Page 8 of His Primal Attraction

My lips twitch. "That's a relief. Was getting real tired of saving your pretty little hide."

She huffs out a reluctant laugh, shaking her head as she resumes sorting through our supplies. A few stray tendrils of chestnut hair have escaped her messy knot to wisp around her flushed face, gilded by the fading sunlight.

My fingers itch with the sudden need to brush them aside, to trace the elegant curve of her throat and feel that thundering pulse. To pull her flush against me and finally slake this relentless thirst that's been steadily building all day.

But I resist, clenching my fists at my sides until the moment passes and I can breathe again. Can't let myself get tangled up in those kinds of complicated snares. Especially not when I need to remain hyper-alert to any dangers lurking nearby.

"I'll, uh, go scout the perimeter while you finish getting set up," I grunt, snatching up my rifle as I stride off into the treeline. "Stay put and keep your ears peeled."

"Of course," Rhylee murmurs distractedly, already engrossed in unpacking and assembling some high-tech gadget from her pack.

I shake my head, fighting back another reluctant grin as I melt into the shadows between the towering pines. Leave it to her to get all hot and bothered over the prospect of new scientific discoveries while we're both just lucky to be in one piece.

But then, I suppose I'm no better—getting all twisted up in knots over a woman instead of keeping my fool head in the mission like I always have before. This insane attraction is making me reckless, unfocused, putting us at risk.

I grit my teeth harder, shoving the thought aside as I press deeper into the looming tree cover.

By the time I finish my patrol of the perimeter, the last sliver of fiery sun has vanished behind the jagged peaks. I find Rhylee hunched over the small campfire, methodically feeding the crackling flames.

She glances up at my approach, a tentative smile tugging at those full lips. "I managed to get the tent and everything else squared away while you were gone."

I nod, dropping my rifle and pack as I lower myself to the bedroll across from her with a grunt. The dancing firelight casts flickering shadows across her features, gilding her warm skin with a rosy glow that's damn near irresistible.

"Smells good," I murmur, nodding at the small pot suspended over the coals where something savory bubbles. "What'd you whip up for dinner?"

"Just a simple lentil veggie stew," she says with a dismissive wave. "Not much, but it should provide some solid sustenance after today's hike."

I hum in agreement, watching her delicate brow furrow as she carefully ladles portions into two tin camping bowls. She passes me one without a word, those long lashes shielding her expression as she focuses intently on her own food.

We eat in silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the crackle of the flames and our utensils clinking against metal. But the quiet isn't uncomfortable, just... heavy.

Finally, Rhylee clears her throat, setting her empty bowl aside with a soft clink. "So, your family must have led fascinating lives out here."

I pause in the middle of shoveling another heaping bite into my mouth, considering her question. Most flatlanders who come sniffing around my territory don't give two shits about my backstory—only what I can provide for them in terms of guiding and ensuring their safety. But there's genuine curiosity glimmering in those big doe eyes as she regards me steadily across the flickering firepit.

"You could say that," I finally grunt, setting my own empty bowl aside as I shift into a more comfortable position. "More like we were just stubborn fools too wild and uncivilized to live any other way."

"I don't see it like that at all," Rhylee argues softly. A hint of a frown creases her smooth brow as she tucks a loose strand of hair behind one ear. The motion draws my eye to the elegant curve of her throat, the delicate point of her jaw.

"From my perspective, your upbringing was one very few are privileged enough to experience anymore. To be raised so intimately connected to the rhythms and wonders of the untamed world... it's something to be envied."

A humorless snort escapes before I can bite it back. "Shit, you make scrambling to keep our scrawny hides alive day to day in this harsh country sound like some kind of dream."

"But isn't that exactly the point?" she counters, leaning forward slightly. The fire dances in those warm eyes, casting her fine-boned features into sharp relief. "That ability to not only survive, but thrive in perfect harmony with nature's raw, unforgiving state? It's the ultimate freedom."

My lips tug in a faint, reluctant grin, grudgingly charmed against my will. "You got an awful pretty way of spinning things, Doc. I'll give you that much."

Rhylee's cheeks color faintly at the praise. "My parents were both prominent research scientists. From an early age, they instilled in me the importance of appreciating the nuances of any situation through an academic lens."

I can't quite resist the urge to poke at her a bit further. "Let me guess—lots of fancy degrees hanging on their study walls?"

She huffs out a soft laugh, shaking her head in rueful acknowledgment. "You could say that. I grew up in a very sheltered household, where the highest priority was always academics and achievement. Childhood was a never-ending string of private tutors, enrichment camps, elite prep schools... a constant push toward intellectual success and little else."

My brows lift in surprise at her candid admission. "So how, exactly, did you end up out here?”

That warm blush stains her cheeks again as she ducks her head, tucking another loose strand behind an ear in that same unconsciously endearing gesture. "I suppose it is ironic that a field researcher came from such a regimented, over-protective environment."

She lapses into a thoughtful silence, absently worrying that full lower lip between her teeth as she seems to mull over her own words. I find myself leaning in, my entire focus narrowed to the slight furrow of concentration between her brows, the way the firelight plays across the delicate arches of her cheekbones, throwing her features into sharp relief.

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