Page 66 of Trapped with the Forest Ranger
"You said you want me to lead. To make the call." His voice is ice and fire. Calm on the outside, thunder underneath. The muscle in his jaw ticks—the only tell that this is costing him something. "I'm not asking. I'm telling you to go."
My lungs constrict. "I came here ready to stay. To chooseyou. And you're pushing me away?"
Pain flashes across his face—there and gone so fast I might have imagined it, but his stance doesn't waver. "I'm doing the one thing yousaidyou wanted—giving you orders. Not just the ones you like. The real ones. The hard ones."
"That's bullshit." The words explode from me, sharp with betrayal. "You just don't want to take the risk. You don't want to fight for this."
Something dangerous flares in his eyes. He steps forward, all six-foot-plus of controlled power looming over me. His hands are fists at his sides like he's physically restraining himself.
"You think that's what this is? You think this doesn't cost me everything?"
Rage and hurt surge through me. I shove him. Hard. My palms connect with his chest—solid muscle that doesn't yield. "Then show me. Stop pretending youdon't want me to stay andshow me."
His control snaps.
He grabs my wrists. Slams my back against the wall hard enough to rattle picture frames. My arms are pinned above my head before I can breathe. His body crushes into mine, every inch of him pressed against me, his erection obvious through his jeans. His mouth hovers an inch from mine, breath ragged, eyes wild.
"Youreallywant this, Harper?" His voice is gravel and broken glass. "You wantthatside of me?"
My breath comes in pants. Everything in me screams yes. I nod.
"No nodding. Words." His grip tightens, fingertips digging into my pulse points.
The command shoots straight to my core. I’ve been craving this: a man who knows what I need before I do. The one who can take me apart and put me back together stronger.
"Yes." The word comes out as a whisper.
His eyes darken further. Green swallowed by black. That last thread of restraint visibly frays.
"Then strip. Right. Now."
My pulse slams through my veins. For a heartbeat, I hesitate—old fears, old doubts rising up.
"I said now." His voice drops, quiet and lethal.
The tone brooks no argument. It's the voice of a man who expects obedience, whodemandsit. And God help me, I want to give it to him. He backs me up until I’m pressed against the door, then he opens it, ushering me inside.
My fingers tremble as I reach for my flannel. Buttons slip through holes with agonizing slowness. His eyes track every movement, burning paths across my skin before I'm exposed. The flannel hits the floor. My tank top follows, over my head in one motion, leaving me in just a bra.
"Keep going."
The rasp in his voice makes me shiver. My hands shakeharder as I work the button of my jeans. The zipper sounds obscenely loud in the charged silence. Denim slides down my legs, pooling at my feet. I step out of them, kicking them aside.
I stand before him in nothing but black lace—the set I put on this morning without consciously admitting why.
He doesn't move. Doesn't touch. Just watches with predatory stillness that makes my skin feel too tight.
"All of it."
My breath catches. This is the moment. The precipice.
I reach behind my back. Unhook my bra. Let it fall.
My nipples tighten instantly in the cool air, or maybe from the weight of his gaze. I hook my thumbs in my panties and push them down. The last scrap of fabric whispers to the floor.
I'm bare. Exposed. Vulnerable in ways that have nothing to do with nudity.
Yet, I've never felt more alive.
