“Starving.”

I step back and pull my bag around to the front of me, tipping my chin at a large boulder.

It’s flat and smooth, wide enough to hold several people.

“Want to sit up there and eat? Seems like a nice spot.”

Brooke looks at the path between us and the rock I’m asking her to get to, her brows pinching together and her mouth pulling into a frown.

Her anxiety slips on like a veil.

I follow her gaze. It’s not a far distance, but the overgrown grass is thick with weeds and wildflowers, some of it reaching up as high as her knees. We’ve stayed on clear paths up until this point, nothing unkempt like this.

I know how much I’m asking of Brooke. Bull-headed determination or not. She might just tell me to go fuck off for even suggesting this. I don’t really care where we eat. I’ll sit on the dirt right here, but I’m curious to see how far she’ll go to prove her persistence today.

Another first, little devil? Will you give me this?

I step closer and squeeze her hand. “It’ll be a nice view up there. We might be able to see the lake.”

She slowly turns her head. Her eyes, more green than brown today, narrow in on mine. “Yeah? You know what else has a nice view of the lake? Our campsite. Maybe even the car. Why don’t we go check?”

“I can carry you,” I offer, attempting not to smile at her quick-witted apprehension. “I wouldn’t mind it.”

“You are not carrying me,” she scoffs, yanking out of my grip. “I’m capable of getting there myself. And you know what?”

“What?”

She leans in, standing on her toes to get closer, her hands curling around her hips, her face so near to mine I can see the freckles she’s hiding underneath her makeup. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do, Mason, because contrary to what you think, I fucking love it out here.”

Brooke lets out a tiny squeak, spins around, and sprints through the tall grass like something is chasing her.

My mouth stretches into a grin.

Fuck, baby. Look at you. Always surprising me.

She makes it to the boulder and, with frantic hands, tries to claw her way on top of it, but her footing slips on the smooth rock. “No! Goddamn it, no!”

Laughing, I follow behind and reach the boulder just as she slips again. Even with a running start, she’s too short to get up here alone. I toss my bag on top of the rock to free up my hands.

“Here, my little nature lover,” I say against her hair, grabbing her waist and hoisting her up onto the rock.

She thanks me through a breathy pant and shifts over to make room.

I climb up with ease and sit on the warm stone. Reaching for my bag, I watch Brooke scoot to the ledge and look out over the tree-line.

She’s tousled and winded. Her hair is coming undone, several thick pieces falling beside her face and sticking to her neck, barely any of it still contained in her pony. Her skin is flushed and shiny from the bug spray. A light dusting of dirt clings to her legs.

I want to freeze this moment. I want to be able to sit here and do absolutely nothing, just stare at this woman for hours and hours. Bask in the stunningly unpolished version of the temptress I met on the footpath that first day.

Fuck, how wild she was then. Luring me. Making it so I couldn’t remember ever seeing anyone else.

She’s still just as brilliantly captivating as she always is in any arrangement. The little wolf or the docile sheep. I’ll take every layer of Brooke. Anything and everything.

You’re a wreck for her, mate. This is a lot more for you now.

My world seems to slow.

Brooke moves from her perch to sit on the other side of the bag. She tucks some hair behind her ear, looks up at me through those long, dark lashes, and winks. That’s it. Nothing more than a bloody wink, and a commanding warmth spreads in my chest like kerosene poured over an open flame.

Yeah, I’m a fucking wreck all right.

I wipe my hand across my mouth, collecting myself before I speak. She grimaces at the dampness beading on her brow when she touches her fingers to her skin.

“You look pretty,” I tell her, ducking my head to see her eyes. “Really fucking pretty.”

She shrugs, laughing a little as she drops her hand. “Thanks. I’m sweaty.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” she echoes, fighting a smile. Her gaze shifts between my face and the bag as she crosses her legs beneath her. “What did you pack to eat? I could murder some food right now.”

I unzip the pouch and pull out what I grabbed from the cooler before we took off this morning.

Bread with some almond butter, apple slices cut and drizzled with lemon to keep from browning, trail mix, two protein bars, and some fruit leather.

I hand Brooke a bottle of water and set the food between us with some napkins.

“Anything edible in there?” she asks through a chuckle, poking at the fruit leather. “This . . . I’m not going to lie. It looks like a shoelace.”

I hand her a cookie dough flavored protein bar. “Eat this.”

Her eyes flicker with delight as she reads the package. She tears it open with her teeth and takes a bite, her jaw working through one full chew before it locks up. Our eyes meet. Her nose wrinkles in disgust. She drops the bar and grabs her water, tipping it back and swallowing the bite she took.

“That tastes like glue,” she mumbles, wiping the back of her hand against her mouth. She shoots me a disapproving look. “You packed glue bars and shoelace, Mason. Congratulations, we’re going to starve to death.”