“I mean, you are the one freaking out over a tiny pump while there’s a hot and willing honey trap on your sleeping bag.”

Hot? Willing? This woman had no idea what she was doing to him over here.

…or maybe she did. The coy lift to her brow turned downright taunting. “Or is it Bubbles watching us that you object to? I gotta warn you, Harrison, you can’t kick her to the curb every time you bring a woman to your bed. I guess, if you’re one of those guys who just gets in there and bam-bam, crank-crank, finishes the job, it won’t matter so much. But I was sort of hoping you’d be the kind who takes his time—”

“Sophie Vasquez, if you don’t stop right now, I’m going to…” He trailed off, struggling to think of a punishment that would vindicate a fraction of the things she was making him feel right now.

“What will you do to me?” she purred. She shifted onto her knees and drew so close they were practically kissing. Her breath was warm against his mouth, her lips a smile against his. “You’ll bam-bam, crank-crank, finish the job? Don’t worry—I’m ready. I promise to come the moment you enter me.”

There was nothing for it then but to give up. Give up, give in, give this woman everything she demanded and more. He could go to his grave knowing that he’d fought his valiant best—and that his valiant best wasn’t even close to enough to defeat a woman like Sophie.

He acknowledged his helplessness by touching his mouth to hers and kissing her until both of them were breathless. He didn’t know if it was the close air of the tent or if kissing Sophie would always leave him with a whirling head and no sense of his surroundings, but he was forced to push her to the ground so they both had somewhere to rest.

There wasn’t so much space in the tent that they had much in the way of room to navigate, but it didn’t seem to matter. She accepted the full weight of him as if he were nothing, bore the press of his body as a delight rather than a burden.

Harrison paused to unzip her jacket, his fingers shaking like he was some goddamned teenager who’d never felt up a woman before. Sophie didn’t help matters any by moaning and arching her back, the warm jut of her breasts—Lady and the Tramp—tempting him into skipping his slow, sultry plan of disrobing her piece by piece. As much as he would have liked to take his time with each button, exposing her soft skin in inches, he didn’t have the willpower.