My body betrayed me completely. Responding to his touch as if no time had passed, as if my skin had been waiting for exactly this pressure, exactly this heat. I turned my face into his neck to muffle the sounds I couldn’t quite swallow, breathing him in.
His control was slipping too. I could feel it in the way his hands shook slightly as they moved over me, in the harsh breath against my ear, in the tension running through his entire body. This had started as performance, as necessary deception,but it had shifted into something else. Something real bleeding through the lie.
I should have been thinking about the cameras. About Oliver watching. About how we were supposed to be putting on a show convincing enough to maintain Coop’s cover. Instead, all I could think about was the heat of Ryan’s mouth, the weight of his hands, the way every nerve ending in my body had awakened after six years of dormancy without him.
Then, with a loud groan that was obviously for the camera I’d forgotten, he was suddenly rolling away, his breathing as harsh as mine in the darkness. The loss of his weight, his warmth, left me feeling exposed all over again. But differently this time.
Not exposed to the cameras but exposed to the truth that my body still wanted his, still recognized him as home even after everything.
We lay there side by side, not touching but hyperaware of each other. The darkness felt thick between us, heavy with everything we weren’t saying. With the performance we’d just given that had stopped being performance somewhere in the middle.
My body continued to hum with awareness, every nerve ending alive and reaching for him. My lips felt swollen from his kisses, my skin sensitized from his touch. I could still taste him, still feel the ghost of his hands on my body.
Neither of us could pretend we hadn’t felt it—that spark that had always existed between us catching fire, despite the circumstances, despite the danger, despite the years and damage between us.
“I’m sorry.” The whisper came from him, barely audible even in the perfect stillness of the cabin.
“I know.” My own whisper matched his, accepting the apology even though I wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for.
For the performance we’d had to give? For the way it had turned real? For leaving six years ago? For all of it?
The darkness pressed in around us, and I focused on keeping my breathing steady, on not thinking about the cameras or Oliver or what would happen tomorrow. On not thinking about the way my body still ached for Ryan’s touch, how some traitorous part of me wanted him to roll back over, to finish what we’d started.
Sleep felt impossible, but exhaustion was stronger than anxiety, stronger than the confusion of wanting someone I shouldn’t trust. My body had been running on adrenaline for too long, and now it demanded rest, whether I wanted it or not.
The last thing I was aware of was Ryan’s breathing beside me, not quite steady, like he was fighting his own battle with whatever this was between us. With the ghosts we’d awakened. With the impossibility of still wanting each other right here in the middle of hell.
Morning came with awkwardness thick as Montana fog.
I woke to find Ryan already up, pulling on his boots with mechanical precision. He didn’t look at me, but I saw the tension in his shoulders, the careful way he moved like he was hyperaware of my presence.
“Morning, sweetheart.” His voice carried that rough edge again, Coop sliding back into place for our audience. “Get your ass up. Got things to do today.”
I sat up, holding the sheet to my chest. The cameras. Always the cameras.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
He jerked his head toward the bathroom, and I understood. The one place without cameras where we could talk.
I slipped into the tiny bathroom, leaving the door cracked so he could follow. He did, seconds later, closing us both into the cramped space.
“Oliver has me doing a weapons demonstration today.” He turned on the sink and spoke just barely above a whisper despite the lack of cameras in here. “I don’t want to leave you alone here. I don’t trust him—or one of these other assholes—not to come sniffing around while I’m gone.”
The thought of being alone in this cabin, waiting for Oliver to possibly show up, made my skin crawl. “Can I come with you?”
“That’s what I was thinking. Stay close to me, don’t draw attention, and if Oliver approaches you, play the submissive property role.”
I nodded, hating the very idea but understanding the necessity.
We got ready in tense silence, the weight of last night hanging between us like a physical presence. Every accidental touch as we moved around the small bathroom sent electricity through me, my body still primed from those heated moments in the dark.
When we finally emerged from the cabin, the morning air hit like a slap of reality. Cold and crisp, carrying the scent of pine and gun oil. Coop’s hand found the small of my back, possessive for show but also steadying. We walked toward the sound of voices and metallic clicks—weapons being loaded, checked, prepared.
The training ground sat east of the main lodge, a cleared area with targets at varying distances and several tables loaded with enough firepower to supply a small army. Oliver’s men had already gathered, about twenty of them, all watching as Coop examined the weapons with professional interest.
I stayed back, trying to blend into the background while keeping him in sight. But I couldn’t help watching him work. The way he fieldstripped a rifle in seconds, hands moving with practiced efficiency. How he checked sight alignments and trigger pulls with the proficiency of someone who’d lived and breathed weapons for years.
