Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 119746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
“Just as I thought,” Jensen murmurs against my hair. There’s a teasing edge to his voice that has my heart knocking against my ribs. “You’re as stubborn as Angus.”
“I take orders well when they suit me,” I mutter, but I’m grinning like an idiot.
He laughs softly and pulls me closer, his heartbeat steadying under my ear as we lie tangled together. I’m not sure how long we stay like that before he finally shifts to look at me, his expression serious.
“This doesn’t change anything,” he says finally, voice low and rough. His eyes search mine in the firelight, looking for understanding, for agreement. “You know that, right? I mean that it can’t.”
I push up on one elbow to look at him, studying his face. The harsh planes and shadows, the careful distance already returning to his gaze even as his body remains pressed against mine.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, cowboy,” I answer as casually as I can muster.
He meets my eyes, and for once, I think I’m seeing the real Jensen McGraw—not the mask he wears for the world, but the man beneath. Complicated. Haunted. And running from something, the same as I am.
“When morning comes, we go back to business,” he says. “We keep searching for your sister. We don’t talk about this.”
I should feel used. Should feel angry at the dismissal. Instead, I find myself nodding. Because the truth is, I need the distance as much as he does. Whatever this was—release, connection, momentary weakness—it can’t happen again. Not if I want to keep my focus. Not if I want to find Lainey.
“Agreed.” I reach for my discarded clothes, suddenly needing the armor they provide.
Jensen watches me dress without moving, firelight playing across his bare chest. I can feel his eyes tracking every movement, memorizing. When I’m finished, I glance toward my untouched sleeping bag.
“Get some sleep,” he says, already pulling on his jeans. “Dawn comes early in these mountains.”
I nod, retreating to my sleeping bag, putting physical distance between us even as my body still hums with the memory of his touch. Tomorrow we’ll be guide and client again. Professional. Distant. Guarded.
But as I slip into the bag, watching him move around the cabin with that fluid grace that first caught my attention, I know one thing with absolute certainty: whatever just happened between us was real. Raw. Honest in a way nothing else has been since I arrived at Lost Trail Ranch.
“Jensen,” I say softly as he heads for the stairs.
He pauses, looking back at me over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
Words fail me. What am I even trying to say? That I shouldn’t want him? That despite everything, I can’t bring myself to regret what just happened?
“Nothing,” I say finally. “Just…goodnight.”
Something flickers in his eyes. A softness. “Goodnight, Aubrey.”
He climbs the stairs without another word, his footsteps fading into silence. I stare at the ceiling, listening to the crackle of the fire, feeling the weight of all the things we didn’t say.
In the morning, we’ll pretend this never happened. We’ll avoid each other’s eyes over breakfast. We’ll keep our distance.
But the memory of his hands on my skin, his voice rough in my ear, the way he looked at me like he was drowning and I was both the water and the air—those things will follow us. Into the mountains. Into whatever dangers await us there.
And that might be the most dangerous thing of all.
16
AUBREY
Iwake to the dying embers of the fire and the sound of the cabin door closing. Pale morning light filters through the gaps in the shutters, casting thin stripes across the rough-hewn floorboards.
I stretch beneath the heavy wool blanket, memories of the night washing over me in fragments—Jensen’s strong hands moving over my skin, alternating between unexpected gentleness and frenzied roughness, his mouth hot against my neck, the weight of him pressing me into the bearskin rug before the hearth. The quiet intensity in his eyes when he looked down at me in the firelight, as if memorizing every detail before he flipped me over and took me from behind.
I sit up, running a hand through my tangled hair. The cabin is quiet save for the occasional creak of timber adjusting to the morning sun. From upstairs come the sounds of men still sleeping—Cole’s loud snore, the rustle of someone turning in a bunk. They don’t know what transpired down here last night. Or at least, I hope they don’t.
I sigh and stare at my hands. I know sleeping with Jensen was reckless and unprofessional. Carlos would have my badge if he knew I’d compromised an investigation by getting involved with a person of interest.
And yet, this isn’t an official investigation and Jensen isn’t a person of interest. I’m not here as Special Agent Wells of the FBI. I’m just Aubrey, a woman searching for her sister. A woman who, for a few hours last night, found comfort in the arms of a man as haunted as she is.