I know I’m slowing us down, but I try really hard to not wince every time my boot hits the asphalt.

“Zoey?”

“Mmhmm?”

“How ya doin’?”

“Great. Peachy. Top-notch.”

“Liar.” Warner stops me with a hand on my shoulder. “Your feet are killing you, aren’t they?”

I try not to groan or sink to the ground. “They might be staging a slight protest.”

“Here. Climb on my back.” He crouches down, offering me a tempting ride. But I wave him away.

“No, no. I’m fine. See?” Picking my foot up high, I start a dramatic march. But the second my boot sole hits the ground, a variety of pains shoots through my foot, and I gasp at the shock.

“Yeah. Totally fine,” Warner deadpans. “But maybe you could humor me?”

I’m tempted. I can feel myself giving in. But before latching myself to him, I announce my insecurity. “I smell.”

A full day of hiking means I sweat through my clothes. And now, that sweat has dried into a crusty layer on the fabric and my skin. The only barrier between him and the stench is his sweatshirt, which I’m already mortified about dirtying up.

Warner straightens, steps into me, and ducks his head to bury his nose against my neck. His arms wrap around my waist, foiling any chance of escape. I’m forced to stand still as he breathes in my stink.

Then, shocking the hell out of me, I feel his tongue flick against my skin.

I groan, clutching at his shoulders, briefly forgetting all the different ways my body hurts. All I can concentrate on is the ache between my legs.

How long until I can convince him to soothe that?

“I like the way you smell,” he whispers, hot lips brushing against my uneven pulse.

“Oh.” It’s all I can manage, and when he lets me go to offer his back again, I don’t hesitate to climb on.

A few minutes pass in silence as Warner carries me down the dark road. His back is so warm; I melt against him. Copying his action, I find myself burrowing my nose into his neck to breathe in his smell. There’s the salty tang of sweat, but that only seems to enhance his natural, delicious, manly scent.

He walks at a steady clip I never would have been able to maintain.

“How are you not tired?” I mutter.

A chuckle rumbles through his back and makes my nipples tighten. I wonder if he can feel them pressing into his skin.

“My job is manual labor. I’m used to going all day.”

“That’s some impressive stamina.” I twirl one of his curls around my finger, enjoying another vibration of his deeper laughter.