Hung

He covered for me, though, and that gets the warm fuzzies going. He hasn’t asked too many questions. Has, in fact, simply followed my lead in a show of support that’s as unexpected as it is appreciated. Pick is turning out to be far more than a dare or a delicious treat. He’s rock solid and a genuine hero . . . but he’s also alpha to his core. Taking control is second nature to him. I need to run hard—in the opposite direction. He’s used to being in charge and giving orders. My deputy ex was like that, and I’ve totally learned my lesson there. No more take-charge authority figures for me. Never, ever again.

Pick does some more silent staring. Or maybe it’s waiting. I’m tempted to stick my tongue out at him to break the growing tension, but there’s something impossibly sweet about him. He came after me. Maybe he was worried. Maybe he cared. Hah. As if. It’s far more likely that he just wants to finish what we started yesterday. I chew my lip and examine his face, looking for answers. The sexual tension between us is out of this world, but that’s all we have going for us. One hot kiss and an even hotter twenty minutes in a supply cabin. He didn’t even get an orgasm out of it, although I haven’t heard him complaining.

Since I’m watching him like he’s my favorite show, I know the exact moment he decides screw this. Moving slowly enough that I could dance away and make a joke, he steps up to the table and pulls me into his arms, hugging me close. And I let him. Are you surprised? Because it shocks the hell out of me. Worse, I turn and rub my cheek against his chest like I’m his goddamned sex kitten.

His voice rumbles overhead. “You change your mind, you know where to find me, honey. I got one question, though.” He pauses, clearly waiting for some sign from me. But I’m obviously clueless, so I shut the hell up and eventually he continues. “Why did Deputy Douche come all the way up here looking for you? Seems like one hell of a drive.”

“Six hours,” I agree. Oops. This is why it’s better to say nothing because I’ve just incriminated myself.

“So you do have a passing acquaintance with the good officer,” he drawls.

Admit nothing. “I can read a map,” I offer, shoving away from him. It’s harder to do than I’d like. He feels so good, all steely muscles wrapped up in sun-warmed leather and cotton. Someone should totally bottle that. “And do math. That doesn’t mean Thad came out here looking for me.” I point toward the motorcycle parked alongside the road. “You should go back to fighting your fires.”

Our moment—whatever it is—needs to be over.

Pick just smiles. “And you’ll come back to cooking dinner in camp as soon as Thad’s gone?”

Shit. Well, it’s not like it’s really a secret that I’ve got secrets, is it? I’m still going for somewhat plausible deniability.

“Sure.” I fold my arms over my chest, and wait for him to get a move on. Unfortunately, Pick’s as stubborn as he is large. He leans down, placing his hands on either side of me. His fingers brush my hips, he’s that close. I can’t bring myself to complain.

“Here’s the thing, honey,” he says. “You can’t cook worth shit. So I have to wonder why you came out here, in the middle of nowhere, providing three squares for a crew of hotshots.”

I slap a hand on his chest and shove. God, he feels so warm and solid beneath the cotton T-shirt that proclaims BIG BEAR ROGUES. I so do not want to curl my fingers into that fabric and pull him closer. The man just insulted my cooking skills. I should be insulted—not turned on. “You heard about this little thing called the economy? It sucks.”

“Uh-huh. Which is why you’re on a first-name basis with Deputy Douche and hiding out on the road instead of starting dinner.”

He knows my work schedule? I’m not sure if I’m flattered or creeped out that he’s been watching me enough to know when I work.

“I’m a bad employee.” He just insulted my cooking—he can hardly disagree.

“You work at camp, so you should know something.” He doesn’t move away. Doesn’t give me the space I crave. He just keeps me boxed in… and I like it. He smells like laundry detergent and wood smoke, plus something indefinably, indescribably Pick. He’s freaking spectacular, but he doesn’t even seem to know it. He prowls through camp, putting everyone to rights, and he doesn’t notice the feminine looks that follow his ripped and corded body. God, I’d like to get him into an actual bed. I’ll bet he’s the best, the kind of man who gives as well as gets and who ruins you for anyone else because he’s hung and he sets the bar high.