Page 15 of Ranger's Secret

Good. Let him figure it out.

4

JAGGER

She thinks she’s in control now?

That’s the girl I fell for. Wild-eyed and stubborn. Fire in her veins and bite in her voice. She could’ve clawed my face off and I still would’ve wanted to taste her again.

Sure, she threw me off last night. Caught me off guard when she flipped the script and walked away with my cock still hard and my pride slightly bruised.

But it was just a moment. A slip. One second where I forgot who the fuck I am.

Maybe,maybe, a small part of me feels guilty. I’ve been so wrapped up in chasing her, in making her pay for running, that I didn’t stop to think how far I’d pushed.

Now she’s out there, fumbling with a rope knot in front of the client she’s so desperate to impress, and I should be enjoying it. Payback for last night.

But instead?

Watching her struggle does something twisted to me. It makes me want to fix it and punish her in the same breath.

She’s trying to fake her way through a bowline knot, pretending she’s got it handled. That stubborn little creasebetween her brows is back. Her ponytail slips, strands falling into her flushed face, and all I can think about is brushing them away.

Delaney came here to win that client. To prove something. But she’s floundering. I clock the panic building behind her eyes and something sharp twists in my gut.

She won’t ask me for help. I know her too well. She’d rather choke on the rope than admit she’s struggling.

But there’s another game I can play now.

The hero.

The one who steps in. Fixes it. Saves her from herself and makes damn sure she knows exactlywhoshe’s leaning on.

I catch the flash of panic in her eyes the moment her fingers fumble the rope again. The client is watching, taking mental notes that could make or break her career. Everyone else is pretending not to notice, but I can see the quiet satisfaction on Brett's face as he watches her struggle.

I move without thinking, closing the distance between us in three strides.

"Holt. With me," I demand, my voice low.

She jerks at the sound but doesn't budge, pride keeping her rooted in place.

"Now." There's steel in my voice this time, but underneath is something else. Something that saystrust me.

She glares. "I'm in the middle of something."

I step closer, dropping my voice even lower. "You want to blow this in front of your client? Or you want to actually get it right?"

That gets through to her.

She follows me behind one of the trucks, her body radiating wounded pride. I don't give her time to build her walls back up. I take the rope from her hands and show her how to tie a clean bowline.

"Watch the loop," I tell her, pushing the rope back into her grip. "You're overthinking it."

"I know how to…" she starts, then catches herself. Her mouth twists as if the words taste bitter, but she swallows whatever cutting remark she was about to make.

Smart kitten.

She tries again. Slowly this time, carefully, without the frantic energy that's been sabotaging her all morning. This time, her fingers move with purpose instead of panic.

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