“Hey, now.” Damon barges in, hauling my second duffel over his shoulder. “This toddler showersandwipes his own ass.”
I ignore the snickers that follow, glaring at Hawk, who stands a few feet away, silent and steady as always. The others might be treating this as a joke, but I can see it in his stance—he’s alert and watching everything. Watchingme.
It shouldn’t make my pulse skip.And I fucking hate that it does.
“Which one is mine?” I ask, scanning the small space.
Damon nods to the far corner. “You can take that cot.”
“You’re serious?” I blink at it, noting it can’t be more than a foot from the one beside it.
“Best command could offer us.” Damon shrugs, dropping my duffel at the foot of my new bed.
Iraise a brow. “And I’m supposed to just… sleep here? With all of you?”
“What, worried we’ll peek?” Jagger grins. “Relax, sweetheart. I saw your panties when I packed them.”
Fury surges through me. “You?—”
Before I can finish, Hawk barks, “Jagger.”
One word. That’s all it takes. “Fine,” Jagger rolls his eyes and goes back to setting up his cot before snickering, “I’m not the one who saw you naked.”
I scoff, folding my arms tightly this time. “Yeah, well, we all have regrets, don’t we?”
Jagger whistles low. “Ouch.”
“Shut up,” Hawk and I snarl in unison.
The others laugh, the tension briefly broken. But my heart is still hammering, because that stupid, infuriating man just has to stand there looking exactly like he used to—steady, composed, and annoyingly calm while my insides twist into knots.
I set my things up around the corner cot, mostly to keep as much distance between me and them as possible, but it’s pointless. The tent is too small to actually put any distance between us.
As they settle in, their banter keeps flying. Damon starts organizing gear, Gunnar unpacks their weapons, and Jagger immediately begins a monologue about how this is going to be a “great bonding experience.”
“Maybe we can braid each other’s hair,” I say dryly.
Jagger grins. “Careful, I might take you up on that. I’ve been told I have magic hands.”
“Pretty sure whoever told you that was lying.”
Damon snorts into his mug, and even Gunnar hides a grin behind his hand. Hawk doesn’t smile, but I see the twitch at the corner of his lips. “Glad to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor,” he says quietly, moving past me to grab a crate that eases apart as he lifts it.
“Glad to see you haven’t lost your ability to ruin everything you touch,” I shoot back. He freezes mid-step, and for a second, I almost feel bad.Almost.
“Guess I earned that,” he exhales softly.
I look away, pretending to busy myself with organizing my duffel. “You earned a lot more than that.”
For a few minutes, the tent falls into a tense rhythm. The guys talk in low tones, mostly about logistics. I unpack in silence, carefully placing my equipment on the crate beside my cot: laptop, camera lenses, notebooks, and hard drives quickly filling my makeshift desk.
When I turn too fast to grab another lens from my gear bag, I slam right into a wall of muscle. My breath catches as oak and cardamom, mixed faintly with the musk of sweat, flood my nostrils. His hands land on my waist, instinctually steadying me before I stumble. Hesitantly, I lift my hands to push away, finding Hawk’s chest is solid and much broader than I remember. And for a split second, the world stops.
His thumb flexes against my hip bone, like he’s forgotten to let go. In response, my heart lurches against my ribs,traitorous and wild. “You’re too close,” I whisper, hating how breathless I sound.
“And yet, you haven’t moved.” He stands steady, his voice gravelly enough that it curls right down my spine.
I force myself to take a step back, though my pulse is still thrumming like it’s trying to escape my skin. “Because I was deciding whether to knee you in the balls or walk away.”
