by Kait Nolan
“No, you won’t. You’re going back to camp, and we’re going back to that equipment shed. And I’m not letting you leave it until you can name everything in there, piece-by-piece. Then tomorrow morning, you’ll be up with the sun to start all over again.”
She stared at him. “Excuse me?”
“I won’t lie. But I’ll get you certification-ready myself.”
For a long moment she simply sat in stunned silence. “Why would you do that?”
“Much as I disagree with what you’re doing, I appreciate the motivation behind it. I get what it means for somebody to give you a chance when the odds are stacked against you. Add to that, I like you.” His mouth snapped shut after the admission, a little like slamming the barn door after the horses had gotten out.
“Thank you. Truly. My sister and I will both owe you.”
Beckett waved that way. “Not worried about that. Now finish your burger. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
~*~
Beckett was going to regret this. What the hell was he thinking, promising to certify an almost totally green climber by the end of the week? Irritation—with himself, with the situation, with her—made his movements jerky as he unlocked the equipment shed and let them inside.
You weren’t thinking with your big boy brain.
Which was also ridiculous. She’d be gone in a week. Where did he think this was gonna go?
He blamed Michael and Heather and their absurdly infectious happiness. He blamed this place. Most of all, he blamed the fact that he couldn’t bet against the underdog. He’d been one too often in his life, so he had sympathy for the real Taylor. And a helluva lot of respect for the sister who was willing to put herself out there trying to help her.
“Sit,” he ordered.
She did, without complaint, waiting as he gathered up gear.
By the time he sat across from her at the work bench, he was calmer. “I’m not going to ask you what you already know. I’ll teach you as I’d teach any novice.”
“Okay.”
He slipped into instructor mode, repeating the lecture he’d given so often to beginner classes in the past. He went over components, explained their purpose, showed how each worked together. Through it all, Sarah listened, intent. And when he asked her to repeat the details back, she did, without error.
“You’re a good student.”
“Ought to be. I’ve practically made a career of it.”
That’s right. She’d mentioned she was in grad school.
Beckett picked up one of the harnesses. “Now we’re going to suit you up.” As he took in her expression of alarm, he added, “Not to climb tonight. Just to show you proper harness fit and begin introduction to the knots you’ll be using.” He held it out so she could step into it.
Hesitating only a moment, she laid her hand on his shoulder for balance and slipped one leg through, then the other. Beckett rose and worked the harness up, which pulled her nearly flush against his body. He’d been in this position countless times before, but his blood had never begun to pump like this. Her hand was still on his shoulder and her pupils dilated wide, those Bambi eyes tempting him to dive in and drown.
“Where are you in grad school?” he blurted, pulling his attention back to the harness and reaching for the waist strap, threading it through the buckle on the first side with as much business-like efficiency as possible.
Her hand fell away. “Columbia. This time.”
“This time?”
A little sheepish, Sarah shrugged. “Taylor and I share an inability to settle on a career. Her response has been to move from job to job, trying out this or that. Mine has been to collect degrees.”
“An expensive thing to collect.” Even state colleges were hella expensive these days, and he knew well enough the cost of Ivy League education. He was still paying his off.
“If you’re a good enough student, you can get scholarships or assistantships to pay for it. I like learning things, so as long as I could stay in school without going into debt, I picked that. It seemed less scary than the real world. My sister says I’m a terrible bookworm.”
She didn’t fit his mental image of a bookworm. Then again, he hadn’t been the typical MBA student either.
Beckett grabbed the other side of the waist strap and threaded it through the buckle, drawing it snug. “There shouldn’t be room to fit more than a couple of fingers in.” He demonstrated and immediately regretted it as his fingers pressed against the flat of her belly. Just a thin layer of cotton separated him from skin. Sarah hissed a breath. He started to apologize, but instead, his eyes tracked to her mouth. Her lips were pink and glossy. He wondered if she’d taste like the pale ale she’d been drinking at dinner.
“You’re supposed to…to double back the straps,” she said.
For a moment, his mind blanked because his hand was still on her and he could feel her warmth against the backs of his fingers. What were they talking about?
“And tuck them in the sleeve.” Her throat worked as she swallowed.
The harness. He was fitting her for the harness.
Beckett cleared his throat. “Right. Good.”
Dropping his gaze, he finished adjusting the rest of the straps, which just put him in close proximity with those excellent legs of hers. His fingers itched to touch and stroke, to find out if her skin was as soft as it looked. Jesus, if he was this rattled by being close to adjust her harness, how was he going to teach her the rest of it? Straightening, he gave her harness a few tugs, checking the fit. It would just take one pull to haul her into him…
“This is a terrible idea.”
Beckett didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud until she said, “Probably. But we’ve established I don’t run from terrible ideas.”
His eyes came back to hers, deep and dark and steady. Neither of them was talking about the climbing. The air between them snapped taut, shuddering like a rope under too much strain.
“Are we going to talk about this?’ he rasped.
“Do you want to talk?” There went her eyebrow, that little sign of the sass he liked so much.
“No.” If they talked about it, one or both of them would probably come to their senses and this moment would disappear. Foolish as it was, he didn’t want that.
Sarah laid a hand on his chest. “Neither do I.”
To hell with it.
Beckett gave in, curling his hands around her harness and tugging her into him, until they softly collided, body-to-body. Her arms slid around his waist as she tipped her face up. Her mouth was soft, yielding beneath his on a sigh that fired his blood. Needing to touch her, he lifted a hand to cup her nape, stroking the silky skin there before angling her head so he could take the kiss a little deeper. On a sexy little moan, she rose up, opening for him. They hovered there at that delicious edge of thickening arousal, and then she dove.
She flooded his senses, the taste of her, the scent of her, wrapping around him, pulling him under, on a fast, reckless slide that burned through whatever sense remained. Blind and deaf to anything but her, Beckett shifted, backing her up until they bumped against the table. Mouth still fused with hers, he lifted her onto it. And Jesus, her legs were as soft and toned as he imagined. She wrapped them around him, locking them at his back.
He skimmed his hands beneath her shirt, spanning the heated skin of her back. Hers followed suit, tunneling beneath his t-shirt to skate up his chest. Well, who was he to deny a lady? He yanked it off and found her lips again, glorying in the delighted purr she made as she explored his pecs and shoulders. When those fingers dug into his shoulders, he growled, and nudged up her tank top to find her pert breasts. She arched into his hands, against his hips and he went half-mad, greedily swallowing down her whimpers of pleasure.
Before he could think—because thought had long since stopped—his hands went for the button of her shorts. And found straps instead.
Confused, Beckett hesitated, tearing his mouth away to see what the hell the impedime
nt was. The harness. The damned climbing harness he’d just put on her himself.
“Call the locksmith,” Sarah gasped.
Her eyes were huge, dark, and devastatingly aroused.
“Did you just quote Men In Tights to me?”
Breath still heaving, the corner of that kiss-swollen mouth curved. “Seems I did.”
Beckett chuckled, dropping his brow to hers. The chuckle rolled into a full on whoop of laugher. “My God, you may be my perfect woman.” Finding a thread of control somewhere in the humor, he tugged down her shirt and skimmed a thumb over her cheek. “But this is not the perfect setting.”
Her smile was wry. “I suppose I got a little carried away.”
“I’m not complaining, as I was right there with you. But your chastity belt of webbing probably saved us from crossing a line that shouldn’t be crossed tonight.”
Sarah sucked in a breath and let it out on a long sigh. “You’re right. More’s the pity.”
“A pity indeed,” he murmured as she slid off the table. Because he didn’t care for the look of regret in her eyes, Beckett tipped her tipped her chin up and brushed a quick, soft kiss over her lips. “But hey, tomorrow’s another day.”
~*~
If Taylor’s ass had not been on the line, Sarah would’ve packed up in the dead of night and driven back to New York out of sheer embarrassment. Without the fog of lust, she was mortified. She’d practically climbed Beckett like a tree, and if not for the harness and his own heroic restraint, she was pretty sure they’d have ended up naked on that table in the equipment shed. That was…appalling.
She didn’t have issues with sex. She liked sex—or had in the dim, dark recesses of her memory when she’d last had it. But she wasn’t in the habit of going to bed—or table—with men she barely knew. Okay, she’d never been so carried away that she’d been tempted by the nearest horizontal surface. Beckett Hayes packed quite the sexual punch. And dear God, those shoulders. Damn. The fact was, sex appeal aside, she liked Beckett. He was focused, dedicated, thoughtful, and he had a helluva laugh, when he cut loose. He interested her more than anyone or anything had in more years than she could count.
And you’re leaving at the end of the week.
That made last night a terrible idea, exactly as he’d said before they’d mauled each other. It had been unquestionably mutual. Which was the only reason she managed to make herself turn toward the equipment shed a quarter after sunrise the next morning, instead of veering toward the parking lot.
The campus was silent but for the twitter of a few birds, who didn’t respect the holy rule of coffee before noise. Lake Waawaatesi was still and smooth as glass, reflecting the watercolor sky. Even in her uncaffeinated state, Sarah could appreciate that it was gorgeous. Somehow, that made the insult of being up at this hour a little bit less harsh. When was the last time she’d been somewhere this peaceful? At home, she’d be waking—unwillingly— to street construction or the honk and hum of traffic. This was better. So she paused, firing off a few shots with her camera to capture the moment for home.
The light was already on inside the equipment shed. Bracing herself, Sarah pushed the door open. Beckett stood at the table, sorting through a bin of ascenders. No doubt he was rechecking her work from yesterday. A fresh wave of embarrassment hit, and with it came gratitude that he’d figured it out. If something was wrong with any of the equipment she’d been meant to inspect, she’d prefer it be discovered rather than someone getting hurt because of her arrogance.
He turned. The smile started in his eyes, more blue than gray this morning, spreading like sunrise to the lips she’d dreamed about. And that, too, was a lovely way to start the day.
“Mornin’,” he said. “I brought coffee.”
The sweetest three words in the English language.
Zeroing in on the to-go cups emblazoned with the camp logo, Sarah made a beeline across the room. “You might be my perfect guy.”
She met his gaze as she lifted her cup, and suddenly that didn’t feel like joking flirtation.
Ridiculous. It’s just chemistry.
But it didn’t feel like just chemistry as she leaned back against the table and remembered his lips and hands on her. Sarah crossed her legs at the ankles and cleared her throat. “So what’s on the agenda this morning? Knots?”
“It can wait a few minutes. Drink your coffee and let your brain come online.”
“Bless you.” Maybe then her brain would catch up with her mouth and keep her from saying anything stupid. She sipped. “Do you regret last night?”
Coffee fail.
Beckett lifted a brow. “Do you?”
“I—” She opened her mouth. Closed it again. “Not exactly. I’m just embarrassed, I guess. I don’t normally… It’s been a while, and…”
He just stared at her, waiting.
Sarah’s cheeks went tight and hot. “Never mind. Forget I asked. Pre-coffee brain can’t be trusted.”
Beckett added another ascender back to the bin. “I don’t regret it, no. And I don’t think we have anything to be embarrassed about.”
She liked that he said “we.” And yet…
Another ascender went into the bin. “You don’t look like that made you feel any better.”
“It did. It’s just—” Sarah sighed. “We barely know each other.”
Beckett nodded and stayed silent for a few moments, checking and clearing another two ascenders. “So what do you want to know? What’s your minimum threshold of knowledge that will make you more comfortable with this?”
She laughed a little. “I don’t know.”
Abandoning the ascenders, he caged her against the table, planting his hands behind her. He didn’t touch her, but Sarah was aware of every hard inch of him as he leaned in, close enough that it would barely take more than breathing to brush her mouth to his. He smelled of soap and cedar. Delicious.
“Look, I figure a spark like this doesn’t come along every day. So, to my mind, it’s worth following up to see if it fizzles or catches. So, what do you want to know?”
When you’ll kiss me again. But that wasn’t what he was asking. “I guess I can’t say everything, can I?”
Beckett’s lips curved, and he stepped back, returning to his bin of equipment. “Okay. I’ll start with a mini-bio. I’m originally from Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. Non-smoker. Social drinker. Coke over Pepsi. Dogs over cats. Morning person, which I hope you won’t hold against me. Did my undergrad at USC, then grad school at Dartmouth, where I met Michael and Heather.”
“Dartmouth?”
“Eh, don’t be impressed. I left before I graduated.”
Getting into an Ivy League graduate program was an achievement unto itself. She knew. “What were you studying?”
“I was getting my MBA.”
“Really? I would’ve imagined—I don’t know—environmental science or something.”
“That would’ve been a better fit.” He finished one bin and grabbed another. “I could have stuck it out, I guess. I was in the last year.”
Sarah couldn’t imagine being so close to finished and not following through. “Why didn’t you?”
“They’re big on group work in MBA programs. I found out in the middle of a presentation that my partner had plagiarized his entire half of the project.”
“Oh my God. Did your professor fail you, too?”
“Nope. He just said that kind of thing happened in the real world, and I needed to get over it.”
Her mouth fell open. “You’re kidding!”
“Wish I was. I figured if that was what the real, corporate world was like, I’d never be happy, and I wanted none of it. I walked straight out. Didn’t even finish my half.”
“Ballsy.”
“The word my parents used was ‘stupid’. But that was later. There’s a trailhead for the Appalachian Trail about a mile from campus. I packed a bag and hit the trail. By the time I made it to Virginia, I’d decided the National Park Service was my ne
xt step.”
He said it casually, as if hiking what had to be around three hundred miles, give or take, was no big deal.
“You said you were at Yosemite the last three years?”
“Yeah. Stints at Conagree, Shenandoah, and Hot Springs before that.”
“So what are you doing here at Camp Firefly Falls? I’d think summer would be high season for a park ranger.”
“It is. I’m not a park ranger anymore.” Though his tone was easy, a muscle jumped in his jaw.
“I’m guessing that wasn’t as easy a decision as leaving Dartmouth.”
“No. The powers that be didn’t much appreciate my hijacking the park’s social media account to counter the blatantly false information about climate change being spread by those currently running our government.”
“My friends and I followed all that. All the rogue Twitter accounts that popped up to counter the official park accounts are awesome.”
“I wasn’t behind those, though I know a bunch of folks who were.”
“Modern day heroes seeing that the truth gets told, no matter the consequences.”
Beckett grunted. “Don’t romanticize it. That particular brand of heroism made it rather hard to pay the bills. That’s how I ended up here. Michael did me a favor.”
That must be the chance he’d been given.
God bless Michael Tully.
He put the second bin of ascenders back on the shelf and grabbed two lengths of rope. “What about you? You said you collected degrees.”
“Oh, well, it’s possible my parents—proud though they were of the first three—might also be veering toward a different descriptor of my pursuits at this point.”
“Three?”
“Working on my fourth.” When he went brows up in expectation she sighed. “I’ve got bachelor’s degrees in psychology, art, and nutrition. Right now I’m finishing up my master’s degree in neurobiology and behavior.”
“One of these things is not like the other.”
Sarah laughed. “I love photography. I really wanted to be a photographer when I was younger, but, sadly, I have zero desire to shoot weddings or be a photojournalist, and there’s not really any other great way to make a living as a photographer. But I threw in as many photography classes as I could for fun all through undergrad. Enough that it gave me another degree.”