Page 15 of Wild Valentine
My heart’s thumping in my chest so loud I think the whole forest must hear it.
He wants to talk. He wants to share his story, but he doesn’t want me to write about it. I should push for more. Scott would want me to. Play hard to get and insist I won’t spend time withhim unless he agrees to do the feature. But as I look into his troubled eyes, I can’t do it.
I’m not cutthroat like Scott needs me to be. I want the story, but I won’t breach this man’s trust. Maybe I’m not cut out to be a feature writer after all. I’m not ruthless enough.
“What’s wrong?”
Marcus frowns and I look down, embarrassed that my every thought is written across my face.
“Nothing,” I mumble.
If it was just the job, it would be a no brainer. But then I think about mom, her sunken expression, spending her last days in a rundown facility. Why does life have to be so complicated?
“Dinner sounds good.” I lift my eyes to his and force a smile.
“Off the record,” he reiterates.
“Off the record,” I repeat and hope like hell I can keep my promise.
There’s a cough behind me, and I turn to find the instructor staring at us pointedly.
I give a giggle like we’ve been caught.
“Who’s going first?” he asks.
“Me!”
I step forward and allow him to attach me to the next zip line. For today, I’m going to enjoy myself. I’m doing something fun with a hot, interesting man.
For one day, I can just be Hazel Lumley, a twenty-five-year-old, kind of chubby city girl enjoying a few days in the mountains.
But as I fly over the canopy, I can’t shake the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach, my conscience nibbling at me, telling me what I’m doing is wrong.
6
HAZEL
The aroma of thyme and rosemary hangs in the air and heat from the fire warms my cheeks, making them glow hot, but it’s the presence of Marcus next to me that makes my skin burn.
We cooked dinner together in his cabin, a chicken stew which he garnished with herbs from his own garden. It turns out he’s an excellent cook, which doesn’t surprise me. The man’s creative and good with his hands. My body shivers when I think about what those big, creative hands would feel like on my body.
His cabin is sparse but tastefully furnished. A coffee table carved from a single hunk of wood sits by the blazing fire. We eat cross-legged on the rug, needing to be close to the fire to warm us up.
There’s no hint of a woman here, and I’m dying to ask him about his status. The woman at the studio told me he was unmarried, but I want to be sure. But it’s hard to casually ask if he has a girlfriend without been completely obvious about why I want to know.
Because I like him.
“So, you’re telling me that you family is cursed and something bad is going to happen on Valentine’s Day, but it wasn’t always a bad curse because it’s also your birthday?”
I hide my face in my hands. It sounds even more ridicules said out loud by a practical mountain man. But he pushed me about my birthday, and so I told him everything except for the bit about Mom and the bills.
“Something like that.”
I peek at him though my fingers, waiting for the laughter, but Marcus nods solemnly. “Sounds reasonable.”
He’s teasing me, and I grab the cushion behind my back and swipe him with it.
“You know it’s only a day, right? And it has no power if you don’t give it any.”
