Page 5 of Ranger's Secret

It's day two,and I've got the volunteers working trail maintenance. Axes. Mud. Sweat. Good, honest work that usually clears my head.

Today it's doing nothing but making me watch Delaney try to disappear into the background when she's the only thing I can focus on. I can't keep my eyes off her. The way those leggings hug every curve of her ass when she bends to grab branches. How her ponytail swings when she turns her head, exposing that part of her neck that I want to mark with my teeth. The grunt she makes when she's hauling logs—the same sound I bet she'd make underneath me.

She's positioned herself at the back of the line, trying like hell to blend into her fleece and stay out of my orbit. That oversized jacket is supposed to hide her.

Not a chance in hell I'm letting her hide.

She thinks she's subtle, but I see everything. I always do.

She's already aching. She just doesn't want to admit it.

I'm supposed to be giving some talk about trail safety and conservation. Instead, all I'm thinking about is what it would take to crack that careful composure. How many buttons I'd have to push before she gives in to me. How she'd sound saying my name when she's not trying to pretend she doesn't know it.

"Holt," I bark at her.

She flinches. Head snaps up. Those green eyes go wide.

"You planning to contribute or just stand there taking up space?"

Everyone turns to look. Brett from Sterling snorts like this is the entertainment portion of the program. Someone else chuckles. Her cheeks go pink, but she lifts her chin.

That's my kitten.

I want her mad. Want her rattled. Want her thinking about me every damn second of the day, even if it's just to curse my name. Hate burns just as hot as desire, and I'll take whatever fire I can get from her.

I split the group into smaller teams, making sure to assign her to mine. She glares at me, knowing exactly what I'm doing.

We start hauling logs to reinforce the trail. I make sure to stay close. Brush her shoulder when I pass. Step into her space to point out technique. Guide her over roots with a hand low on her back that lingers just long enough.

Every reaction is a fucking revelation. She stiffens when I get too close. Sucks in air when my fingers graze her skin. Pretends she doesn't feel the electricity that jumps between us. But she does.

She's fighting this thing between us with everything she has, and it's the most beautiful war I've ever seen.

When we're out of earshot, arms full of fresh-cut timber, she finally snaps.

"You're doing this on purpose," she hisses, dropping her log with a thud.

I turn, crowding her against the tree line with a smirk. "What, kitten? You think I'm sabotaging your big opportunity? Or are you just mad I'm the only one here who knows how you taste?"

She exhales sharply through her nose. "You really are such an asshole."

"Maybe." I lean in. "But I'm the asshole you kissed. The one you're still dreaming about."

Her eyes narrow to slits. "Please. If I'm dreaming about anything, it's shoving you off a cliff."

That pulls a chuckle out of me. Fuck, she's even hotter when she's spitting mad.

"You sure about that?" I close the last bit of space between us, backing her against the nearest pine. "Because I can see your pulse jumping in that pretty throat. The way you're breathing. I can see exactly what I do to you."

She opens her mouth like she's about to spit something back, but nothing comes out. Just that soft exhale that tells me everything.

"And I bet if I touched you right now," I say.

I raise my hand slowly, watching her the entire time. She doesn't flinch. Doesn't run. Just stares at me, daring me to follow through.

I place my palm right over her chest, feeling her heart hammering beneath the fleece.

"There it is," I growl. "Racing. Your body knows what it wants, even if your head won't admit it."

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