Page 37 of The Darkest Chase
About holding her pleasure and her fate together in the same iron fist.
Fuck, I definitely need to get this over with and forget all about wondering if Talia Grey’s thighs quiver the same way her lips do.
Those lips move now, reminding me I need to process normal words instead of my own deviant thoughts. Especially with the way she’s scuffing her feet and toying with the adjustable sections of her backpack straps, twining the black nylon around her fingers, blissfully unaware of my filthy thoughts.
“Fair warning, I’ve never been camping,” she starts sheepishly. “I thought it’d be better to overpack a bit.”
“Never?”
Talia averts her eyes.
“…I know. It’s weird, living here and never doing it when it’s like the only thing to do for fun. But yeah.”
There’s an awkward silence.
I think I get what she means, but I won’t embarrass her more by pushing about it.
“Give me a minute,” I say. “Let me grab my gear and put Rolf in his harness, and then we can sort your bag and head out.”
“What do we need to sort?”
“Emptying it out, first,” I answer. “Even I wouldn’t want to haul that around in the hills for hours, and we’re going to be climbing for a while. It’s just one night, Miss Grey. Considering the weather, we’d be fine with a couple canteens, a sleeping bag, and a fire.”
“…oh. Okay. I feel dumb now.”
“Don’t,” I throw back. “Your head was in the right place. Be right back.”
I step back and push the door back, leaving it open just enough to not seem rude, but still not inviting entry.
I’m territorial about my space, though it’s not just that.
Having a woman here feels too intimate.
Like this is more than me dragging her into my business, if I let her get familiar with my home.
I can’t afford that.
Not when I can never predict what might blow my cover and tear the identity of Officer Micah Ainsley into shreds, revealing the truth.
So I leave her standing outside while I snag the smaller backpack I prepped yesterday and sling it over one shoulder, then coax Rolf into his harness. It’s designed to make it easier to manage him on steep inclines and help him if he takes a fall.
You don’t want to be holding a leash attached to a collar if your dog goes over a ridge. If he were younger, I’d let him just roam free without a harness. But he’s fifteen years old now, well past his breed’s typical lifespan.
I’m a little overprotective.
For him, I act a little human.
He clings near my leg like he always does as I take his leash and lead him to the door. His tail starts wagging like mad.
He can always tell when we’re about to hit the woods for an extended stay, and even as old as he is, he gets all worked up at the thought of chasing squirrels through heaps of dead leaves.
The second I open the door again and see Talia standing there with a confused, slightly hurt look on her face, Rolf’s tail stops.
She flashes me an odd look, then looks away, bowing her head and smiling at the dog with one slim hand reaching out.
“Hey, big guy. Ready to give me a second chance?”
Rolf just stares at her, stone-cold and flat.