Chapter 4
Four
If Taryn’s ass had not been on the line, Sarah would’ve packed up in the dead of night and driven back to New York out of sheer embarrassment.
Without the fog of lust, she was mortified.
She’d practically climbed Beckett like a tree, and if not for the harness and his own heroic restraint, she was pretty sure they’d have ended up naked on that table in the equipment shed. That was…appalling.
She didn’t have issues with sex. She liked sex—or had in the dim, dark recesses of her memory when she’d last had it.
But she wasn’t in the habit of going to bed—or table—with men she barely knew.
Okay, she’d never been so carried away that she’d been tempted by the nearest horizontal surface.
Beckett Hayes packed quite the sexual punch.
And dear God, those shoulders. Damn. Sex appeal aside, she liked Beckett.
He was focused, dedicated, thoughtful, and he had a helluva laugh, when he cut loose.
He interested her more than anyone or anything had in more years than she could count.
He was temptation embodied, and for the first time in her life, her first instinct wasn’t to question or wait or do anything but dive in headfirst. Like Taryn would.
And you’re leaving in ten days.
That made last night a terrible idea, exactly as he’d said before they’d mauled each other. It had been unquestionably mutual. Which was the only reason she managed to make herself turn toward the equipment shed a quarter after sunrise the next morning, instead of veering toward the parking lot.
The campus was silent but for the twitter of a few birds, who didn’t respect the holy rule of coffee before noise.
Lake Waawaatesi was still and smooth as glass, reflecting the watercolor sky.
Even in her uncaffeinated state, Sarah could appreciate that it was gorgeous.
Somehow, that made the insult of being up at this hour a little bit less harsh.
When was the last time she’d been somewhere this peaceful?
At home, she’d be waking—unwillingly—to street construction or the honk and hum of traffic.
This was better. So she paused, firing off a few shots with her camera to capture the moment for home. A snapshot of peace and tranquility.
Lights were already on inside the equipment shed.
Bracing herself, Sarah pushed the door open.
Beckett stood at the table, sorting through a bin of ascenders.
No doubt he was rechecking her work from yesterday.
A fresh wave of embarrassment hit, and with it came gratitude that he’d figured it out.
If something was wrong with any of the equipment she’d been meant to inspect, she’d prefer it be discovered rather than someone getting hurt because of her incompetence.
He turned. The smile started in his eyes, more blue than gray this morning, spreading like sunrise to the lips she’d dreamed about. And that, too, was a lovely way to start the day.
“Mornin’,” he said. “I brought coffee.”
The sweetest three words in the English language.
Zeroing in on the to-go cups emblazoned with the camp logo, Sarah made a beeline across the room. “You might be my perfect guy.”
She met his gaze as she lifted her cup, and suddenly that didn’t feel like joking flirtation. It felt like unavoidable truth.
Ridiculous. It’s just chemistry.
But it didn’t feel like just chemistry as she leaned back against the table and remembered his lips and hands on her. Skin buzzing with want, Sarah crossed her legs at the ankles and cleared her throat. “So what’s on the agenda this morning? Knots?”
“It can wait a few minutes. Drink your coffee and let your brain come online.”
“Bless you.” Maybe then her brain would catch up with her mouth and keep her from saying anything stupid. She sipped. “Do you regret last night?”
What? No! Coffee fail!
Beckett lifted a brow. “Do you?”
“I—” She opened her mouth. Closed it again. “Not exactly. I’m just embarrassed, I guess. I don’t normally… It’s been a while, and…”
He just stared at her, waiting.
Sarah’s cheeks went tight and hot. “Never mind. Forget I asked. Pre-coffee brain can’t be trusted.”
Beckett added another ascender back to the bin. “I don’t regret it, no. And I don’t think we have anything to be embarrassed about.”
She liked that he said “we.” And yet…
Another ascender went into the bin. “You don’t look like that made you feel any better.”
“It did. It’s just—” Sarah sighed. “We barely know each other.”
Beckett nodded and stayed silent for a few moments, checking and clearing another two ascenders. “So what do you want to know? What’s your minimum threshold of knowledge that will make you more comfortable with this?”
She laughed a little. “I don’t know.”
Abandoning the ascenders, he caged her against the table, planting his hands behind her. He didn’t touch her, but Sarah was aware of every hard inch of him as he leaned in, close enough that it would barely take more than breathing to brush her mouth to his. He smelled of soap and cedar. Delicious.
“Look, I figure a spark like this doesn’t come along every day. To my mind, it’s worth following up to see if it fizzles or catches. So, what do you want to know?”
When you’ll kiss me again. But that wasn’t what he was asking. “I guess I can’t say ‘everything,’ can I?”
Beckett’s lips curved, and he stepped back, returning to his bin of equipment.
“Okay. I’ll start with a mini-bio. I’m originally from Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.
Non-smoker. Social drinker. Coke over Pepsi.
Dogs over cats. Morning person, which I hope you won’t hold against me.
Did my undergrad at USC, then grad school at Dartmouth, where I met Michael and Heather. ”
“Dartmouth?” She hoped her sincere shock didn’t show in her tone. Nothing about this rugged man gave any hint of that world.
“Eh, don’t be impressed. I left before I graduated.”
Getting into an Ivy League graduate program was an achievement unto itself. She knew. “What were you studying?”
“I was getting my MBA.”
“Really? I would’ve imagined—I don’t know—environmental science or something.”
“That would’ve been a better fit.” He finished one bin and grabbed another. “I could have stuck it out, I guess. I was in the last year.”
Sarah couldn’t imagine being so close to finished and not following through. Just the idea of leaving such a thing dangling made her twitch. “Why didn’t you?”
“They’re big on group work in MBA programs. I found out in the middle of a presentation that my partner had plagiarized his entire half of the project.”
“Oh my God. Did your professor fail you, too?”
“Nope. He just said that kind of thing happened in the real world, and I needed to get over it.”
Her mouth fell open. “You’re kidding!”
“Wish I was. I figured if that was what the real corporate world was like, I’d never be happy, and I wanted none of it. I walked straight out. Didn’t even finish my half.”
“Ballsy.”
That gorgeous mouth of his twisted into a wry smile.
“The word my parents used was ‘stupid’. But that was later. There’s a trailhead for the Appalachian Trail about a mile from campus.
I packed a bag and hit the trail. By the time I made it to Virginia, I’d decided the National Park Service was my next step. ”
He said it casually, as if hiking what had to be around three hundred miles, give or take, was no big deal.
“You said you were at Yosemite the last three years?”
“Yeah. Stints at Conagree, Shenandoah, and Hot Springs before that.”
“So what are you doing here at Camp Firefly Falls? I’d think summer would be high season for a park ranger.”
“It is. I’m not a park ranger anymore.” Though his tone was easy, a muscle jumped in his jaw.
Something sensitive there. “I’m guessing that wasn’t as easy a decision as leaving Dartmouth.”
“Wasn’t my decision. Budget cuts,” Beckett grunted. “That’s how I ended up here. Michael did me a favor.”
That must’ve been the chance he’d been given.
God bless Michael Tully.
He put the second bin of ascenders back on the shelf and grabbed two lengths of rope. “What about you? You said you collected degrees.”
“Oh, well, it’s possible my parents—proud though they were of the first three—might also be veering toward a different descriptor of my pursuits at this point.”
“Three?”
“Working on my fourth.” When he went brows up in expectation she sighed. “I’ve got bachelor’s degrees in psychology, art, and nutrition. Right now I’m finishing up my master’s degree in neurobiology and behavior.”
“One of these things is not like the other.”
Sarah laughed. “I love photography. I really wanted to be a photographer when I was younger, but, sadly, I have zero desire to shoot weddings or be a photojournalist, and as my parents are fond of reminding me, there’s not really any other great way to make a living as a photographer.
But I threw in as many photography classes as I could for fun all through undergrad. Enough that it gave me another degree.”
“So the passion is neurobiology?”
Sarah thought of the thesis she was ready to set on fire. “‘Passion’ is, perhaps, not the right word.”
“You don’t like it?”
“I’m not sure you like anything by the time you get halfway through your thesis. I think despising your topic is part of the graduate school process.” At least, that was what she was telling herself to get to the end.
Beckett hummed a noncommittal noise. “So you finish your master’s degree. Then what?”
She thought longingly of the cabin she was sharing with Anna Garcia, a lovely girl from Arizona who was using Camp Firefly Falls as a stopover before joining the Peace Corps in the fall, and wished she were going to be here longer than two weeks. “A vacation would be nice, but a Ph.D. is the plan.”
“More graduate school in a subject you just admitted you despise?”
“A career in research seems to demand it.”
“Is a career in research what you want?”