame after frame, her pulse racing as she captured various images—the lamb pressed against its mother, the ram poised like a sentinel, protecting the herd, and an ewe picking her way delicately across the rocks.
The mist slowly burned off as the sun heated the air around them, and she snapped frame after frame.
When she finally lowered the camera, exhilarated, she was breathless with more than the climb. “Did you see that?” she whispered, glowing. “They were—”
Her words broke off as Ty stepped close.
His big hand came up, steady and sure, fingers brushing her collarbone as he adjusted the camera strap where it dug into her skin.
The touch was simple, practical—and devastating.
Her breath caught; her whole body attuned to the slow slide of his fingertips against her skin.
She turned toward him, and suddenly there was no space left. His eyes caught hers—dark, hungry, and full of something she hadn’t expected to see. Want.
The world dropped away, leaving only him. The wind, the mist, the sheep—all gone. There was only the heat between them, sharp and demanding.
Then, his mouth was on hers.
It wasn’t gentle. Ty kissed like a man who’d run out of patience, like he’d been holding back for far too long.
His hand cupped the back of her neck, fingers threading into her hair as he tilted her head and took her mouth deeper.
His other arm wrapped around her waist, hauling her against his body until there wasn’t an inch of space left between them.
Lark gasped into him, and he swallowed the sound, his tongue sweeping against hers, coaxing, demanding. Heat spiraled low in her belly, her knees going weak as she clutched at his flannel shirt to stay upright. He tasted like rain and heat and something dangerously addictive.
The kiss lingered, deepened, every pass of his mouth making her burn hotter. When he finally broke away, his breath was rough against her lips, his forehead pressed to hers.
She was trembling, her pulse racing out of control, her lips tingling from the force of his possession. He didn’t look smug or teasing. He looked undone, his eyes dark and stormy, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just let himself do.
And God help her—she wanted more.
Ty sat on a slab of granite with his back against the rock, watching.
Not the sheep—though the herd stayed on the ridge longer than he expected, giving Lark shot after perfect shot—but her.
She moved with focus and intensity, lips parted in concentration as she lifted the camera, adjusted a lens, crouched low to frame a better angle.
Her hair had slipped loose from her braid, curling damply around her cheeks.
Every time she shifted, her jacket pulled snug across her curves, and he felt that same damn tug low in his gut that he’d been fighting since he woke with her draped over him.
She was glowing, alive in a way he hadn’t seen before. Like she belonged out here.
The sheep finally picked their way higher along the ridge, vanishing into the rock and ledges far beyond where he and Lark would follow.
Lark dropped onto a rock beside him, cheeks pink, eyes bright as she flicked through the pictures.
“Look at this one,” she whispered, angling the screen toward him.
He didn’t. He watched her.
At how she had come alive in the moment. Gone was the city girl who’d arrived with too-new gear and jewelry that probably cost more than he ever made in a month. Up here, with a camera pressed to her face and the wild spread out around her, she had transformed into something else entirely.
Several strands of dark hair had pulled free of her ponytail, whipping across her windburned cheeks, and instead of looking messy, it made her look untamed.
Her hazel eyes sparked with excitement, the golden flecks catching fire until they looked almost green in the bright mountain sunlight.
Her cheeks were flushed pink from wind and sun, her mouth curved in pure joy, lips parted as she showed him shot after shot, pride resonated in every word.
She was beautiful, but not in the polished, manicured way she’d probably been raised to be. No—this was real, stripped bare, her skin glowing, her focus sharp, her joy unfiltered.
Ty’s chest tightened, something grabbing him deep inside, unexpected but feeling so right. Mine.
And everything clicked into place.
He’d told himself she was a distraction, that she didn’t belong out here, but watching her now, he couldn’t look away.
She fit into the mountains better than he did in some ways—open, curious, hungry for every detail.
She fit him, better than he ever thought she could, and he couldn’t wait to find out how much better they could be.
His gaze dropped, lingered too long. The delicate curve of her throat as she tilted her head to the camera, the line of her shoulders beneath the jacket, the way her chest rose and fell with each excited breath.
He remembered the weight of her sprawled across him that morning, the soft press of her body against his, and heat surged low in his belly before he could shut it down.
Ty ground his teeth and looked away, forcing his focus back to the ridge. He was supposed to be keeping her safe, not remembering how her lips had felt parting under his, not how she tasted—wild and sweet—and how he wanted to kiss her again.
But it was too late. The image was burned into him. And no amount of discipline or distance was going to change the fact that Lark Prescott was his, even if she was a temptation he couldn’t afford.