6. The Retreat
Chapter six
The Retreat
T he autumn leaves crunch under my heels as I step out of the sleek black car. Inhaling deeply, I steel myself for the impending disaster that is this couples’ retreat. As if fixing Jaxon Reid’s bad boy image wasn’t enough of a challenge, now I have to play his doting girlfriend for an entire weekend. In the middle of nowhere. With his entire team watching.
“Just smile,” I mutter under my breath, smoothing down my pencil skirt, “and sell the fairytale.”
I spot Jaxon across the parking lot, his broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his fitted t-shirt. He catches my eye and winks, that infuriatingly sexy smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. What fresh hell is he planning to unleash on me this weekend?
Shouldering my bags, I make my inside the rustic wood-and-leather lobby. A woman at the front desk gives me the once-over. Her eyes say serious, buttoned-up PR specialist; her lips say sympathetic, like the driver’s had.
“Checking in?” she asks, polite and expectant.
“Michaels and Reid,” I say. “I assume you’ve got us in the cabins.”
“That’s right.” Her smile stretches wide. Too wide. “We’ve got you in a cozy spot for the weekend—Cabin 7.”
The room spins a little. “The same cabin? “I’m sorry, there must be some mistake. I’m supposed to have my own accommodations.”
The cheerful attendant shakes her head. “No mistake, Miss Michaels. You and Mr. Reid are in Cabin 7. The honeymoon setup. One room, one bed. Super romantic.”
“You mean—”
“You mean perfect,” Jaxon’s voice cuts in. He sidles up next to me, all broad shoulders and cocky warmth. “What do you think, babe?”
I think I’m going to pass out. Or murder him. Or both.
“Sounds…quaint,” I say, shooting him a look of pure, unadulterated fury. He drapes an arm around my waist, pulling me closer, laughing as if he can hear the frantic beating of my heart.
This weekend will be the end of me.
Jaxon insists on carrying our bags to the cabin, like the charming fake boyfriend he’s supposed to be. I trudge beside him, silently questioning my life choices as we follow a gravel path to what I imagine is my impending doom.
“It’s only a couple of days,” I mutter under my breath, mostly for my own sanity. “We’ll survive.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” he says, grinning. “Especially that whole sharing a bed part.”
The cabin looms in front of us, its wooden steps creaking like the gates of hell opening wide. He opens the door with a flourish, waving me in like I’ve just won a fabulous prize.
“After you, my lady,” he says.
And just like that, I’m thrown headfirst into my worst nightmare:
One bed. One bathroom. Four walls. Zero room for professionalism.
Most importantly…no escape.
“You’re kidding, right?” I say.
He shrugs. “We’re supposed to look close, right? Can’t get much closer than this.”
I’ve officially hit my limit. “I’ll sleep on the floor,” I declare, setting my bag down with a thud.
His laughter follows me as I march over to the pathetic excuse for a couch and eye it with something akin to desperation. “You think this is funny?” I demand.
“I think you’re adorable when you’re flustered,” he says.
Tori Michaels does not get flustered. Tori Michaels keeps her cool. Except, apparently, around Jaxon Reid and a single, tiny bed.
“So, what’s the plan?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe. “Are we doing a trial run tonight, or do you want to wait until morning to consummate this thing?”
“Are you actually insane?” I fire back, incredulous. “We’re not sharing the bed. That’s not even an option.”
He raises an eyebrow, the picture of amused indifference. “Afraid you won’t be able to keep your hands to yourself?”
I snort, my nerves making it sound way less confident than intended. “I’m afraid I’ll accidentally smother you with a pillow.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he says, sauntering closer. “I’m pretty good at reading signals. You’d give yourself away.”
He’s in front of me now, too close, too everything. The same jittery energy I’ve been battling since check-in ramps up, setting my brain and heart on diverging courses. My arms cross, defensive. “And what do you think I’m signaling?”
He looks me up and down, the weight of his gaze impossible to ignore. “Right now? I’m getting panic. Confusion. An overwhelming urge to jump my bones.”
“You missed ‘disdain,’” I shoot back.
“Thought that went without saying.”
His confidence is infuriating, and, if I’m being honest with myself, also a little terrifying. Mostly because of the way it makes me question mine. I take a deep breath, let the sarcasm wrap around me like a comforting hug. “I hope you don’t think this is a permanent arrangement. There’s no way I’m doing this the whole weekend.”
“We’ll see,” he says, eyes twinkling with the thrill of the game.
And just like that, the competitive spark in me lights up. I’m not going to give in, not this easily. Not to him. I stand taller, holding my ground, ignoring the way my pulse hammers out an unsteady beat in the small space between us.
Jaxon smirks, tilting his head like he knows he’s already halfway to victory. “I guess I’ll have to keep an eye on you, make sure you’re not too uncomfortable.”
His innuendos hang in the air, but I won’t let them break me. “You’re going to regret this,” I warn.
“You’ll sleep better if you let me,” he says, and damn it if his confidence isn’t contagious.
My fingers tremble slightly as I unzip my suitcase, acutely aware of his gaze on my back. He lounges on the bed, hands behind his head, watching me with an amused smirk.
“Need any help unpacking? I’m pretty good at...handling delicates.”
I shoot him a withering glare over my shoulder. “I’ve got it, thanks.”
He shrugs, but I can tell he’s not going to let this go. “Don’t do too much today. We’ve got a big day of trust exercises tomorrow.”
I pause, a silk camisole dangling from my fingers. “Trust exercises?”
“Yup.” He grins, popping the ‘p’. “You know, falling backwards into each other’s arms, building intimacy, that sort of thing. Gotta make sure we’re convincing as a couple, right?”
I take a deep breath, trying to calm the butterflies in my stomach. Jaxon’s right—we need to sell this relationship if we’re going to salvage his reputation. But the thought of being in his arms, even for a staged exercise, sends a thrill down my spine that I can’t quite ignore.
“Right,” I say, injecting confidence into my voice. “We’ll be the most convincing couple out there. Just you wait.”
Jaxon’s smile turns soft, almost genuine. “I have no doubt, Tori. No doubt at all.”
***
The next morning dawns with an apologetic sun and suspiciously blue skies. When I trudge out of the cabin, Jaxon’s in the middle of the field with the rest of the team, all jokes and charm and looking way too good for someone who isn’t trying. I paste on a confident smile and remind myself it’s part of my job description. An hour later, it’s barely there.
“Alright, lovebirds!” The retreat facilitator, a peppy blonde with a megawatt smile, claps her hands. “Time for our first exercise. Who’s willing to go first?”
I weigh my options. A) Stand here looking like a chicken in heels while Jaxon and the team judge me, or B) Prove I’m not fazed by his games and my own mixed signals.
I choose option B. “I’m in,” I say, stepping forward and praying my legs don’t betray me.
“Awesome!” The retreat facilitator claps his hands. “I want you to stand facing your partner, about arm’s length apart.”
I turn to Jaxon, my stomach flipping as he winks at me. We take our positions, the dew-damp grass tickling my ankles.
“Now, one of you is going to fall backwards, and the other is going to catch them. This exercise is all about trust, vulnerability, and letting go of control. Who wants to fall first?”
I raise my hand, determined to get this over with. “I will.”
“She’s really good at letting go,” Jaxon says, directing the comment—and his signature smirk—my way.
“You wish.”
Jaxon’s eyebrows lift in surprise, but he nods, bracing himself. “I’ve got you, Tori. Just let go.”
I take a deep breath, turn with my back facing him. I close my eyes. Every instinct screams at me not to do this, to stay in control, to keep my guard up. But if I’m going to make this fake relationship believable, I have to start trusting Jaxon...even if it’s just for show.
I let myself fall, the world tilting dizzyingly. For a heart-stopping moment, I’m sure I’m going to hit the ground. But then, strong arms wrap around me, catching me securely against a solid chest.
Jaxon’s voice is a low rumble in my ear. “I’ve got you babe,”
His eyes are a startling blue this close, his lips curled in a soft smile. The heat of his body seeps into mine, and for a moment, I forget that we’re surrounded by people, that this is all just an act.
And just like that, my last thread of sanity unravels.
For a moment, it feels real.
He helps me to my feet, his hands lingering on my waist a beat too long. I step back, my heart pounding, my skin tingling where he touched me.
“Good job, you two!” The facilitator beams at us. “You can really feel the trust between you. Keep up the great work!”
As she moves on to the next couple, Jaxon leans in close, his breath warm on my neck. “Guess we’re pretty convincing after all, huh?”
I nod, not trusting my voice. Because the truth is, I’m not sure what’s real and what’s fake anymore. And that scares me more than anything.
“Who’s next?” Jaxon calls, unbothered.
A flurry of volunteers rushes forward. Jaxon is swept up with the group, leaving me to collect myself and make a quick retreat. A massive tent set up for lunch provides cover, but not nearly enough time to stop the static in my head. I down a bottle of water, tell myself it’s refreshing, tell myself I’m overreacting.
But I can’t deny that something shifted. And I hate how it makes me feel—exposed, vulnerable, giddy. I scan the tables for the nearest exit plan. No luck. They’re all reserved for staff and significant others. I am, apparently, the latter.
It’s an hour before I see Jaxon again, just enough time for my mind to stop running laps and start assembling excuses. I find him leaning against a stack of canoes, laughing with teammates who throw me knowing glances as they pass. He’s dry. That doesn’t last.
“You’re late,” he says when I approach, eyebrows wagging like I’ve already confirmed all his suspicions.
“I’m busy,” I shoot back. “Trust-building.”
“Still at it, huh?”
The warmth in his voice has nothing to do with the bright autumn sun. I don’t know if it’s reassuring or terrifying that he noticed me disappear.
“We’re supposed to be partners,” he says, motioning to a bright yellow canoe. The one with the most chance of visibility. Of course. “But if you’d rather bail, I can team up with someone else.”
My jaw sets. “We’ve got this,” I say, less sure of myself than I should be. “It’s just paddling. How hard can it be?”
“Depends,” he says, helping me in. “Ever been in sync with another person before?”
“Oh, you have no idea,” I lie, refusing to let him see how unprepared I feel.
The lake glistens as we push off, and I pretend the choppy water is nothing but another chance to prove myself. Our paddles hit the surface at different times, the canoe zig-zagging across the lake while other teams find their rhythm.
Jaxon slows, lets me catch up. His arms flex with every stroke, his movements fluid and sure. “Having trouble back there?” he asks, just to make sure I know he’s showing off.
I grit my teeth. “I’m just getting warmed up.”
“I can help,” he says. “But you’ll have to trust me.”
More trust. Less composure. I’m screwed. “Just paddle,” I mutter, but my determination not to sink keeps me pushing through.
The competition is fierce, but my stubborn streak is fiercer. We hit our stride halfway to the far shore, and Jaxon’s satisfaction rolls off him like the light breeze that just messed up my hair.
He turns to say something and I’m ready, but it’s not words that hit me. It’s a cold splash of water, right to the face.
“You did not just—” I gasp, the initial shock turning into something hotter, brighter.
“Yes, I did,” he says, eyes glinting like the sun off the water.
Two can play at this game. And I’m a quick learner.
I splash back, and his surprise sends a thrill through me, electric and wild. “Didn’t know you had it in you,” he says, his laugh just the right side of genuine.
Before I know it, we’re in a full-blown war. Water flies as our paddles take turns assaulting each other instead of the lake. He soaks me. I retaliate. I’m so focused on keeping up with his hits and keeping him from seeing how much I like it that I don’t notice the canoe tipping until it’s too late.
We go over, laughter and limbs and adrenaline. The lake is shockingly cold. Jaxon surfaces first, water streaming from his hair, making him look impossibly—well, Jaxon.
I sputter, pulling my drenched ponytail from my eyes. “You planned this,” I accuse, but there’s no real edge to it. My heart’s too busy racing, my brain too busy storing the memory of his smile.
“You caught me,” he admits, half-triumph, half-relief. Like he didn’t know he was going to get a reaction out of me until just now.
I kick toward the dock, too breathless to say more. Too confused, too exhilarated, too aware that he’s close and only getting closer. We climb out of the water, soaked to the bone, shivering and laughing like we’re alone on this damn retreat.
It’s a long walk to where towels are piled near the canoes, and a longer walk back to wherever my dignity is. When we’re halfway there, he tugs my arm, pulls me down to the rough planks of the dock.
“No more running off,” he says, but he doesn’t mean it like he thinks I do.
The next second, I’m flat on my back, and he’s over me, dripping, wrestling for control in a way that’s playful and not at all. He pins my hands to the dock. I could break free if I wanted. I don’t.
There’s no way to hide the spark between us now, the heat despite the cold. “This wasn’t part of the plan,” I say, but it comes out weak. He can tell.
His face is intense, unreadable. I could drown in it, drown in him, and for one heartbeat-stopping moment, I almost let myself.
“Better than your plan Tori,” he murmurs.
My heart thunders in my ears. This is dangerous territory. The lines are blurring, the game feeling all too real. I swallow hard, scrambling for a witty retort, a way to diffuse the tension.
But I’m saved by a shout from the shore. “You two okay?”
Jaxon rolls off me, sitting up. He pastes on a grin, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “We’re good! Just a little swim.”
I sit up too, hastily finger-combing my drenched hair. Crisis averted.
“Round two later?” he asks, like we’re still playing a game.
I don’t have an answer, but he doesn’t need one. Not this time.
***
That night, the bonfire is as big as my uncertainty and just as hard to ignore. I sit on the outskirts, hair still damp from the lake and spirit still damp from the dock. Jaxon finds me easily. I make room on the bench, make room in my head, make room in the most dangerous place of all: my heart. He fills them, fills everything, with his steady warmth and endless charm. When his thigh presses against mine, the pressure ignites something between us, a flicker that becomes a flame. I let myself believe it’s more than a weekend illusion, let myself get swept up in the heat. It’s real, almost too real, when he kisses me. But then, maybe I’m not sure what real is anymore.
The flames crackle, sending sparks and anxiety into the night air. My shivering turns to something else entirely when Jaxon sits down beside me, closer than necessary. I pretend the cold is why I don’t scoot away.
“Still warming up?” he asks, his eyes catching the firelight, catching me. The woodsmoke clings to him, mingles with the clean scent of his soap. It’s intoxicating.
“Surprised you care,” I say, and I’m shocked at the vulnerability in my voice.
“You shouldn’t be,” he replies, quiet but certain.
He pulls me in, his arm warm around my shoulders, his nearness too big to ignore. Too big not to want. I let him. For a second, I let myself.
“You were pretty competitive out there,” he says, laughter hiding just below the surface.
“It’s not my fault you suck at paddling,” I reply, feeling more of myself return.
His chuckle vibrates through me. “Funny. You seemed more interested in drowning me.”
“Next time, I’ll succeed,” I promise, but we both know there’s no edge to my threat.
“Next time,” he repeats, the words a promise of their own.
I lean into him instinctively, forgetting why I shouldn’t. The heat of the fire, the heat of his body, the heat between us—all of it has me on the edge of something terrifying and exhilarating.
Then, of course, someone ruins it. “Truth or dare!” a teammate shouts, throwing a cold bucket of reality over my carefully maintained illusions.
The group takes up the call, demanding the game in a chorus of alcohol- and nostalgia-fueled excitement. I try to drown them out, try to ignore the inevitable.
“No escaping now,” Jaxon whispers, his breath a secret promise in my ear.
He tucks a damp strand of hair behind my ear, fingers grazing my cheek, leaving a trail of static and unasked questions. I wish I knew what his answer is.
I wish I knew what mine is.
My fingers clench in my lap, searching for the resolve I had earlier and finding nothing but more confusion. His scent, his presence, the magnetic pull of his confidence—it’s all around me, impossible to shut out. I’m losing the battle with myself and not sure I even care.
The truths and dares start out tame enough—embarrassing childhood stories, silly dance moves. But then Jaxon’s teammate, the one with the wicked grin and a reputation for stirring up trouble, points at us.
“Jaxon, truth or dare!”
“Dare,” he calls, unwavering. I should’ve expected it. Expected him.
“Get a room!” someone yells, and a burst of laughter follows. The irony isn’t lost on me.
I know what’s coming before it does, like a storm cloud forming on the horizon.
“Jaxon, I dare you to kiss your girlfriend. And I mean a real kiss, not some peck on the cheek.”
The noise settles, anticipation taking its place. My heart does something stupid, something dangerous, like I’ve already agreed.
Jaxon turns to me, a silent exchange more powerful than any words. I should say no. I should keep up the walls I’ve so carefully built. Instead, I nod, a barely-there admission that tears them down faster than he ever could. One hand comes up to cradle my face, fingers threading into my hair. The other settles on my waist, pulling me closer. And then his lips are on mine, warm and firm and devastating.
It starts light, almost tentative. But then he angles his head, deepens the kiss, and I’m lost. My hands come up to grip his shoulders, his hair, anything to anchor myself as the world tilts and spins.
My hands then find his neck, his hair, every bit of him I’ve pretended not to want, and my last piece of resolve snaps like dry kindling.
It should feel like giving in, but it feels like winning.
Jaxon deepens the kiss, urgency, and something else entirely. The world tips on its axis, leaving me unsteady and breathless. His arm tightens around me. I pull him closer. We’re both drowning, both surviving. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever known. It’s everything.
I forget about the team watching, the cameras that might be lurking. All I can focus on is the heat of Jaxon’s mouth, the slide of his tongue against mine, the way he tastes like whiskey and desire and danger.
A low wolf-whistle penetrates the haze, and reality crashes back in. I’m kissing Jaxon. Not for show, not for the PR game. But because I want to, with a hunger that scares me.
When we finally break apart, gasps replace cheers, surprise replaces expectation. The world comes back into focus, and it’s not the same world as before.
Jaxon’s eyes lock with mine, challenging, imploring, stripping me of any pretense. And that’s exactly why I can’t stay.
I clear my throat, pasting on a smile that feels too bright, too brittle. “Well, this has been fun, but I think I’m gonna call it a night.” I stand, brushing off my jeans. “You know, beauty sleep and all that.”
I don’t wait for a response, just turn, and head for the cabin, my pulse still racing. I need space, need to clear my head, need to—
“Tori, wait.”
Jaxon’s voice stops me in my tracks. I curse under my breath, steeling myself before turning to face him. He’s followed me to the cabin, his tall frame filling the doorway.
“What, Jaxon? I’m tired.” I cross my arms, trying to look annoyed rather than flustered.
He steps closer, his gaze intense. “What was that?” he asks, his voice a mix of disbelief and smug satisfaction.
I have no good answer, so I throw my old defenses at him, even if they are cracked. “Exactly what they wanted.”
His smile falls, replaced by a determination that scares me more than his grin ever could. “Is it?” he presses. “Is it really?”
“Yes,” I insist, almost convincing myself. Almost.
But Jaxon sees right through me. Of course he does. “Bullshit,” he says, eyes dark, challenging. “I felt it, Tori. So did you.”
I turn away, unwilling to face him, unwilling to face what’s happening to me. “Don’t make this a thing,” I plead, but I know it’s already too late.
He steps closer, his voice fierce, immediate. “You know it’s a thing. Stop pretending it’s not.”
The argument sharpens, the space between us filled with more honesty than I’ve let in for a long time. He tears through my defenses, each word stripping away the armor, leaving me raw and exposed.
“You’re letting this get too real,” I say, and it sounds weaker than I want it to. “We agreed. Nothing off script.”
“Real is the best thing about it,” he fires back. “About us.”
There’s that word again. Us. Like it’s more than a carefully constructed image. Like it’s more than I can handle.
I stand frozen, holding on to the last shreds of my doubt, my certainty, my resistance. It’s not enough. It’s never enough.
He doesn’t back down. “What are you so scared of?” he asks, quieter this time. His fingers find mine, igniting everything they touch. “This?”
I pull back, but my resolve doesn’t follow. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, but the certainty in his eyes tells me he does.
When he references the moment on the dock, when he uses it against me, I break. It’s the last thing holding me together, the first thing he pushes past.
“Go ahead,” he says, relentless. “Keep lying to yourself. But don’t think I’ll make it easy.”
My breath catches in my throat, panic replacing oxygen. I need air. I need space. I need something that isn’t him.
Jaxon dares me to stop pretending, dares me to admit what I already know. He dares me the way no one else ever has.
He storms out. I crawl into bed, alone with the ache in my chest and the words he threw at me like reckless promises. I tell myself I’m relieved. I tell myself I’m glad. I tell myself it’s all I can do not to run after him. But I don’t tell myself the truth. The memory of him is everywhere. The room. My heart. The space next to me on this stupid, tiny bed. Hours pass, and he fills them all, and just when I think the tension will suffocate me, he’s back, close enough to touch, close enough to ruin.
The night stretches long and unkind. My eyes won’t stay closed. My mind won’t stay quiet. Every piece of me hums with him, with his heat, with the absolute certainty that I can’t keep doing this.
Not for one more night. Not when he’s all I can think about. Not when his words pulse in my veins, taunting, relentless.
I lie still, counting the moments until I forget why I’m holding on.
Ten minutes pass. Twenty. More. My will breaks first.
I sit up, breathing like I’ve just run a marathon, nerves pounding. I want to scream, want to cry, want to do anything that will let this pressure escape my chest.
Anything but admit he’s right.
I fall back against the mattress, pretending it’s more comfortable than the truth. Pretending I’m okay. Pretending I didn’t let him get under my skin, under my guard, under everything I swore I’d never let anyone get under.
But it’s a shitty performance, even for me.
A sigh escapes, jagged and raw. I’m weak, I’m hopeless, I’m done. I wrap my arms around myself, squeeze my eyes shut, pretend I don’t feel his absence like a hole in my defenses.
And then—then the bed shifts.
He’s back.
Lying close. Too close.
Every inhale fills me with him, every exhale crushes the resolve I thought I had.
I want to tell him to leave. I want to mean it. I want to want to.
But I don’t say anything.
The silence stretches like the last of my excuses, thin and worn and about to snap. I lie there, tense and defiant, refusing to be the first to break.
His whisper fills the room. “This is torture. Lying here, inches from you, when all I want to do is touch you.”
My heart lurches, or maybe it’s the bed, or maybe it’s just me losing control of everything. I don’t move. I don’t breathe. I don’t trust myself.
He shifts closer, close enough that the words barely make it past his lips before they’re in my blood, sinking, sinking, leaving me gasping. “I want you.”
Three words, two seconds, one impossible choice.
It would be so easy to give in, to roll over and pull him to me, to lose myself in his kiss, his touch. But I can’t. Because once I do, there’s no going back. No more pretending this is just a game.
So I stay silent, still, even as his fingers ghost along my arm, raising goosebumps in their wake.
“I know you’re awake, Tori. I can practically hear you thinking.”
I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, willing him to give up, to roll over and leave me be.
But Jaxon’s never been one to quit. His hand settles on my hip.
His breath is warm on my neck, his presence is insistent, his patience is my undoing. He waits, and waits, and waits, until the only thing louder than my pulse is the certainty I can’t fight him.
Not anymore.
At first, I try. I really do.
But it’s hopeless.
I turn to face him, letting my defenses crumble one shaky piece at a time. His eyes ask me all the things I’m not ready to answer, but the one I’m afraid to—the one I’ve been running from for far too long.
“Jaxon, we… we can’t.” My hand finds his chest, the solid, real heat of him pulling me in, pulling me under. My brain swims with excuses, but my heart silences every last one.
He covers my hand with his, his skin hot against mine. “We already have. And don’t say it’s because this is fake. We both know it stopped being pretend weeks ago.”
“It’s a bad idea. We work together. It’ll get messy.”
“Messy can be fun.” His thumb strokes my hip, igniting sparks beneath my skin. “Come on, Michaels. Take a risk. Gamble on me.”
“Tori,” he says again, my name a dare, a plea, a lifeline.
He wants me.
He wants us.
And damn it, I do too.
He tells me to take a chance, to take it now, and all I can think about is the way his mouth would feel on mine, the way I let myself imagine it, the way it’s already a part of me.
I don’t say yes. I don’t need to.
I let my actions speak, let my body answer for the weak, unraveling parts of me that should have given in a long time ago.
This man, this infuriating, incredible man, could destroy me. But as his lips hover over mine, as his body molds to me in the dark, I find myself thinking that maybe, just maybe, he might be worth the fall.