Chapter 8
Chapter
Eight
Lark woke up to warmth. Again.
The kind of warmth that came from more than just shared body heat.
Her eyes blinked open, and for a long, hazy moment, she didn’t move.
Ty’s arm was draped over her waist, solid and heavy, pinning her against the heat of his chest. His breath fanned across the back of her neck, slow and steady.
Every inhale and exhale aligned them perfectly, her smaller frame molded to his as though she’d been made to fit there.
His scent surrounded her—pine, smoke, and the faintest edge of soap. Mountain and man.
For a few stolen seconds, she let herself stay. Just breathing. Just feeling.
The steady thump of his heartbeat pulsed against her spine. His hand flexed once against her stomach, a soft unconscious movement that drew her closer. Heat flared low in her belly, spreading until she had to bite her lip to keep from sighing.
It felt… right. Too right.
Then he stirred, shifting slightly, and she felt him. All of him.
Oh.
Her breath hitched, and she froze, afraid to move or breathe or think. The thick silence between them grew heavy, charged. His chest rose against her back. His muscles tensed, his body growing still, which only made the air thicker.
“Morning,” she whispered, her voice a little too husky.
Ty’s low growl vibrated against her shoulder. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”
“Me?” she whispered, feigning innocence. “I’m just lying here. You’re the one who climbed onto my side of the tent.”
“That’s a damn lie. You’re on my side. Again,” he muttered, and she could hear the faint smile in his voice.
She dared a small laugh, turning her head slightly—enough to glimpse his jaw, the rough stubble catching faint morning light. “Maybe. But you’re the one holding me hostage, mountain man.”
He huffed out a short, quiet sound that was almost a laugh. “Could be worse ways to wake up.”
She moved on the nylon sleeping bag, her butt rubbing against his firm erection. “You mean besides freezing to death or being eaten by a mountain lion?”
He froze behind her, and pressed his hand into her stomach, holding her in place. His voice lowered. “Yeah. Something like that.”
For one suspended heartbeat, she thought he might move her under him, maybe even kiss her. Instead, he exhaled sharply, the sound almost pained, and the spell broke. He rolled away, the sleeping bag rustling as he pushed upright in one fluid motion. The loss of his heat left her cold and aching.
“Get dressed,” he said gruffly, not looking back. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover today.”
The flap of the tent opened, and cold air rushed in, biting at her skin.
She stared at the empty space he’d left, heart pounding, heat flooding her cheeks—not just from embarrassment, but disappointment. It was easier when he was all gruff edges and distance. This—waking tangled together, breathing the same air—felt too intimate. Too much like something real.
Still, as she sat up and listened to Caesar’s tail thump against the dirt outside, she smiled.
If that was his version of pretending nothing happened, she was more than happy to make him sweat.
They spent the morning riding through the valley, following the curve of the creek.
The air was thick and heavy; the sky was dark with low-hanging clouds that threatened rain at any moment.
Lark took photos whenever she could—birds in flight, the herds of deer and elk grazing in the meadows—but none of it was what she’d come for.
No predators. No perfect, once-in-a-lifetime shot.
Ty led the way, his posture tense, every line of his body alert. He hadn’t said more than a handful of words since they broke camp, and each one came out clipped and short.
By early afternoon, the first low rumble of thunder rolled across the mountains.
Lark glanced up. The clouds had shifted from gray to steel, the kind that promised lightning and hard rain.
Ty looked over his shoulder, jaw tightening. “We need shelter. Now.”
She nodded, gripping the reins tighter, and her horse shifted restlessly beneath her. The wind picked up, carrying the scent of ozone and rain.
Minutes later, fat drops began to fall, cool and heavy. The horses tossed their heads, uneasy. Ty pointed toward a dark cleft in the rock up ahead—an outcropping that jutted from the mountainside like a natural overhang.
“Go!” he shouted over the growing roar of the wind. “We’ll wait it out there.”
By the time they reached it, the rain had turned into a downpour.
Ty tied off the horses and guided her under the rock’s shelter, his hand firm on her back.
The space was narrow but deep enough to block most of the rain.
Still, water blew in from the open side, soaking her clothes and hair within minutes.
She shivered, teeth chattering, and tried to wring the water from her sleeves. “This is… cozy.”
Ty huffed out a low laugh, crouching beside her as thunder cracked in the distance. “You’ve got an interesting definition of cozy, sweetheart.”
Their shoulders brushed, and even through wet fabric, she could feel his heat.
“Could be worse,” she said, voice shaking slightly. “At least we’re dry-ish.”
His eyes flicked to her, dark and unreadable. “You’re freezing.”
“I’m fine,” she lied, trying to suppress another shiver.
He muttered something under his breath and moved closer. “You’re soaked through. Come here.”
“I’m okay—”
“Lark.” His tone left no room for argument.
Before she could protest, he pulled her against him, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
The contact sent a jolt through her, electric and grounding all at once.
She hesitated only a second before giving in, curling into his chest. His body was a furnace against the chill, his flannel damp but still radiating warmth.
They stayed like that, huddled together as the storm howled outside, thunder rolling through the valley. Every few seconds, lightning flared, briefly illuminating the hollow where they hid.
Her pulse thrummed with each flash, loud and insistent.
Ty’s hand moved slowly, almost unconsciously, rubbing small circles along her arm. The rough brush of his palm against her soaked jacket made her shiver again—but not from cold.
He froze, realizing what he’d done, but didn’t pull away.
Her heart hammered. She tilted her head, her breath catching when she found his gaze locked on her. There was heat there—undeniable, dangerous heat—but something else too. Concern. Restraint.
“I usually hate storms,” she admitted softly, trying to ignore the thudding of her heart. “But I don’t mind this one.”
His jaw flexed. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She met his eyes, voice trembling for a different reason now. “You make me feel safe.”
His eyes widened as if she had struck him. She could see it in the way his expression shifted, the muscle ticking in his cheek.
“Not because of my father,” she added quickly. “Because of you.”
His breath left him in a slow exhale, rough and uneven. For a moment, neither of them moved. The only sound was the rain pounding the earth just outside their shelter.
Then he reached for her.
His hand slid up to her cheek, fingers trailing along her jaw, and his thumb brushed over her lower lip. She parted her mouth on a sharp inhale. That was all it took.
He kissed her.
There was nothing tentative about it. His mouth was hot and sure, tasting of rain and restraint snapping loose. She melted against him, gripping his shirt as his arm tightened around her. His tongue teased hers, coaxing her deeper into the kiss until she was dizzy, her body alive with wanting.
He shifted, pressing her gently back against the smooth rock wall, his hand braced beside her head. Every line of his body was solid and hot and completely male, and she couldn’t stop touching him—his shoulders, his chest, the rough edge of his jaw.
The kiss deepened, roughened, turned desperate. The storm outside faded away, the world narrowing to his breath and her pulse and the sound of fabric rustling as he explored the edge of her damp shirt, his calloused fingertips brushing the bare skin of her waist.
She gasped, heat surging through her, her body arching toward his touch. He groaned low, a sound that rumbled through both of them, then broke the kiss just long enough to press his forehead to hers.
“Lark,” he rasped, his voice raw. “If I don’t stop now…”
She looked up at him, chest heaving. “Then don’t.”
His eyes burned into hers, conflict warring with desire.
He kissed her again—slower this time, deeper, as if memorizing her. His hand slid to the small of her back, holding her close, but it never went further. The hunger simmered, banked but not gone.
When they finally broke apart, they were both trembling.
Thunder rolled again, further away. He brushed a damp strand of hair from her face, his thumb lingering against her cheek.
“Storm’s easing,” he said quietly, his voice rough. “We’ll move soon.”
She nodded, still catching her breath. But neither of them moved right away.
Outside, the rain lightened, but inside the small outcropping, the air still crackled—with heat, with want, with something that had started long before the storm ever hit.
The ride back to camp was quiet. Too quiet.
The storm had passed, but it had left its mark—on the land, and on them.
The world felt scrubbed clean, the air heavy with the smell of wet pine and ozone.
But inside, Ty wasn’t clean at all. He was raw, scraped bare.
He wanted her with a fierce need burning deep inside.
She was his, and every fiber of his soul demanded he claim her, but he couldn’t do it while there were lies between them.
Every time the horses’ hooves hit soft, muddy ground, he heard her breathless gasp echoing in his head, felt the tremble in her body as she’d melted against him. He’d meant to stop it—hell, he tried to stop it—but the second her lips touched his, everything rational had gone up in smoke.