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His gaze traveled over her. She’d cut off the dreadlocks, leaving the ends to wave just shy of her breasts. The silken tresses caught the light—warm brown the color of oak leaves in autumn and lighter sun-bleached streaks from her weeks on the mountain.

Part of him ached a little at the loss of the dreadlocks—they’d suited her, wild and unbothered, a physical reminder of her strength and all the trials she’d survived. But this suited her too.

In a way he hadn’t braced himself for.

She caught him staring and lifted a hand to touch it self-consciously. “What do you think?”

His voice came out rough. “It looks beautiful.” A beat passed, longer than he meant to let it stretch. “You look beautiful.”

They stared at each other, neither moving for long enough that the hallway seemed to hold its breath along with him. All the sounds of the lodge winding down for the night silenced, or maybe they just faded in the moment he and Whitley were locked in each other’s eyes.

Just when he started to think he’d said too much and crossed a line, her face lit up, bright and glowing. A pink hue settled faintly in her cheeks.

“Well. Does that mean you’ll come to the bonfire with me?”

He was caught off guard for the second time in two minutes. “I was gonna ask you to go.”

“I guess I beat you to it.”

Wyatt was catching feelings for Whitley.

Real feelings.

They’d grown close over the past few weeks. Friend-close. The kind of friendship that had come so easily he didn’t want to risk screwing it up by wanting more.

Problem was, he already did.

He wanted to kiss her. Wanted to touch her. Wanted to do so damn much more than that.

And he had no business considering any of it while she was still under their protection and running from a man who wanted to hurt her.

“We should go together.” That sounded like safer ground.

“Perfect.” She started to swing toward her room but stopped. Turning back, she gave him a shy look. “I don’t have a jacket. The girls have given me a bunch of clothes but—”

He was already disappearing into his room. He grabbed his thick Carhartt jacket off the back of the desk chair and returned to her.

When she took it, her eyelashes grazed her cheeks, sweeping over the faint blush that covered them. Their fingers brushed, and instead of pulling away, she went still, her hand warm against his.

She stood only inches away. Her chest rose and fell too fast. His mouth watered to lean down and place his lips to the pulse throbbing fast beneath her ear.

With a tearing noise, he cleared his throat. He waved a hand for her to walk before him, and he fell into step beside her.

By some unspoken agreement they took the long route out of the lodge, skipping the elevator in favor of the stairs, talking in the easy way that they always did.

She told him about her day, and he perked up. “I’ve been assisting in wound care all day. I really love it, and Trey’s great.”

“Trey?”

“Dr. Hitchcock. Sorry—he asked me to use his first name.”

A pang of possessiveness rippled through Wyatt at the familiarity even as he knew it was stupid. Rescuing her from the mountain didn’t give him any claim on Whitley.

She went on without missing a beat. “It’s good to have other people to focus on besides my own trouble for a while.”

A shadow crossed her face at the last words, and he reached for her without thinking. Halfway down the staircase, they stopped, and he turned her to face him. He touched a finger beneath her delicate chin, tipping her face up until her eyes met his.

He delved straight into the depths. A warm rush crashed through him like he’d dropped from a cliff face into a deep pool of water. His heart slammed against his ribs in a furious beat, and he couldn’t find enough air.