Nope, not him, absolutely not him—
But because of everything else.
I had responsibilities.
Guests booked for spring and summer.
Trails to scout.
New gear orders to prioritize.
Animals to keep out of the lobby.
A lodge relying on me to do my job.
I wasn’t the kind of person who bailed when things got difficult.
I wasn’t a runner—
…except for every time something emotional happened.
Then I was an Olympic sprinter.
And now?
Now I was dealing with the one situation guaranteed to trigger both my fight-or-flight impulse and my libido at the same time:
Sleeping with Carson Reed.
God.
I covered my face with both hands and groaned into my palms.
I didn’t do this.
I wasn’t this girl.
I didn’t hop into sleeping bags with men I barely knew.
I didn’t jump the intimacy line like it was a crosswalk and bolt into the traffic of feelings.
I was responsible.
Careful.
Emotionally avoidant in a dignified way.
But apparently, present-day Sienna had tossed those rules straight into the lake.
Because I had slept with him.
The man I barely knew.
The man I had been assigned to work with for six months.
The man who had held me in the morning, as if he didn’t want to let go.
And worse—
