Her hair is long and wavy, like she just came from the beach. It looks damn good. Last time I saw her, it was pulled back tightly for Vincent and Eve’s wedding in some fancy style. Actually, after I was done with her, it looked a lot like this. I can’t help but chuckle at the memory. Was it really only a few months ago? She’s just so … beautiful. Something about the shape of her brown eyes, large and almond, makes my dick twitch. I adjust but keep my eyes trained on the prize.

I asked her what her ethnicity was, but she was shady as hell about it, playing around and never giving me a straight answer. I continue to stare, vividly remembering the night of the wedding.

“Let’s go for a walk.” Grabbing two wineglasses from the wooden bar, I stuff them in the back pockets of my khakis before taking a cold bottle of white from the bartender. “Thanks, man.”

We pound fists. He’s the son of one of the board members on the tribal council, and Vincent and I both spar with him from time to time. He’s never fought competitively, but he is pretty quick on his feet.

“A walk?” she repeats.

I face her and notice her pink lips, nice and full. My eyes trail down to her nipples, which have pebbled beneath her gown. She catches me staring and immediately drops a hand over a slender hip, daring me to keep looking. Good thing I’m not the type of man who hides. I’m not into cryptic shit. If I want something, I go for it. No excuses and no bullshit. The last hour has been spent taking shots and making jokes. It’s been great, but I’m ready to move on.

“Yeah,” I start. “You know, put one foot in front of the other. Walk.” I raise the bottle of wine in my hand and lift my brows, promising more fun. “My truck isn’t too far.”

“Well, I don’t walk in heels like these,” she sasses back, shrugging.

I look down and laugh. She wasn’t lying. Those shoes are pretty damn high. Strappy and pointy and who the fuck knows what.

“Take them off.” I stare at the death traps on her feet. “I’ll hold them for you. Why did you even put that shit on tonight? You’re in the mountains, if you didn’t notice.”

She squints. “Shit? They’re my shoes.”

I grunt, feigning understanding.

Her eyes roll. “You don’t get it.”

“Guess not.” I tip my head, trying to charm my way around the fact that I have zero clue what she’s saying.

The women I grew up with had three pairs of shoes—flips, sneakers, and work boots. Lauren wears the kind of fancy shit that I can barely get my head around. I guess they’re sexy, but she’d be hot in anything.

She huffs, “Fine. I’ll take them off.” A flirty kind of annoyance is written on her face. “But only because you served my country. Don’t want to seem … ungrateful.”