Page 137 of The Wild Card

“I can handle rough.”

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about her handling anything rough.

“Sure,” I manage. “After breakfast.”

The hike is torture.

Not the physical part—the trail is easy enough, winding through a pine forest with occasional glimpses of the creek below. The weather is perfect, cool and crisp, the kind of morning that makes you feel alive.

The torture is Emmie.

She’s wearing leggings today. Leggings that fit her like they were painted on, hugging every curve as she climbs over rocks and navigates tree roots.

I’m walking behind her.

I’m dying.

“You okay back there?” She glances over her shoulder, catching me staring. I jerk my gaze up to her face.

“Fine. Just watching the trail.”

“Uh-huh.” There’s a knowing glint in her eye that suggests I’m not as subtle as I think I am. “The lake’s close, right?”

“Another quarter mile.”

She turns back around, and my eyes drop immediately to the sway of her hips. The curve of her ass in black spandex.

Get it together, Jensen.

I’ve faced down armed suspects with more composure than this. I’ve held my position under fire, maintained operational discipline in situations that would break most people. And here I am, coming unglued because a woman I see every day is walking in front of me in leggings.

Not just any woman. Emmie.

The woman I’ve been trying not to want for months. The woman I pushed away because I thought it was the right thing to do. The woman who, despite everything, still looks at me like I might be worth something.

I can’t take much more of this.

Something’s going to break. Either my self-control or my sanity, and at this point, I’m not sure which one I’d rather lose.

“Oh, wow.” Emmie stops at the crest of the hill, and I nearly walk into her. “Crew, look at this.”

The lake spreads out below us, glass-smooth and reflecting the morning sky. A small dock juts out from the shore—weathered but solid, probably original to the property. The trees crowd right up to the water’s edge, gold and orange and deep green, and the whole scene looks like something from a painting.

“This is yours?” she breathes.

“Technically, yeah. The property line extends to the water.”

“It’s beautiful.”

You’re beautiful, I don’t say. You’re beautiful, and I’m losing my mind, and I don’t know how much longer I can pretend I don’t want you.

“Come on.” I start down the slope. “There’s a spot by the dock where you can see the whole thing.”

We pick our way down the hillside, Foster and Sadie trailing behind us, their voices a distant murmur. The trail gets steeper near the water, the ground carpeted with fallen leaves that hide the rocks beneath.

“Careful here,” I warn. “It’s slipp—”

Emmie’s foot goes out from under her.