Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 118(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 118(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Palmer
The sun is just burning off the morning dew a few mornings later as we stand in the middle of a clearing surrounded by pine and birch trees. I can feel Hudson behind me. His presence isn’t just close—it’s everywhere.
The solid heat of his chest against my back. The rough, calloused grip of his fingers adjusting mine. His breath, warm and steady, grazing my neck as he murmurs instructions.
“Loosen your grip.” His voice is low, a growl against my skin. “You hold it too tight, it’ll shake when you release.”
I swallow hard, trying to focus on the bow in my hands instead of the way he’s pressed up against me, completely unbothered by the fact that I’m barely breathing.
We’ve been at this for an hour.
After last night—after waking up in his arms, his body wrapped around mine like some kind of unspoken vow—he took me out to the edge of the property with a bow and quiver of arrows and declared I needed to learn how to survive.
Survival is hard when you’re standing this close to Hudson Kane. I do as he says, easing my grip on the bowstring, though my hands still tremble. His lips are near my ear now, his voice a quiet command. “Pull back. Slow.”
I exhale sharply, drawing the string, my muscles straining.
“Steady,” he murmurs.
I try. God, I try.
But he’s touching me, and my pulse is erratic, and when I let the arrow fly, it sails wide—missing the target completely and embedding into a tree twenty feet to the left.
I groan in frustration, stepping away from him, shaking my head. “I’m never going to get this.”
Hudson doesn’t look impressed. “You will.”
I glare at him. “Oh, sure. Maybe in five years.”
His lips twitch—almost a smirk, but not quite. “Good thing I’m a patient man.”
I scoff. “You’re patient?”
A muscle in his jaw ticks. “With you, yeah.”
My stomach flips. I don’t know how to respond to that, so I turn away, pretending to inspect the bow, anything to avoid the intensity of his gaze.
His voice cuts through the quiet. “Again.”
I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to argue. I don’t. Because deep down, I want to get this right. I want to prove I can.
So I pick up another arrow. And I try again.
Later that night, we sit in front of the fireplace, the warm glow flickering over the rustic walls of his cabin.
My arms ache from practice, but I’m too wired to sleep.
Hudson sits across from me, one leg bent, an arm draped over his knee. He’s watching me, that unreadable expression making my skin prickle.
I exhale, shaking my head. “You really think I’ll ever get the hang of this survival thing?”
“You did better than you think.”
I snort, rubbing my sore shoulder. “If that’s your idea of better, I’d hate to see worse.”
His lips twitch again. “You weren’t scared.”
I blink at him. “What?”
“You weren’t scared of the bow. Of the weight of it. Of failing.” He cocks his head, eyes dark. “You think you’re fragile, Palmer. But you’re not.”
Something thickens between us. Something heavy.
I hold his gaze. “You don’t even know me.”
His expression hardens. “I know enough.”
I swallow, pulse thrumming. “Like what?”
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his voice dropping lower.
“I know you don’t trust easy.” His eyes flick down to my hands, clenched in my lap. “I know you’re scared. I know you flinch when you hear a car pass, and I know that the only reason you came here was because running was the only option left.”
I can’t breathe.
“I thought you still loved him–thought you’d go running back to him as soon as you had the opportunity–I read the situation all wrong but now I know someone put fear in you,” he murmurs, his voice rough. “And I know I’d like to kill him for it.”
My heart slams against my ribs.
Hudson watches me, waiting. Giving me space to say something. But what the hell am I supposed to say to that?
The room feels too small. The air too thick. I lick my lips, my voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t love Malcolm. I thought I did, but he was toxic, even in the beginning, I just didn’t see it. I left because I had to–he took everything from me and then took more. Took my livelihood, my safety, my sanity.”
Hudson’s jaw tics.
“Malcolm called in a favor when we started dating that helped land me a contract with the biggest jewelry chain out east—the day I left him he must have called his contact because they emailed a day later and dropped me—told me they were returning all of the items I’d already custom made for them. He’s hellbent on ruining my life and I—I don’t know how to make him stop,” I admit, my fingers twisting together.
Hudson moves before I even realize he’s doing it. He stands, crossing the space between us in two long strides. Then he’s crouching in front of me, his rough hands closing over mine, prying my fingers apart. His voice is quiet, firm.