Page 12 of Seduced By the Mountain Man

I went through the standard safety briefing, explaining the buddy system we used on all hikes. "This trail has some narrow sections and a few stream crossings. Everyone needs a buddy—no exceptions."

Matt began pairing people off, mostly couples who were already together. Whitney immediately claimed a middle-aged doctor from Chicago who'd been not-so-subtly flirting with her at breakfast. Kayla paired with an older woman who was surprisingly fit for her age. Amber, of course, snagged Matt.

Which left Delaney standing alone, looking everywhere but at me.

Perfect.

"Looks like you're with me," I said, moving to her side. "Ready, partner?"

Her eyes narrowed. "This feels suspiciously convenient."

"Trail guide's privilege," I murmured. "Let's go."

We set off, leading the group along the pine-needle-covered path that wound its way up the mountainside. The morning air was crisp and sweet with the scent of wildflowers and sun-warmed earth. Under different circumstances, it would have been idyllic.

Instead, it was torture—walking so close to Delaney that our arms occasionally brushed, feeling the heat radiating from her body, catching whiffs of her coconut shampoo with every breeze.

She maintained a pointed silence for the first mile, responding to my trail commentary with nothing more than noncommittal hums. The rest of the group spread out behind us, Matt bringing up the rear to ensure no stragglers got left behind.

Finally, as we approached the first stream crossing—strategically placed stepping stones that required some balance—I seized my opportunity.

"Take my hand," I said, reaching out to her. "The rocks can be slippery."

"I'm fine," she replied coolly, but the path was narrow enough that she couldn't simply walk around me.

"It's protocol," I insisted. "I'm responsible for everyone's safety."

Her eyes flashed with irritation, but she placed her hand in mine. The contact was electric, her palm smooth against my callused one. I led her across, deliberately taking my time, savoring the connection.

Once across, she immediately tried to pull away, but I held firm.

"We need to talk about last night," I said, keeping my voice low so the approaching hikers wouldn't hear.

"There's nothing to talk about." She tugged her hand free. "It was a mistake."

"It didn't feel like a mistake," I countered, stepping closer. "It felt inevitable."

"Don't." Her voice was tight. "I'm not doing this, Jace. Not again."

"Doing what, exactly? Being honest about what's between us?"

"There is nothing between us." Her jaw was set, stubborn as always. "One drunken night and one impulsive kiss don't make a relationship."

"Then why can't you look me in the eye?" I challenged.

Her gaze snapped to mine, defiant. "Happy now?"

God, she was beautiful when she was angry—eyes flashing, cheeks flushed, lips pressed into a thin line that I desperately wanted to kiss into softness again.

"No," I said honestly. "I'm not happy. I haven't been happy since I walked away from you in Jackson Hole."

Something flickered in her expression—surprise, maybe doubt—before she shuttered it away. "You made your choice. You don't get to change your mind just because I happen to be here."

"What if I've been regretting that choice every day since?"

She shook her head, but before she could respond, Whitney called from behind us, breaking the moment.

"Are we stopping for photos at this bridge? The light is amazing!"

---