Page 10 of Wild Peak

“Are you sure?” Hunter asks, and he sounds pained. Likehe’sthe one who tumbled down a mountainside today.

“Hunter, I swear to god—”

His warm mouth seals against mine, firm and urgent. The air rushes from my lungs, and I tilt my head, kissing him back, dying with how good this feels. Howright.

Finally.

Hunter kisses me like he needs me more than air.

And yes, his beard is soft.

Six

Hunter

Once I’ve kissed Brooke for the first time, once we’ve well and truly crossed that line, all bets are off. She may be my best friend’s little sister, she may be way off limits, but like she pointed out, Jake is not here and Brooke is a grown ass woman.

A grown woman who parts her lips and sighs when I kiss her, crowding her back against the wicker sofa. A woman who wraps both arms around my neck and clings on for dear life, like she’s scared I might change my mind and end the kiss early.

No fear.

Not even a lightning bolt could stop me now. Nor a wildfire raging over the mountainside. Certainly not the quiet voice in my head that says this is a bad idea, and I’m gonna regret it once I’m alone in my cabin again.

“Oh,” Brooke says, “my god,” fitting the words between frantic kisses. “Why haven’t we—mph—been doing this for years?”

Because she was a kid and then a teenager and I was so much older. Because I obviously never looked at her with anything beyond fond protectiveness back then.

And because by the time I finally saw Brooke as an adult in that grocery store parking lot, I was so used to thinking of her as Jake’s little sister that the sudden rush of attraction made me feel like a complete monster. Honestly, Istillhaven’t gotten this all squared away in my brain.

Yes, Brooke is an adult.

Yes, she’s free to kiss whoever she likes.

No, there’s no reason that shouldn’t be me.

And yet…

“You’re sure about this?” I murmur, trailing open-mouthed kisses down Brooke’s bare throat. For the record, my hunch was right before: she feels like satin to touch. So perfect and soft. Brooke shivers and tilts her head to one side, giving me better access, while her hands yank my shoulders closer. My plea is muffled against her skin. “Brooke. Hey. Listen. Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she hisses, clawing her fingernails down my back through my shirt. My skin prickles in ten hot lines, and my back muscles twitch, every part of me so sensitive to her touch. Arousal twists in my gut as I chase her mouth down again for another deep, messy kiss.

The breathless sounds she makes.

Her sweet taste.

The soft tickle of her hair where a lock has snaked inside the collar of my shirt.

I’m fucking ruined.

Brooke.

Some man someday is going to make her happy. He’ll get to bring her coffee in the morning and give her his own silly nickname; he’ll get to grill for her outdoors in the summer and make jokes about how she brings out his inner caveman. One day, they’ll get married and Brooke will carry his kids, and lord if that realization doesn’t eat at me like spilled battery acid. There’s a hole in the center of my chest, sizzling and raw.

I’m so fucking jealous of this hypothetical man, it makes my movements jerky and my grip rougher than I’d like. Brooke, though, doesn’t complain—instead she whimpers and kisses me harder as I squeeze her hips.

You’re lucky to get this much. My inner reminder is stern, my racing mind desperately trying to get things back under control, because Brooke only challenged me to a single kiss. She offered an inch, and now I’m taking a mile.

I should be better.

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