Page 32 of Curves for the Mountain Man

Fourteen

GINGER

Click.

The door to my hospital room opens, and a handsome blond man carrying a bouquet of white daisies stands there, unmoving.

“Oh, thank you.” Flowers have poured in all day from family, friends, and the families of my first graders. I motion for him to put them with the others.

But he doesn’t move.

What is he waiting for?

I glance at him more closely, noting his height and broad chest and shoulders, which remind me of my burly mountain man. He wears olive drab khakis, black combat boots, and a tight-fitting black T-shirt. But I pull my eyes away quickly, refusing to let them linger, loyal to my wrongly imprisoned rescuer.

The deliveryman hesitates awkwardly, and I say, “Daisies are my favorite. Who are they from?”

He shrugs, our eyes locking. I would know those impossibly blue orbs anywhere and that wicked tongue that darts out to wet his full bottom lip. My breath catches in my throat, and myhands cover my mouth as my heart stops in my chest, hovering and spasming.

“Well? Are you ready to punch me yet?” The grumpy mountain man grumbles, sauntering towards me as my eyes blur with tears.

“But who are you?” My voice trembles as he sits on the edge of my bed, drawing so close to me I’m certain he’s about to kiss me. But he doesn’t. Palming his cheeks, I search the Ranger’s face, hungrily devouring his newfound appearance.

“Your very devoted lover,” he says hesitantly.

My cheeks burn, radiating bashful joy. I smile from ear to ear, unsure of what to do.

Disappointment flickers in his eyes. “You don’t recognize me.”

“It’s a big change.”

“Is that why you’re not kissing me, Ginger?” he asks morosely, his brows furrowing. “In the cave, you stroked and kissed the shit out of my grubby, bearded face?—”

I silence his raw-voiced complaint with my lips, covering the distance between us and sliding my tongue passionately into his mouth. He closes his eyes, exhaling and chuckling deep in his throat. “That’s more like it.”

“And this and this…” I whisper, trailing my lips over his face. “I don’t know what to do without your beard. I liked running my fingers through it and holding onto it.” The last phrase heats my face, the words transporting me back to the cave. By the flush of his face, his mind dances over the same memories.

“So, I’m ugly without it?” he rasps, frowning.

“No, you’re gorgeous. Too gorgeous for me.”

“Never,” he growls, grabbing my chin and squeezing my cheeks as he leans into my mouth. His seeking, sensual tongue slips and slides over mine, covering me in delicious shivers of want from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes.

Between kisses, he confesses, “It’s okay. I still don’t recognize myself.” Setting the daisies on the side table, he stands, heading toward the chair on the other side of my bed.

“If you think you’re sitting there, you have another thing coming, Wild Man.”

He stops, raising his brows quizzically.

“Come lie in bed with me. I need to feel your arms around me.”

Roscoe eyes the space next to me with a lopsided grin. “We can’t both fit on there.”

“Please,” I beg. “Let down the railing, and I’ll scoot as far over as I can.”

“Ever the bossy Aries,” he chuckles as I shoot him a fiery glance. “But I don’t want to fuck up whatever they have going on.” He motions towards the nest of wires connecting me to machines.

“If you lie here, it should be fine,” I answer, patting the empty spot to my left.

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