Page 63 of Hide And Seek

It was becoming increasingly difficult with every moment that passed, because every time he stepped in to adjust something, he was right there, close enough that the scent of him kept pulling my focus sideways. It was impossible not to be aware of how solid and strong he felt behind me, how easily he could guide me, how easily he could do a lot of other things I really shouldn’t be thinking about right now.

We kept going like that for the next hour and a half; him correcting my stance, stepping in and out of my space with an ease that never stopped feeling strangely dangerous, while Ithrew again and again until the movements began to settle into something almost instinctive. The axes finally started landing closer to where they were supposed to, my focus sharpening in flashes between the moments when it slipped right back to Rhys.

By the time we finally drifted back into the shed, my arms were aching in a way that felt satisfying, and there was a faint sense of pride sitting under everything else. I’d actually hit the target. Multiple times.

“See?” Rhys said, nudging the door shut behind us with his foot. “Told you you’d get it in the end.”

A small smile tugged at my mouth. “I think I got a few lucky shots,” I said.

“Nah.” He shook his head. “No luck involved today. You earned those shots.”

My smile widened, and I turned toward the rack, lifting the ax in both hands and reaching up onto my toes to slide it back into its slot. It was higher than I’d realized, and the angle was awkward, the head catching slightly against the wood.

“Hang on,” Rhys said.

I barely had time to register the words before he stepped in behind me. One of his hands landed on my waist, fingers spreading as he shifted me slightly to the side. My breath caught as his body lined up with mine, heat pressing along my back while he reached past me with his other arm.

The touch wasn’t accidental. It wasn’t light, either. It was possessive in a way that sent liquid warmth spiraling low in my stomach before I could stop it.

“There,” he murmured, guiding the ax smoothly into place. But his hand didn’t move. Neither did I.

My pulse stuttered, then picked up faster and harder.

You should step away,I told myself. But I didn’t. My fingers tightened against the wooden rack instead, holding myself in place.

Slowly, I turned my head.

The movement dragged Rhys into my peripheral vision, close enough that I could see the faint shadow along his jaw and the way his gaze dropped briefly to my mouth before lifting back to meet my eyes.

Heat curled low in my belly. I turned a little more until I was facing him properly, my back brushing the edge of the bench below the rack. Our eyes locked, and the air between us seemed to crackle.

That was all it took.

One second there was space between us. The next, Rhys’s mouth crashed against mine, and every coherent thought I'd been holding onto scattered instantly.

His kiss was rough and demanding, and he tasted like smoke and mint and pure male hunger. One of his hands slid to the small of my back and yanked me flush against him, and I went without resistance, fingers bunching in the front of his shirt while my brain struggled to catch up with what my body had already decided.

This is insane,some distant part of me finally managed to whisper.Just an hour ago, you suspected him of murder. And part of youstillsuspects him.

I tried to consider that. I thought about the blood on his neck last night, the bloodstained shoes, the way he hadn't reacted when Mabry announced the camp closure. The way he always seemed to be so composed when everyone else was falling apart.

But then his teeth caught my bottom lip and the thoughts dissolved again. A sharp, breathless sound caught in my throat, and more heat rushed through me, spreading outward in a way that turned my knees to jelly.

Rhys pulled away suddenly, his eyes dark and turbulent as he looked down at me. “This place has a lock,” he said in a low voice.

“Do it.” I was breathing so hard I barely got the words out. “Lock the door.”

He crossed the shed in two strides and slid the bolt home with a heavyclick. When he turned back, he dragged his shirt off in one rough motion and tossed it aside.

My mouth went dry at the sight of his tanned, muscular chest and defined abs. Then he was on me again, hands everywhere, urgent and rough in a way that would leave marks on my skin. He yanked my top over my head, unclipped my bra, and shoved my jeans down my thighs, stripping me down to nothing but my panties.

“Fuck,” he muttered, eyes raking over me. “You’re perfect.”

With that, he lifted me like I weighed nothing and set me on the bench behind me. My legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, pulling him closer. With a wicked smirk, he hooked his fingers into my panties, dragged them down my legs, and ripped them free when they caught on my ankle.

Then he dropped to his knees.

His hands gripped my thighs, spreading me wide, and a broken whimper escaped me as he leaned in and dragged his tongue slowly up my center.