Denali
“What time is it?” I reach for my phone and get a chill. It’s almost 4 p.m. “I have to go.” I rise and grab my shorts.
“I know.” Nash bends over to tie his boots, gorgeous muscles glowing in the lazy afternoon light. There’s a heaviness to his tone that makes my chest tight.
He knows what I’m going to say.
So I say it. “Yeah. You should go.” I face the wall as I shrug on a shirt, wincing at how cold I sound. “I’m sorry. I have a life. A job.”
I barely hear a step before he’s at my back. “This isn’t over, Denali.”
My heart lurches and skids. Of course not. It’s too much to ask, to share one more afternoon and then part ways.
“I’m late. I have to go. Please, Nash.” I turn to plead with him.
His expression is shuttered. He nods.
“It’s probably not a good idea for you to come b
