Page 42 of Trapped with the Forest Ranger
We fell asleep tangled together on a nest of blankets in front of the fire, conversation spinning out into the dark—no more walls, just questions and confessions, secrets traded in low voices as the storm battered the world outside.
We talked for hours, voices low in the hush of night, slipping past defenses we didn’t know we were ready to drop. I learned the shape of his grief—the jagged edges he keeps hidden under muscle and silence. The tenderness threaded into his voice when he talks about the forest. The way his eyes go soft when he thinks no one’s watching.
He asked about my father. My mother. The ache of never staying long enough to be left behind. I answered with truths I’ve never let live outside my chest.
And now, in the early hush of morning, I lie still, not wanting to break whatever spell held him here through thenight. His body curls around mine like a shield, heat seeping through the thin cotton of my shirt. His breath coasts over my neck—slow, even, until it changes.
The shift is subtle. A soft inhale, then the flex of muscle. The slide of his palm over my stomach, spreading wide. Not sleep. Not chance. A choice.
My body sparks to life.
I stay perfectly still, heart pounding against his hand. I want to push back into him, grind against the hardness pressing into the curve of my ass. I want to tempt the restraint out of him, beg him to stop pretending.
“Morning.” His voice is a low growl, rough with sleep and something darker. Something hungry.
I turn in his arms. His eyes are half-lidded, hair tousled, stubble shadowing the hard lines of his jaw. There’s no armor here. Just heat. Just him. And me. Tangled in the aftermath of too many truths and not enough touch.
“Morning.” My voice comes out breathless, pulled from somewhere low and wanting.
His thumb skims my cheek, brushing the corner of my mouth. Lingering. Watching. Waiting. My breath stutters. His gaze drops to my lips—and holds. The tension pulls taut, electric, like the air right before a storm tears open the sky.
I don’t move. I can’t. I’m strung tight, aching for him to break first.
His hand slips lower, thumb teasing the edge of my hip bone. Every nerve lights up. One move. One breath. That’s all it would take.
The radio crackles. Loud. Abrasive. Final.
He flinches like it burned him, and the moment is gone. He rolls away, dragging the sheet with him, tucking himself behind the shield of routine. The ranger. The protector. The man who almost lethimself have me.
Frustration claws through my chest. I sit up slowly, letting the cool air replace the warmth he left behind.
Last night, every word he said, every lingering touch, was a promise.
But if he’s going to ruin me like he swore—if he’s going to leave marks I can’t hide—then he’s going to have to stop holding back.
He’s going to have to stop pretending I’m something he can resist.
I will beg for many things, but I won’t beg for that.
Not again.
He finishes the radio call, turning to me with a wry smile. “Another tree fell on the roof overnight. I need to assess the damage.”
Just like that, the fragile intimacy of morning is gone, replaced by duty, the false comfort of structure. But something’s shifted. I see it in the way his hand lingers when he passes me the coffee mug, his fingers brushing mine just a second too long. In the way his gaze catches and holds, heat banked low and dangerous behind those eyes, like a fire smoldering beneath snow.
He works quickly, muscles flexing beneath his flannel as he lifts branches and climbs the ladder. When he strips off his shirt, I can’t stop staring at the strength in his arms, the way his body moves—controlled, powerful, capable of so much restraint and, I suspect, so much more.
“See something interesting?” His voice startles me, but there’s a knowing glint in his eyes.
Heat floods my cheeks, but I hold his gaze. “Just making sure you don’t fall. I’d hate to have to drag you back inside.”
“I’ll try to stay upright for you.” A genuine smile breaks across his face, rare and devastating.
By mid-morning, the cabin is restored, but the tensionbetween us is anything but settled. He checks his watch, frowning.
“Need to hike out to the weather station. The one where we…” He trails off, but I know exactly what he means.
“The one where you almost kissed me,” I say quietly, letting the memory hang between us.
