You weren’t sure what was louder—the wind rustling the trees outside or the pounding of your heartbeat as you lay shoulder-to-shoulder with Rafe Cameron inside the world’s smallest tent.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. There were supposed to be three tents. One for the adults, one for the girls, and one—regrettably—for you and Rafe. But no one mentioned that this tent could barely fit one person comfortably, let alone two.

You tried turning on your side, but your back hit nylon. You turned the other way and your face was suddenly inches from Rafe’s.

His breath hitched. Yours did, too.

“Could you not breathe so loud?” you whispered, though your own voice trembled.

“Could you not exist so close?” he shot back, but it lacked bite. His voice was low, and his eyes flicked down—too quickly to catch unless you were already watching. Which, unfortunately, you were.

Neither of you moved. The space between you wasn’t even a full inch now. Your knees brushed under the sleeping bags. His arm was pressed lightly against yours. Every shift felt deliberate, every breath charged.

“Just close your eyes and go to sleep,” you muttered, more to yourself than him.

“I’m trying,” he murmured, “but someone keeps fidgeting like I’m a live wire.”

“You are a live wire.”

He smiled in the dark. “Then stop touching me.”

You stiffened. “I’m not—”

“You are,” he said, his voice suddenly quieter, heavier. “You have been since your leg brushed mine. I just didn’t say anything.”

The air thickened. You could feel the warmth rolling off his body, feel every single place your skin accidentally—or maybe not so accidentally—touched his.

“You’re enjoying this,” you whispered, not trusting your own voice.

Rafe tilted his head closer, his lips barely an inch from your ear. “Are you saying you’re not?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Not when your heart was in your throat and your whole body felt wired, alert, and painfully aware of the way he was watching you.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you looked away.

And for a second, in that breathless space between annoyance and something else entirely, you swore he might kiss you.