Page 19 of Wild About the Mountain Guide
“Really. I was nineteen and trying to impress some girl by bragging to her about my wilderness skills. Spent so much time talking about the trip beforehand that I forgot to pack a tent.”
Peyton laughs, and the sound warms my entire body. “Did it work? Did you impress her?”
“Not exactly. When I got back and told her about my nights of misery, she said I was an idiot and that she preferred guys who could remember basic survival gear.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah. Lesson learned.” I click off the headlamp, plunging us into darkness. “The point is, we all make mistakes. Even those of us who are supposed to know what we’re doing.”
“Thanks. It makes me feel better to know you mess up, too, from time to time.”
I laugh. “Good to know that my shortcomings bring you joy.”
We lie in silence for a while, and I focus on slowing my breathing. On trying to relax. On falling asleep. But I’m hyperaware of every sound she makes, like the rustle of her sleeping bag when she shifts position and the soft sigh she lets out as she tries to get comfortable. The space between us feels charged, like the mountain air before a thunderstorm. There’s no way I’ll be able to fall asleep like this.
“Knox?” she whispers.
“Yeah?”
“Are you comfortable? I can move over more if you need space.”
“I’m fine,” I lie.
Truth is, I’m the opposite of fine. I’m wound so tight that I’ll probably be up all night. Not because of the limited space, but because of the warmth radiating from Peyton’s sleeping bag and the idea that she’s right here next to me.
“Okay. Good night.”
“Good night, Peyton.”
I close my eyes and try to think about tomorrow’s route, about the creek crossing we’ll need to navigate, aboutanythingexcept the amazing woman lying six inches away from me. But my mind keeps drifting back to our conversation earlier and to the way she looked at me when I told her I didn’t want this week to end. The way she smiled when I said I’d send Melissa a thank-you card.
Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but I think she might feel something too. The thought both thrills and terrifies me.
After what feels like hours, her breathing deepens and evens out. She’s fallen asleep, but I’m still wide awake, staring at the tent ceiling and listening to the soft sounds she makes. At some point, she shifts in her sleep, and I hear the rustling of her sleeping bag as she turns toward me.
In the faint starlight filtering through the tent fabric, I can just make out her face. She looks peaceful and content. A strand of hair falls across her cheek, and before I can stop myself, I reach out to brush it away.
My fingers barely graze her skin, but it’s enough to discover how soft she is. My heart hammers against my ribs as I tuck the strand behind her ear, careful not to wake her. She makes a small sound and shifts closer, and suddenly, only an inch of space separates us.
I should move away. I should roll over and face the other direction. But I can’t tear my eyes away. Instead, I find myself memorizing the curve of her cheek and the way her eyelashes cast shadows in the dim light. When did I start falling for her? Was it when she laughed at Marcus’s condescending attitude? When she admitted she was scared of crossing that stream but pushed through anyway? Or was it earlier, maybe the first time she looked at me like I was more than her guide?
She shifts again, and this time her hand escapes from her sleeping bag, landing on the narrow space between us. Herfingers are relaxed, slightly curled. Without thinking, I move my hand closer until our fingertips are almost touching. Not quite, but close enough that I can feel the warmth of her skin.
This is dangerous territory. She’s a client. I’m being paid to keep her safe, not to lie here in the dark thinking about how much I want to hold her hand, how much I want to know what it would feel like to wake up beside her every morning.
But I can’t make myself move away. Instead, I lie there while my eyes grow heavy.
A few hours later, I wake to find that somehow, while we were both asleep, we’ve moved closer to each other. Her hand is now resting against mine, our fingers loosely intertwined. My heart stops for a moment, then starts beating twice as fast. She must have reached for my hand in her sleep. The thought makes my pulse quicken.
I should pull away before she wakes up, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Instead, I hold her hand and try to memorize how this feels. The weight of her fingers against mine, the way she unconsciously squeezes when she shifts in her sleep. How it feels unbelievably right.
When the first light filters through the tent, I reluctantly ease my hand away from hers. She stirs slightly but doesn’t wake, pulling her hand back to her chest with a soft sigh.
I lie there watching her sleep for a few more minutes, my chest tight with emotion. This week is supposed to be about getting her safely to the top of Mount Hartley and collecting my paycheck afterward. It was never supposed to be about…fallingfor someone.
But as I watch her eyelids flutter in the growing light and remember the feel of her hand in mine, I know it’s too late for sensible thoughts. I’ve already fallen for her. The only question now is whether I’m brave enough to see where this leads, or if I’ll chicken out and keep pretending we’re just friends.
Outside, the first birds begin to sing, which means the others will soon be waking up. Time to get back to being professional Knox, the wilderness guide who definitely didn’t spend half the night holding his client’s hand and thinking about what it might be like to kiss her.
