He was behind me, his chest against my back, his arms bracketing mine as he showed me the proper technique. Warmth radiated from his body, seeping through my expensive technical layers like they didn't exist. His hands—rough and scarred and so much larger than mine—covered my fingers, showing me how to feel for the connection points instead of forcing them.
"Relax," he said, his voice close to my ear. "You're thinking too hard."
Relax. Right. Relax while the most attractive man I'd ever seen was pressed against me, showing me how to put together a tent like we were doing the clay scene from the movieGhost.
"I don't know how to not think," I admitted, and immediately regretted it. Too honest. Too vulnerable.
"I know," he said, and there was something almost gentle in his voice now. His hands guided mine through the motion until I understood the rhythm and I could feel the way the poles wanted to connect instead of forcing them into submission.
"There," he said. "See? You don't have to control everything. Sometimes you just have to trust the process."
Trust the process. When was the last time I'd trusted anything? When was the last time I'd let go of control long enough to just feel?
I couldn't remember.
"Try it again," Sam said, and stepped back.
My body immediately cataloged the absence—cold where he'd been warm, empty where he'd been solid, alone where he'd been present.
Stop it. This is insane.
But my hands were steadier now as I worked through the tent setup, following the pattern he'd shown me. When I finished, the tent stood solid and properly assembled, ready to withstand whatever the mountain threw at it.
"Good girl," Sam said.
I almost came from the way he said those words. Turning to face him, I saw he was watching me like I was a puzzle he was trying to solve.
"What?" I asked, suddenly self-conscious.
"You're tougher than you look," he said. "Most people would have given up by now. Or at least complained more."
"I don't give up," I said automatically. It was true—stubbornness was probably my most defining characteristic. The trait that had gotten me through law school and into a top firm despite coming from nothing. The trait that was currently keeping me in a job that was slowly killing me.
"Good girl," he said again and I knew he knew exactly how his words affected me.
He moved on to help Amanda with her tent, leaving me standing there horny and unsatisfied.
WHEN DINNER TIME CAMEaround, I was exhausted in ways that had nothing to do with physical exertion. Sam had pushed us through a series of drills designed to test our gear under stress. My rain jacket had failed spectacularly during his improvised waterfall test and my carefully researched hiking boots were giving me blisters that made walking painful. But worse than the physical discomfort was the emotional toll of being constantly watched, constantly assessed, constantly found wanting.
Except... that wasn't quite right, was it?
Because every time Sam criticized my equipment choices, he also showed me how to do better. Every time he pointed out my mistakes, he also taught me the correct technique. He was hard on me—harder than on the others—but not cruel. Not dismissive.
Demanding. Like he expected more from me because he could see I was capable of more.
When was the last time someone had expected me to grow instead of just perform?
"Jess?"
I looked up from my protein bar dessert to find Sam standing over me, blocking out the sunset. He looked even larger. More intimidating. More...
Stop it.
"Yeah?"
"Walk with me. I want to show you something."
I stood, wincing as my new boots reminded me of every blister they'd created, and followed him away from the group. We walked maybe a hundred yards to a rocky outcrop that overlooked the valley below.
