Chapter 4
O h thank God, was Honey’s first thought, immediately followed by: Oh, my God.
She’d been braced for the worst. Having seen the crowd of other counselors, she’d expected to be saddled with someone less than half her age. Some nice, fresh-faced boy still in college, who would look at her as if she’d just risen from a crypt.
This man was definitely not a boy.
Nice was also not a word that applied. Nice was sunshine and daisies and fresh-baked cookies. Nice would take one look at this man and run screaming in the other direction.
His hair had probably been dark once. Now it was iron gray, brushed back with the impatience of a man whose only requirement for a successful haircut was ‘shorter.’ From his tanned skin and the deep lines across his forehead, he’d spent most of his time outside, and also pissed off.
An impressive nose gave him a distinct resemblance to a brooding eagle; remote, majestic, and fully capable of ripping a limb from anyone who dared get too close.
That dominating nose had clearly been broken at least twice, and each time reset by someone with limited patience and total indifference to esthetics.
Honey could only assume he’d been injured in a truly unfortunate number of natural disasters.
It was impossible to imagine anyone daring to fight this man, let alone landing a punch.
He had resting headbutt-you-in-the-face face.
Full grown bears would keep a respectful distance. Avalanches would detour around him.
It was more than the breadth of his shoulders; the obvious strength in his compact, muscled body.
Sheer masculine energy boiled off him like heat from a griddle.
He utterly dominated every inch of space around him.
He wasn’t tall—only a little above her own height—but he felt tall, impossibly tall, like a mountain crammed into a t-shirt and jeans.
Even from across the room, his electric presence crackled against her skin.
He had the blackest eyes she’d ever seen, the irises so dark they almost merged with his pupils. And now those eyes were fixed on her, as though nothing else existed in the entire world.
It was like catching the attention of a tornado, or a thunderstorm. Honey couldn’t breathe, pinned by that intent focus. And he wasn’t looking at her with horror, or as though she must be some kind of bad joke.
No one had ever looked at her like this man. Not even her ex-husband. Especially not her ex-husband. If he had, they’d still be married.
You, those black-on-black eyes said, as they stripped her to the skin and shoved her against the nearest wall. Only you. Only ever you. Where have you been all my life?
Heat roared through her in answer. She’d never felt such instant, overwhelming attraction. If he had made a move to sweep her up in his arms, she honestly might have hooked her legs around him then and there, without an ounce of hesitation or shame.
Instead, he flinched—actually flinched, as if she was the dangerous one. His face locked down in a deep scowl.
“Oh hell no,” he said under his breath.
He might have been talking to himself, but she was close enough to catch every word. Humiliation flooded through her, drowning desire more effectively than a bucket of ice water.
Of course she’d been mistaken. She’d projected her own desires onto him, seeing what she wanted to see instead of what was actually there. Just as she’d always done.
Belatedly, Honey realized that there were two other people in the room.
One, a handsome red-head inexplicably dressed in a business suit, sat frozen behind a laptop, fingers poised over the keys.
His green eyes flicked from her to the man—she couldn’t think of him as anything other than the man—and back again, with the air of someone watching two snowplows headed for a slow-motion collision.
From his expression, he seemed to be engaged in an intense internal debate whether he should shout a warning, or get out his phone and start filming.
The other person in the room bore a startling resemblance to the man, if you removed several decades and about five hundred gallons of raw aggression.
He had the same uncompromising nose and dark eyes, though the former was straight and unbroken, and the latter were kind.
He too was looking between the two of them, though not with the same faintly horrified fascination.
From the compressed line of his mouth, only a supreme act of willpower was keeping him from bursting into laughter.
Honey had seen him before, though only in a glitching, low-res video feed. The badge pinned to his t-shirt confirmed his identity: Zephyr - Camp Director.
She hadn’t just made an open fool of herself. She’d made an open fool of herself in front of her boss.
Well, it couldn’t be changed now. She’d just have to style it out. She pasted her best, brightest smile onto her face, holding out a hand to the man.
“Hi,” she said to—oh God, had Zephyr said his name? If he had, she’d been far too lost in a drunken fog of hormones to recall it now. In desperation, she hooked her smile up so far that her cheeks hurt. “I’m so happy to meet you.”
The man made no move to take her hand. He pressed back against a desk, looking like he was seriously contemplating flipping it over into an impromptu defensive barricade.
Under all her hot embarrassment, Honey couldn’t help feeling a tiny curl of anger. Okay, so she wasn’t some wide-eyed blonde barely old enough to drink, like the man must have been expecting. He could at least be polite enough to hide his dismay.
She knew she should lower her hand and ignore the fact that he’d just blanked her. That was what she’d always done, after all; swallowed her own feelings, smoothed things over. But it had been a strange morning, and she was tired and confused and not at her best.
And damn it, she was just so sick of pretending nothing was wrong.
Face set in a rictus grin, Honey kept holding out her hand, maintaining eye contact with the man. He stared right back at her, with the same sort of attention one might give an unexpected tiger. She didn’t think he’d even blinked yet.
“Is there a problem?” Zephyr said mildly.
The glowering man started, as if he’d only just realized their standoff had an audience. He jerked his gaze away from Honey at last, scowl deepening.
“No,” he said, though his expression clearly stated that there was indeed a problem, and it was five foot six and standing in front of him in a howling wolf t-shirt. His voice matched his appearance—deep and gravelly, with a growling edge. “No problem.”
“Glad to hear it.” Zephyr stepped forward to accept Honey’s handshake in the man’s stead. “Please don’t mind Buck. He always looks like that. Just give him a chance. I promise he’s not nearly as intimidating as he seems.”
Zephyr directed this last statement over his shoulder, with a distinctly warning tone. The still-glowering man—Buck, evidently—twitched. He muttered something under his breath, too low for Honey to catch. Whatever it was, she had the distinct impression it had not been agreement.
“I’m sure we’ll make a great team,” Honey said, against all the evidence. “And thank you again for giving me this opportunity. It’s a dream come true.”
Buck obviously did not share this sentiment. He looked like he was praying his alarm would go off at any second, ending this terrible nightmare.
“I know the feeling,” Zephyr said. He dropped his voice, as though sharing a secret. “And don’t worry. It will all work out in the end. It did for me.”
Before Honey could ask what he’d meant by that rather cryptic statement, Zephyr turned to gesture at the red-headed man. “Allow me to introduce you to my business partner, Conleth. He handles the camp’s finances.”
“Along with everything else,” Conleth said. He’d gone back to his laptop, typing one-handed. With a start, Honey realized he had a phone in his other hand, his thumb dancing across the screen without hesitation. “Except the actual children, of course.”
“Conleth,” Buck growled. “Are you texting?”
“Why would I be texting?” Conleth raised the phone, pointing the camera at Buck. “And on a completely unrelated topic, we must capture this historic moment. You know, for the camp yearbook. Smile.”
“Do not,” Buck grated, “press that motherloving button.”
Zephyr stepped between the pair, blocking the threatened photo. He cast Honey a rather weary smile. “Sorry. I promise, we’re usually more professional than this.”
Conleth let out a derisive snort.
“You’ll meet the rest of the senior staff later, during the training sessions,” Zephyr said.
“Though I’m afraid you won’t have that much time to get to know everyone.
Normally we like to give new staff a week to settle in, but I understand that wasn’t practical in your case, given your work commitments. ”
“It was a bit of a rush to get here in time,” Honey admitted. “But I’m sure I’ll soon learn my way around.”
“Well, Buck knows where everything is around here.” Zephyr’s eyes crinkled as though at some private joke. “Especially your cabin. He can take you there now.”
“What?” Buck said.
“That would be great,” Honey said. Determined to recover from her disastrous first impression, she turned to Buck, dredging up a smile. “That will give us a chance to talk. We should get to know each other, since we’re—”
Co-counselors , she’d intended to say, but she never got the chance. Buck descended on her like a force of nature, all power and purpose, his muscled body abruptly right up in her personal space. Every word she’d ever learned fell straight out of her head.
“Right,” Buck said loudly. He seized her elbow—Honey’s few remaining brain cells sizzled and fused—pulling her toward the door. “We should talk. In private .”
“It was nice meeting you both!” Honey managed to squeak as Hurricane Buck swept her away. “Thank you again, director!”