You’d think she was about to go in front of a firing squad, the way she was walking gingerly behind me. Her steps were soft and short and hesitant as we entered the forest. I slowed my pace so she was beside me, and I watched her from the corner of my vision as we walked. Her head was on a swivel, looking up at the waving branches, trying to peer into the shade between the trees, looking down at the carpeting of pine needles on the hard packed dirt underfoot. She was totally rigid, gripping the shoulder straps of her backpack with white-knuckled fists, shoulders hunched, brows drawn down.

I let her walk, finding her comfort level, for about ten minutes, getting us well away from the trailhead, but I knew she was uneasy. I stopped abruptly and turned to stand facing her, forcing her to stop.

“Isadora, you need to listen to me for a second.”

She glared up at me, as if my very existence was an affront. “What?” she snapped.

I sighed, annoyed at her attitude. “This is my happy place, Izzy.” I gestured around me with a wide sweep of both arms. “Out here, on the trail—this is where I’m happiest. But you, sweetheart, you’re so tense you’re making me tense, and that’s seriously fucking with my mojo.”

She shrugged miserably. “I just…I don’t know what I’m doing.”

I laughed at that, throwing my head back. “You’re walking, Izzy. That’s it! Literally that’s the only thing to do, here—just walk.”

“I walk to work all the time,” she said, and then gestured at the forest around us. “This is different.”

“Yeah,” I said, letting sarcasm creep into my voice. “Out here, there are no expectations. No one is waiting at the other end for you to start working. No one is going to ask anything of you. This is the absolute nadir of relaxation. Literally, the only thing for you to do is walk. Breathe in the fresh mountain air, listen to the birds sing overhead, feel the wind on your face, enjoy the beauty of one of the last truly wild places left on earth, and just…be.”

Izzy blinked at me. “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” She frowned so hard I was worried it’d give her a headache. “Did you…did you just use the word nadir in a sentence?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, Izzy. I told you, I do actually read books, and I actually do know words besides ugh and oogah-oogah.”

She tilted her head backward on her neck and sighed. “Ram, that’s not what I meant. I said it before—I know you’re not stupid. My point is, I’ve never actually heard anyone use that word in a sentence before, and I was impressed.”

I let out a sigh. “You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry. People thinking I’m stupid is kind of a thing for me.”

“Clearly,” she drawled, her voice dry and droll.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Back to you, though. You’re so damn tense it hurts just looking at you.” I gently took her by the shoulders, squeezing, kneading her knotted muscles with my thumbs. “Relax. Breathe deep. Hold it, now breathe out. Let your shoulders settle. Breathe deep, and let go of everything but being right here, right now. Just let it all go.”

She grinned. “You sound like a yoga instructor.”

“Would you believe me if I told you I’ve actually taken yoga? On a regular basis?”

She just blinked for a moment, and then burst out laughing. “I’m sorry, I just have a hard time picturing you in tree pose.”

I arched an eyebrow at her as I pressed my palms together in front of my chest, slid my left foot up and braced it against my right knee with my toes pointing downward, balancing perfectly despite my backpack. “I’d show you flying turtle pose, but I’d have to take off my pack.”

She shook her head. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

I shrugged. “Only to those who underestimate me.”

“Which is pretty much everyone?”

I nodded, grinning. “Especially hot bitches who are determined to not like me.”

She glared at me. “Rude!”

I laughed as I started walking again. “I was kidding.”

“Well, I don’t find being called a hot bitch funny.”

“Who said I was talking about you?”

Izzy stopped and stomped her foot. “UGH! You’re so annoying!”

“You need to learn how to take a joke, yo.”

“So do you, yo,” she shot back. “Also, I’m not trying not to like you, I just genuinely don’t.”

I walked a few paces in silence, eyeing her sideways. I wanted to believe she was kidding again, but a small, quiet, but insistent part of me kept suggesting that maybe she wasn’t.

A secret for you: inside every confident alpha male is that still, quiet voice that whispers doubts--just like everyone else has; we’re just better at ignoring and silencing it.

We walked in silence for quite a while, then. Izzy’s head was still on a swivel, but she was more relaxed now, and it seemed like she was starting to enjoy the hike. I was content to continue in silence—I didn’t need a lot of chitchat and small talk to be comfortable and, oddly, it kind of seemed like Izzy was the same way. Our silence wasn’t awkward or tense, although I did still wonder how much she genuinely disliked me, and how much of that was her just trying to deny her attraction and our connection.

I glanced at my Fenix and realized we’d already made nearly two miles, which considering she was a total rookie wasn’t too bad for the first hour. Granted, I was keeping the pace to what felt like a crawl, but still. I was enjoying the slower pace, come to think of it—it afforded me time to really look around, to breathe, to soak up the peacefulness.

We rounded a bend and the trees thinned out, exposing a breathtaking view of the creek, which chuckled and gurgled and rushed down the mountain. Izzy slowed to a stop, resting a hand on a tree trunk, watching the creek. She sucked in a deep breath, held it for a long time, and then let it out slowly.

Her hazel-green eyes flitted up to mine for a fleeting moment, back down to the creek, and then back to me; she was starting to get it. I smiled at her and let her take all the time she needed to just look and breathe.

After a moment, she forged onward, and now she was the one to push the pace a little, her arms swinging more freely, her breathing easy, her gaze constantly swiveling, trying to take in everything at once.

Neither of us said a word as we hiked. Every once in a while, Izzy would stop and take a moment to appreciate a view of something, and I found myself spending as much time during those brief pauses looking at her as I did at the view.

She was stunningly beautiful, and the way she dressed really was classy—if sometimes a little on the revealing side, which I found sexy—but out here, like this, in jeans and a T-shirt and an old ball cap? This was the sexiest version of Izzy, to me. She was more…real, somehow. Her cheeks were flushed with exertion, her strawberry blonde hair wisping out from her swinging ponytail and sticking to her forehead and cheeks. Her chest rose and fell deeply and steadily, swelling her breasts against the thin, faded, vintage Sonic the Hedgehog T-shirt she was wearing. Her jeans were tight and flexed with each step, and I often found myself fading back a few steps just so I could watch her walk, especially when the trail ascended a little hill here or there.

Fucking gorgeous is what she was. A woman who could rock a designer miniskirt and four-inch heels, and then turn around and kill it in secondhand jeans and clunky hiking boots? Hell yes.

I told myself to keep my head in the game—this was a hike. We were friends, if that. Assume nothing. She may not even like me—I still wasn’t sure, as she was hard to read. I felt like sometimes she disguised her real feelings behind a thick layer of snark and sarcasm, and her repeated dislike of, and annoyance at, me felt like it was in that realm.

Whatever.

Whether she liked me or not, I enjoyed her presence, and not just for the nice view of her ass in those tight jeans as she hiked ahead of me, or the way her boobs bounced when she trotted down the occasional descent. The woman herself was interesting. I understood her humor; I understood her reticence to talk about herself and her past, which was why I wasn’t going to push her to talk about it. Hell, I wasn’t super interested in talking about my own, so why would I expect her to talk about hers?

At the top of the third hour of our hike, Izzy finally broke the silence.

“I’m hungry.”

“Reach up and back with your left hand,” I told her, “find the little zipper toward the bottom. I put some protein bars in there.”

She shook her head. “No, I mean I’m hungry. I hate being the fifth wheel with Rome, Rem, Kitty, and Juneau, so I didn’t eat much this morning.”

I snorted, nodding. “Yeah, I feel you there. They’re all so lovey-dovey it’s fucking obnoxious.”

“Your brothers are worse about that than Kitty or June, though,” Izzy said. “They hang on the girls like they’re worried they’re gonna disappear or something.”

“Well, that’s because they are,” I said. “They probably feel like Kitty and Juneau are too good for them, so they’re still half expecting them to realize this and leave.”

Izzy laughed. “Well, that’s stupid. I’m pretty sure Kitty thinks Roman hung the actual moon specifically for her, and Juneau is the same way with Remington.”

I didn’t have anything to add to that, so I gestured at the trail ahead of us. “If I have our position reckoned right, we should be reaching a pretty good spot to break for lunch soon. There’s a place up ahead where the trail crosses the creek. I can even see if I can catch some fish.”

She eyed me. “Catch fish…and eat them?”

“Yes, Izzy.” I laughed. “Catch fish and eat them. You ever eat fish you caught yourself?”

“I’ve never been fishing.”

I shook my head. “Dude, what have you done?”

She snorted. “Um, well…? I took dance lessons for eight years—tap, ballet, and jazz. I went on vacation with my parents every summer until—well, until things…changed, and we’d go somewhere amazing every year. One year it was Spain, the next it was Italy. I’ve been to Iceland, Germany, Norway, Greece, Mexico, Brazil, Poland, the Czech Republic…”

“Wow, “ I said, suitably impressed. “I’ve been to…uh, Oklahoma, California, and Alaska.”

“That’s it? You’ve never left the country?”

I shook my head. “Nope. I mean, we drove through Canada to get here, but that barely counts.”

She laughed. “I took piano lessons for four years, too. And, umm…” Another laugh, a harder one. “Okay, fine! I lived a very spoiled, sheltered suburban life. I went to school and dance and piano, and I went on bike rides with Mom and Dad, and had family movie night every Friday, with popcorn Dad would make in the popper. We had a dog, a golden retriever named Charlie, and he was my best friend. I had sleepovers with my friends and we’d play truth or dare and listen to Christina Aguilera and Britney Spears and ’N Sync.”

“Well, you know what they say: admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery,” I said, smirking at her.

She whacked me on the chest with the back of her hand—a gesture I was learning was actually a gesture of affection. “Shut up, butthead.” She glanced at me. “So, you said you and your brothers raised yourself…what was that like? I mean, what did you guys do?”

I blew out a breath, shaking my head with a laugh. “What didn’t we do?” I said. “We got into trouble, that’s what. Dad worked at a factory from midnight to eight am, so he was either asleep or drinking himself to sleep by the time we woke up. Breakfast was usually a box of sugar cereal each, and cartoons—and that’s a habit we still have, actually.”

She arched an eyebrow at me. “You do not eat a whole box of sugar cereal every morning.”

I chuckled. “No. Now we each eat half a dozen eggs and split three pounds of bacon between us, but we still watch cartoons while we eat. Nothing like the good ol’ classics—Looney Toons, Transformers, G.I. Joe, He-Man.”

She was suppressing laughter, now. “Oh god, seriously?”

“Why is that funny?”

She glanced at me between gales of laughter. “It’s just…I’m picturing you, Rome, and Rem sitting on the couch in your underwear, shoveling eggs into your mouths, hair all messy, watching He-Man. It’s just funny. I mean, you’re these big giant tough firefighting alpha male macho mountain men dudes, but you watch kiddie cartoons every morning.”

I paused, head tilted, and then laughter comes over me. “Okay, you’re not far wrong in that mental picture, honestly.”

She eyed me sideways, biting her lower lip.

“What?” I asked, laughing. “You’re looking at me weird.”

She shook her head, turning away and walking faster—as if to hide a flush. “Nothing. It’s just a…a funny image.”

“Funny, huh?” I said, my voice a murmur. “You think me in my underwear is funny?”

She forged ahead even faster. “No.”

I caught up easily, walking beside her as she basically trotted to get away. “You know, I don’t always wear underwear, but when I do, they’re tiny and black and very, very tight.”

She didn’t look at me. “Good to know.”

“Why are you running, Izz?”

She slowed. “Because you’re annoying me.”

“I’m just explaining what my underwear looks like, so you can get the correct mental image. I’m helping you out.”

She couldn’t quite hide a smirk. “Why thank you, Ramsey. So kind and helpful.”

“I live but to serve.”

She shook her head, snorting a laugh. “You are such a dork.”

I stopped walking entirely at that. “You know, I’ve been called a lot of names in my life, but I can say with one hundred percent certainty that no one has ever accused me of being a dork.”

She halted and looked back at me. “Yeah, well, you hide it behind that facade of big, dumb, sexy macho man.”

“Snap into a Slim Jim!” I quoted, in a fast, deep, gravelly voice; when she just blinked at me like I’d spoken Swahili, I laughed. “Randy Savage? Macho Man? No?” I shook my head. “What were you doing in the 80s?”

“Not watching wrestling, that’s for damn sure,” she said, breaking into a brisk walk again.

I caught up to her with a couple of quick strides. “So you do know who he is!”

“Just from the Slim Jim commercial.”

“It’s not a facade,” I said. “This is me.”

She then sang a few bars of a song with that phrase as the lyrics, which I’d heard a few times on the radio here and there around town. When I failed to sing along, she shook her head. “The Greatest Showman. Duh.”

I shrugged. “Nothing.”

“That’s a tragedy. Everyone needs to see it.”

“I’ll watch it with you,” I said.

She glanced sideways at me. “You’d watch a musical with me?”

“Sure.” I grinned. “On one condition.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh boy, here we go.” She tapped her chin, glancing up and to the side, pretending to be deep in thought. “Hmmm, let me guess: your condition will involve me wearing one hundred percent fewer clothes and doing something of a one-sidedly sexual nature.”

I arched an eyebrow. “I said condition, not sexual extortion—Jesus.”

She sighed. “Okay, I’ll hear you out. What’s your condition.”

“I’ll watch that show dude musical or whatever it is, if you watch cartoons in your underwear with me.”

She snickered, snorted, and then burst out laughing. “That’s your condition?”

“Yup.”

“Just watching cartoons with you?”

“In your underwear,” I clarified.

“What constitutes underwear?” she asked.

I laughed and rolled my eyes. “Whatever you want, Izzy. T-shirt and nothing else, bra and underwear, bra and boxers…just a pair of panties.” I watched her for her reaction to that last part.

Was it me, or did she blush a little, and start to bite her lip and then stop? “You wish.”

“All day long, baby,” I said.

“Really? All day long? You wish to see me in my underwear all day long?”

I nodded and shrugged. “Sure. You’re hot as fuck, Izz. There’s nothing I’d like more than to take my time getting you from fully clothed to fully naked, and enjoying every stage in between.”

I sounded casual as I said this, but I didn’t feel casual. My heart was thumping and hammering, my pulse pounding.

“Nothing?” she muttered, glancing at me sideways.

I let a leer slide across my lips. “Well, I can think of a few things, but they all come after I’ve stripped you naked.”

She shook her head, lunging forward faster than ever. “Again I say, dream on, Bullwinkle.”

I let it go, and we walked a few more minutes in silence, her a few paces ahead, and me trailing behind and just enjoying the view.

We rounded a bend which ascended a gentle hill, emerging from the forest—Izzy was farther ahead of me than I’d like, knowing all too well how suddenly you could run into unexpected ursine company. I opened my stride to catch up, but she was climbing the hill like she had a vendetta against it.

She paused at the top and glanced over her shoulder at me. “Quit staring at my ass.”

I kept climbing. “I’ll quote you: dream on, Bullwinkle.”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, but then smirked and wiggled her butt at me. “You want it? You better catch up!”

I laughed and broke into a sprint up the hill, causing Izzy’s eyes to widen as I crossed the distance between us faster than she probably thought possible. I reached her before she had time to react, sinking my hands into the thick meat of her juicy, wiggling backside.

“Got it,” I growled.

She squeaked and darted out of my reach, looking over her shoulder at me rather than at the trail ahead. I trotted to keep up, and she laughed breathlessly, not really trying to get away.

I heard something, then. A scraping and scratching up ahead, and a whuffling groan.

“Izzy! Stop!” I called, keeping my voice calm but loud.

“No way,” she called back, laughing. “I’m not letting you cop another feel!”

I hoped my voice was carrying enough to scare it away. “Isadora—stop!”

She heard the urgent snap of authority in my voice then and halted, skidding in the dirt. I caught up, wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her back, shoving her forcefully behind me.

“Ram? What is it?” she asked.

“Bear,” I murmured. “Up ahead.”

I could still hear it ahead, snuffling, whuffling, groaning. The temptation is to step quietly so it won’t hear you; instead, I grabbed Izzy’s hand in mine, reaching down into the brush at the side of the trail and snagged a big stick, which I smacked against the trees as I took a couple slow steps forward, listening.

“Ram?” Her voice was low, thin, scared. “I still hear it.”

“I know,” I said, keeping my voice loud. “So, Izzy. What was your favorite overseas destination?”

“You’re asking me this now?” she demanded, her voice shrill and panicked.

“I told you before, babe, you gotta make noises. They’ll hear you coming and take off.” I glanced at her, keeping my hand firmly clasped in hers, dragging her forward. “So? Favorite vacation?”

We still heard it, closer now, and I realized it must have some kind of treat it was trying to get at, and wasn’t paying attention to us.

“HEY!” I called. “HEY! HEY! HEY!”

I moved us to the far edge of the trail’s curve so I could see as far ahead as possible—Izzy was right up behind me, pressed against my side and clinging to me for dear life.

We reached the end of the curve where the trail straightened, and there, right in the middle of the trail fifty feet away was a massive Alaskan brown bear—a grizzly. It was on its hind legs, digging in the hollow of a tree, snuffling and groaning as it withdrew its paw dripping with golden honey. Bees buzzed angrily around it, and every once in a while the bear would grumble and shake its head and swipe at the cloud of offended bees.

Izzy pressed her face against my shoulder, making a noise which I thought at first was her crying, but then I realized she was suppressing laughter.

“What’s so funny?” I whispered.

She pointed at the bear. “It’s Winnie the Pooh!”

I chuckled quietly. “Yeah, except in this case, Winnie the Pooh is at least eight feet tall and weighs a thousand pounds.”

“What do we do?” she asked.

“We have two options—go back around the corner and wait for him to leave on his own, or try to make enough noise that he runs off.”

“Which is less likely to get us mauled?”

I laughed. “Hell if I know. For all we know, we could wait back around the bend, only to find him face to face with us again.”

She looked up at me. “What about your gun?”

I snorted. “Couple major issues there, sweetheart. Number one, he ain’t hurtin’ nothin’, just getting some honey in his belly. Number two, we’re in his home, so by rights, we’re the trespassers. Number three, a nine millimeter would barely even tickle a monster like that even if I was inclined to shoot, which I ain’t. And, yes, I own a pistol, and yes, I have a concealed carry permit, but I will never ever draw it unless my life is directly and immediately threatened to the point that I have no choice but to shoot to kill.”

“Oh,” she said. “I just meant scare him, but okay.”

“Easier ways to accomplish that.”

The wind shifted then, and a breeze blew up against our backs—and the bear immediately dropped to all fours, sniffing. He lumbered a few steps toward us, whuffling noisily, squinting at us nearsightedly. I felt Izzy trying to pull back as he neared us—he was twenty feet away now, and his true size was apparent. He wasn’t the tallest grizzly I’d ever seen, but he was huge.

Izzy was making a small, scared noise in her throat, pulling backward.

My gut was churning, my pulse hammering in my ears, my heart thudding fit to burst. I straightened, took a step away from Izzy, toward the bear.

“Ram—” she hissed.

“HEY!” I shouted. “Hey, WINNIE THE POOH!”

The bear grunted and reared up on his hind legs again, nose wiggling as he scented the air. He let out a long, low groaning growl, waving with a paw, head tilting.

“YEAH, YOU!” I shouted. “GET! GO ON!”

He snuffled again, growled, and then dropped heavily to all fours, lumbered in a slow circle, and ambled away down the trail; he stopped about a hundred feet away, turned back to look at us over his shoulder, and then angled off the trail and into the forest.

Once he was out of sight, I started laughing. “Holy shit!” I turned to Izzy, who was frozen in place, trembling, barely breathing. “Izz, did you fucking see that? He waved at me!”

She blinked at me as I walked over to her. “He—the bear—”

I laughed again, exhilaration rushing through me in a powerful high. “That was wicked!”

She shook her head as if to clear the fog. “You’re nuts,” she muttered. “Absolutely crazy!”

I laughed again, scrubbing my face with both hands. “Well, yeah. I used to jump out of an airplane into a wildfire for a living, so you’re not far wrong.”

“That bear was huge.”

“Sure was. I’ve seen taller ones from a distance, but that fucker was brawny—an absolute unit, as the kids these days say.”

She shook her head at me. “The kids say that?”

“I’ve heard it around.”

She finally let out a soft laugh. “That was incredible. I can’t believe he just walked away like that.”

“Me either. He legit waved at me!”

She looked at me as if I’d sprouted a second head. “You’re really amused by that, aren’t you?”

I cackled. “Fuck yeah, I am! A grizzly bear waved at me.”

She huffed. “Well, I’m glad you found that amusing. I think I may have peed a little.”

I rested against a nearby tree trunk, eying the dead tree the bear had been digging in—the cloud of bees were still swarming with a noisy, air-shivering hum. I gestured at the bees. “That could be an issue.”

She followed my gaze. “Oh…really?”

I watched them for a moment, and decided they were mainly focusing their attention in and around the tree, so if we skirted to the farthest opposite side of the trail and moved fast, they may not even notice us.

“Let’s just make a break for it,” I said. “Keep to the left and move quick.”

She shifted. “Is it stupid for me to be almost as afraid of the bees as I was of the bear?”

I chuckled. “Nah, there’s something inherently terrifying about a swarm of bees.” I gestured at the tree. “They’re calming down, anyway. It’ll be fine. Just hold to the edge of the trail and keep moving.”

I hiked my pack up, tightened the straps a touch, and then glanced at Izzy. “Ready, babe?”

She shook her head. “Nope. Not even close.” Then, with a short sharp exhalation, she tightened her straps and said, “Let’s go.”

And just like that, she marched forward, hugging the left side of the trail. I shook my head in amazement at her ballsy bravado, and then followed right behind her. The bees hummed and buzzed, and a few darted overhead and around us, but for the most part they stayed near the tree, wanting only to get back to the business of making honey. We made it past the tree without issue, only a few isolated bees trailing after us.

And then Izzy yelped, darting forward with a weird shimmy to her step, twisting in place, screaming, and trying desperately to get out of her backpack. I shucked my pack in record time, snagged hers, unbuckled it, and hauled it off of her, letting it fall to the ground. She was yelping like a wounded puppy, dancing and twisting in place, tugging at the fly of her jeans.

“Izzy, Izzy, whoa!” I grabbed her by the arms and twisted her to face me. “What’s the problem!”

“BEE!” she screamed, tears in her eyes. “Bee in my pants!”

“How the fuck?” I muttered. “Is it still in there?”

“YES!” She was dancing out of my grip and trying to undo her pants at the same time.

“Hold still, dammit,” I said. “Let me help.”

She whimpered, but held still long enough for me to get her belt unbuckled, her fly undone, and then I peeled her jeans down her legs. She twisted in place, turning her backside to me. She was wearing pale blue cotton underwear, and there was a small lump inside her underwear against the skin of her right butt cheek.

I paused, glancing up at her. “It’s inside your underwear, Izz.”

“I DON’T CARE! JUST GET IT OUT!”

“You know, it’s a honey bee—it can only sting you once.”

“FUCK YOU, RAM! JUST GET THE FUCKER OUT!”

“All right, all right, I just didn’t want you to accuse me of copping a feel.”

I peeled her underwear down, and the poor little bee was stuck against her butt, the stinger’s barb hooked into her skin. It was still buzzing halfheartedly, but the little thing was squished.

Squished by the squishy…

I decided not to voice that particular joke.

I pinched the tips of my fingers around the bee’s body against her skin, feeling it flutter and buzz. I plucked it away and tossed it aside; I leaned close, peering at her skin where it had stung her.

She smelled of sweat and woman, making my heart flip in a weird way.

“Shit, the stinger’s still in there.”

She was breathing slowly out of her nose and mouth, calming herself. “I hate getting stung,” she muttered.

I chuckled. “No shit, babe.” I tugged my Bowie knife from the scabbard. “Okay, now hold still. Don’t move a goddamn muscle, okay? I’ve gotta scrape the stinger out, and all I’ve got is this big bitch here.”

She craned her neck to look over her shoulder, and saw me bringing the blade flat against the curve of her butt. “HOLY SHIT WHAT THE FUCK? NO!”

“Babe—hold the fuck still.” I looked up at her. “Trust me.”

“Get that fucking sword away from me, you barbarian!”

“It’s a Bowie knife, number one. Number two, you want the stinger out or no?”

“Yes,” she muttered.

“You have tweezers?”

“No.”

“Then hold still and trust me.” I grinned up at her. “You think I’d do anything to harm an ass as perfect as this?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Nice.”

I hesitated. “So, um…this is where I cop a feel. Just, you know…forewarning you. It’s necessary, though, so don’t try and hit me for it.”

Behold, the Promised Land. If she wasn’t in pain, and I wasn’t about to scrape a bee stinger out of her skin with a foot-long knife, I’d be springing major wood at having this big, round, juicy ass of hers in my face. As it was, though, I had to be something like professional about this. Or at least detach myself from my intense attraction to this woman.

The bee had stung her right butt cheek, right in the middle, and I was right handed, so in order to hold the skin taut, I had to use my left hand…which meant I had to cup the inside of her right butt cheek with my left hand. Niiiiice and intimate. Yikes. Holding the skin taut, I gently, gingerly, cautiously used the very edge of the blade to scrape downward, keeping the edge at an angle and moving perpendicular to her skin. I watched the stinger slide out of her skin. I sheathed the blade, scraping the stinger away with a fingernail and flicking it aside. The skin was reddened and swollen where she’d been stung.

She’d watched the whole process, and when I flicked the stinger away, she’d released an exhale of relief. I looked up at her, our eyes meeting.

I have absolutely no explanation for what came over me, then—no manly, masculine, macho way to rationalize what I did next.

I kissed her where she’d been stung, a gentle kiss right to the red and swollen center of her buttock.

Her breath caught.

“Ram…” she breathed.

I recovered from whatever had possessed me to do something so intimate and so personal and so tender, and I patted her bottom, and then gave both cheeks a hearty squeeze.

“There. All better.”

I could tell she was working through how she wanted to react—I expected her to slap me for the butt squeeze, or give me some kind of nasty, snarky reply.

What I didn’t expect was for her to twist in place. Her jeans and underwear were still down around her knees, leaving her entirely bare from waist to knee. She was as freshly shaven and waxed as I remembered her being. Tight, plump, pink little lips nestled between thick, strong thighs, with just the tiniest needle-thin gap of daylight between them. God, I wanted to…to…

Fuck it.

I curled my hands around the backs of her knees and slid them up her thighs to cup her ass; she bit down on her lower lip as I tugged her closer.

“Ramsey…” she murmured.

I kept my eyes on hers as I slowly brought my face closer and closer to her core. “Just…one…little…taste…” I whispered. “See if you’re as sweet as I remember.”

Her hands fluttered in the air above my head as I nuzzled my nose against her belly just above her core, brushing my mouth over her nether lips.

She huffed a breath, a whine, a whimper. “God, Ram…here? Now?”

I smirked up at her. “Ain’t nobody around ’cept just us bears.” I flicked my tongue against those tight plump little pussy lips. “You can tell me no.”

“Now you’ve got me started,” she muttered. “Might as well finish it.”

I rumbled a laugh. “Ain’t even gotten started, sweetheart,” I said. “You don’t want it, just say so.”

She narrowed her eyes at me, mouth falling open as I lapped up her seam. “You do not play fair, Ramsey Badd.”

“Nope.” I wiggled my tongue into the little keyhole at the top of her slit, flicking the tip of my tongue against her clit. “I got a taste of your sweetness a year ago, and I’ve been dyin’ for another ever since. But, like I said, you want to keep this platonic, all you gotta say is stop.”

She knocked my hat backward off my head and buried her fingers in my hair. “Don’t be a moron.”

A lick, a swirl, and she whimpered again. I caressed her ass with both hands and then brought them around in front, using my thumbs to open her up, suctioning my lips around her and flicking with my tongue in a quick light rhythm until she was gasping and writhing against my face.

“Ram…fuck.” Her eyelids were fluttering closed, her head tipped back, mouth open, hips thrust forward and grinding against my mouth. “How do I taste?”

“Like I want to spend every single second of my life eating you out,” I murmured.

“I’d be okay with that,” she said.

I could’ve made her come harder, faster if I’d used my fingers, too, but I was in no hurry, and didn’t want to leave her limp on the ground, as we still had half a day of hiking left before we made camp. This was just a little teaser preview of what I hoped she’d let me do to her later in my tent.

When her knees started buckling and her fingers knotted into my hair, I released the suction of my mouth and focused my efforts on the swirling of my tongue around the tight bud of her clit, faster and faster and faster until she was thrashing against me and whimpering like a trapped fox.

And then she came.

Her scream sent birds bursting from the canopy, and she flexed her hips forward in helpless thrusts. When she began to sag, I released her and stood up, catching her in my arms and holding her against me as she gasped.

“Holy….shit,” she whispered, pushing away from my chest. “How do you do that?”

I knelt in front of her again, tugging her underwear up and then her jeans, letting her button and buckle and adjust. “Do what?”

She wiped at my beard with a palm when I stood up, settling my hat back on my head. “Make me come like that with just your mouth.”

“It’s not me—it’s you,” I said. “You just have a hair-trigger orgasm.”

She shook her head. “No, not really. I don’t have trouble reaching orgasm, but I’ve never been able to get there as fast or as hard as the two times you’ve made me come.”

I felt pride swelling in my chest; her words made me feel about ten feet tall, made me want to smash my fists against my chest like King fucking Kong. Instead, I just shrugged.

“Well, let me just say that I have no fucking clue what’s going on with us, or what’s going to happen or not happen on this trip,” Izzy said, “but I have absolutely no qualms about letting you do that as many times as you want, because sweet Lord Jesus, Ram—that was…art.”

I grabbed her pack and lifted it in both hands, holding it out for her to back up into. “I might just take you up on that one, Izz.” I waited for her to accept the weight, and then I settled my own pack on my shoulders. “I don’t know what’s going on, either, just know I have zero expectations, okay?”

She laughed as she adjusted straps and tightened buckles. “No? No expectations at all?”

I shook my head as I set off down the path, licking my lips to relish the taste of her. “Nope. Expectations are for losers. Hopes, sure. Fantasies, sure. But I like to live in a little place called reality, and the reality of you and me is that we come from two totally different worlds. You’ve also made it exceedingly clear I’m not exactly your favorite guy.”

I was sort of fishing, at that point. I mean, she liked the way I could make her come, but liking me? A different story.

She caught up to me, hiking beside me in silence for a few minutes.

“Ram, I…” she said, cutting off with a frustrated sigh.

I glanced down at her. “You what, babe?”

The creek was widening and deepening, speeding up, becoming louder and closer. According to the map, I was pretty sure there was a bridge up ahead.

She didn’t answer immediately. “I may have possibly overstated the case, just a little bit.”

I let the silence hang yet again, for a few minutes. “Meaning?”

We rounded another curve, this one angling downhill toward the creek, and then the creek cut across the path, with a handmade wooden footbridge across it.

“Meaning, I don’t hate you.” She said this with a shy little smirk.

“You’re only saying that because I just gave you an orgasm.”

She shrugged and nodded. “There is that,” she said, as we paused at the bridge. “But you and I both know we’re each entirely capable of trading orgasms without it becoming anything personal. Actually liking the other person? That’s not always a given, you know?”

“You’re saying you wanna be fuckbuddies?” I asked, cutting over to the side of the bridge, where there was a small clearing.

I set my pack down and opened one of the compartments, digging out a few cans of fruit, some jerky, and a couple of protein bars.

Izzy took off her pack, set it beside mine, and sat down cross-legged on the grass, twisting to pop her back and stretch the muscles. She watched me closely as I opened the cans.

“Not necessarily,” she said, belatedly answering my question.

“So you don’t want to fuck.”

She shrugged. “I didn’t say that either. I just don’t necessarily want to be fuckbuddies.”

I fished a set of utensils from another compartment, stabbed a piece of fruit, and extended it to her; she leaned forward and took the bite without taking the fork from my hand.

“Then what do you want?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Hell if I know.”

I laughed at that. “I see. Helpful.”

She opened the package of jerky and slid out a stick, taking a bite of it. “And you know what you want, do you?”

I tilted my head to one side. “To some degree.”

Another few minutes of silence as we shared fruit, jerky, and protein bars, washing it down with water from our canteens. When the food was gone, Izzy lay back and let out a deep breath.

“What happened to catching fish?” she asked, watching a few wisps of clouds pass overhead.

I put away the garbage, rinsed the utensils in the creek, and secured my pack for travel, and then lay down on the grass next to her.

“No fire ring here, and it’d take time to catch, clean, and cook ’em. We’ll have fish for dinner. There’s a couple of nice campsites ahead, at miles four, and ten and a half. Depending on what kind of time we make, and how you’re feeling, we can stop at the first one at mile four, or we can keep trucking.”

She rolled her shoulders, and then massaged her quads. “I’m thinking probably the first campsite,” she said with a rueful laugh. “I’m sore in places I didn’t know I had.”

“Ohh, just wait till you wake up tomorrow morning. Sleeping on the ground is its own kinda fun.”

“Yippee,” she said dryly, and then swiveled her head at me. “You said you know what you want to some degree. What’s that mean?”

I tucked my hands under my head. “I know I like the way you taste, and I like the way you can’t seem to help screaming. I know you’ve got a wicked talented mouth. I know you’ve got a killer fuckin’ body, and I’d murder someone to get you naked.” I turned to look at her, meeting those wide, expressive, hazel-green eyes. “I also know I’m impressed as fuck that you’re out here, so far outside your comfort zone, and I haven’t heard you genuinely complain about anything yet.”

Her cheeks were pink, and she wouldn’t look at me. “Ram…” she said, and then sighed. “You’re impossible.”

“How am I impossible?”

She shook her head. “I just…I think I know what to expect with you, and then you go and blow that out of the water, and then you go back to being an arrogant fuckboy.”

I laughed. “I’d like to think that makes me more complicated than you’d originally assumed.”

“You’d think right.” She flexed her legs, stretched her torso. “I guess I assumed you were a prototypical country boy jock. All swagger and bravado and testosterone and muscle, and not a lot else.”

“But?”

She laughed. “But you’re quite a lot more than that, I’m discovering.”

I decided to let it go, for now. “Ready to get moving again?”

She nodded, and I stood up, extending a hand down to help her up. When she reached her feet, she paused, standing close to me, staring up at me.

I won’t say sparks flew between us, because that wouldn’t be quite accurate. It was more like the first flickering flames of a runaway campfire licking at the base of a dried out tree—not much at first, but you just knew looking at it that it would grow to be something enormous and white-hot.

I was sorely tempted to kiss her.

Yank her up against me, cup the back of her head, and kiss her stupid.

She saw it, sensed it—before I could kiss her, she gave a minute shake of her head, as if to dispel a momentary burst of insanity…like letting me kiss her. And then, with a strange, soft sigh, she pushed past me, struggled into her pack without help, adjusted and buckled it, and then set off across the bridge without a backward glance.