Page 23 of Mountain Mens' Curvy Obsession

“I don’t know why I thought I’d find you back in my room,” I say, gazing out the window. “But I do apologize that we left you on your own this morning.”

“Hey, you kissed me good morning and then went out to shovel a ton of snow,” Anya replies.

“Seriously, though, how do you feel?”

She gives me a long, pensive look. I’d kill to be inside her mind right now. “Given how little I remember about myself, I guess I feel… strange. But good. What happened last night, Chance… it felt right.”

“We didn’t really think it through,” I chuckle softly.

“No, but it was worth every second.” Anya sets the book aside. “I wanted it. I have no idea what full-memory me would’ve thought about the whole thing, but the Anya sitting in front of you now… she is content, to say the least.”

“Good. Because neither Booker nor I want you to feel like we were taking advantage of you in any way.”

“No. Please. Don’t even think about it,” Anya then reaches for my hand. I take it, marveling at the softness of her skin. “It was sorely needed.”

Nodding slowly, I glance over at the book. A copy ofPride and Prejudice. I don’t remember us ever buying any Jane Austen novels for the lodge. It must be another leftover from our cousin’s winter stay from a couple of years back.

“How do you like the book?” I ask Anya.

She’s wrapped up in a plush grey robe, and I’ve got a feeling she’s not wearing anything underneath. It makes my pants feel tighter, but I hold back, content with just the memory of her naked body glued to mine throughout most of last night. The ghost of her will haunt me long after she’s gone—provided I find the strength to let go, if it’s what she wants once she remembers.

“I have a feeling I’ve read it before,” she says, staring at the hardcover. “The words feel familiar, like I know how the story ends.”

“How does it end?”

“I can’t be sure, but I think Mr. Darcy ultimately proposes.”

“Do you think he proposes, or do you hope he proposes?”

Anya laughs lightly. “Good question. I guess I hope. For all his faults, the man loves her intensely. He’s just terrible at expressing his emotions.”

“I think that’s a common trait of the male species.”

“He tries to show it, though. We’re wired differently as women, too, so that leads to conflict once in a while. Misunderstandings. Miscommunication.” She pauses for a split second. “Was there ever anything between us before this?”

I stare at her, somewhat dumbfounded. “You recently turned twenty-one. The last time we saw you, you were fast approaching your eighteenth birthday, and you had—” I stop myself before I give anything away. The last thing I want is to trigger some kind of traumatic response. “No, we were never this close, Anya. You were too young.”

“Did you ever… consider it?”

“As you grew into a young woman, you were harder to ignore,” I chuckle, but that’s as far as I go. “My brothers and I care deeply about you. We always have.”

She thinks about it for a minute. “So, you were respectful of me.”

“Always. Besides, Aleks would’ve blown our heads off if we tried something,” I reply with a light laugh.

“My brother.”

“Yes. Do you remember anything else about him?”

“Oh, just bits and pieces,” Anya sighs again.

I gently pull her onto my lap, reveling in the sound of her flirtatious giggle as she settles. I wrap my arms around her waist. “Tell me about them,” I say, planting a soft kiss on her lips. “Every detail counts because it tells you a little something about who you are.”

“Okay…” Anya takes a moment, resting her head on my shoulder. “There’s one memory, in particular, that struck me.”

“Go on.”

“I’m in an art supply store,” she says. “I can tell from what I can see in the displays. Colored markers, sets of brushes and pencils… Pastel chalk… Oil paint… A whole section of the wall is dedicated to canvases, frames, and wooden easels. And next to the cash register, there are dozens of glass jars filled with all sorts of drawing and design tools. Pen nibs in a little plastic box… And I’m asking the shopkeeper about the pen tips.”

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