Jordan’s father’s ancient mothball encrusted tux.
She often cited the benefits of spending time in nature on their More Than Just a Number blog.
It was time to rethink that.
Jordan shifted in his sleep, and his mouth fell open as a rip-roaring snore tore through the tent.
Yep, her fiancé was a tent snorer.
The Marks snoring sound system activated when the man was without his goose down pillow. Last night, she’d tossed and turned, poking and prodding him, but he was out like a light and sawing logs like a lumberjack on steroids.
She brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. How many nights had she slept wrapped in his arms, peacefully dreaming? How many mornings had she woken with his muscled body pressed to hers and his hard length, ready to take her over the edge of ecstasy?
Never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined this is how they’d spend their first night as an engaged couple.
The only saving grace? At least, she hadn’t needed to use the shit shovel…yet.
“Georgie? Is this a dream?” her fiancé, Mr. Tent Snorer, asked on a groggy exhale.
She blinked her burning, sleep-deprived eyes. “No, this is real, Jordan.”
He shifted in the sleeping bag and gathered her into his arms. They’d opted to lay one flat to have some sort of cushioning and share the other.
“How’d you sleep?” he asked, his voice thick from actual sleep.
“Not great. You snore,” she replied.
“I do?” he asked with a gruff, gravelly morning voice she usually loved. But this morning, all she wanted to do was stuff a pair of socks into his mouth.
“Yeah, pretty much all night long,” she replied, lamenting her decision to pack light and not add an extra pair to her bag.
His sleepy gaze grew concerned. “Do I do that at home?”
“No.” She sighed, feeling like an asshat. It wasn’t his fault he was a tent snorer.
“I’m sorry, babe,” he said against her neck, dropping kisses.
“Jordan, I don’t think boot camp is for me,” she murmured, melting into his touch.
He continued kissing a trail to her earlobe. “We could call the concierge desk and ask for housekeeping to bring up some earplugs.”
She chuckled. “Yeah, along with a working toilet and a minibar.”
He ran his hand down the side of her body then tugged at her fleece. “What are you wearing?”
“A T-shirt, a sweatshirt, and a fleece. I bundled up in the middle of the night,” she answered.
He released the layers of fabric. “Are you warm enough now?”
She cuddled into him. “I’ve never slept outside. I didn’t want to die of hypothermia.”
“Georgie, we checked the weather before we left. It’s not going to get even remotely close to freezing temperatures.”
She sighed. “Your definition of remotely close may differ from mine.”
“Let’s warm you up,” he purred in that sexy voice.
He slid his hand under her multiple layers of clothing and stroked her back, drawing lazy circles with his warm fingertips.
She hummed her pleasure. “This, I like.”
He slipped his hand into her yoga pants . “What about this?” he asked, caressing her tight bundle of nerves.
“That, I like even more.” She wove her fingers into his dark, uncharacteristically messy hair. “Looks like you’re going to be rocking some sex hair this morning, Mr. Marks.”
“Two can play at that,” he replied on a heated breath.
“It is the great outdoors. We can go a little caveman, can’t we?” she answered as her sex brain kicked in and overruled her rational mind that yearned to return to civilization.
He captured her mouth in a kiss, then stilled.
She held her breath. “What is it?”
Oh no! She hadn’t brushed her teeth, and, after all the tent hell and her fiancé passing out from exhaustion, she’d indulged in the one thing that never let her down.
Jordan frowned. “Have you been eating cookie dough?”
Her cheeks grew hot, and it wasn’t from the sleeping bag hanky-panky.
“I was up most of the night, and I got bored,” she confessed.
Tired, uncomfortable, and unable to escape her fiancé’s snore-fest, she’d turned to her only salvation.
Vegan chocolate chip cookie dough.
“How much did you eat?” he asked as his frown deepened.
She buried her face in the crook of his neck. “Enough that we’ll probably be eating deer jerky for breakfast.”
“Georgie! You ate the whole thing?” he exclaimed.
“No!” she shot back.
“How much is left for us?” he asked.
She cringed. “An inch.”
“An inch!” he cried.
Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. “I know. I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself. The few times I did fall asleep, I dreamed of my mother knocking that doughnut out of my