Page 4 of Broken Mountain Man

“Nope, just wondering how many stupid decisions I’m dealing with tonight.”

“Wow, you are a delight.” She stood there, sipping the rest of the water. “Are you always this charming or just with lost women who almost blind themselves with bear spray?”

“That wasn’t bear spray. It’s sunscreen.”

“What? I would have just moisturized the bear.”

“More like pissed him off.” I stood there watching her, realizing I could do it the rest of the night.

“Thank you.” She handed me back the empty glass and rubbed her hands down her hips and over the top of her thighs. Naturally, my gaze followed the same path. And I realized there was an entire list of things I’d like to do the rest of the night.

“My name is Brittany by the way. And thank you very much for rescuing me. Even if that’s not you’re thing.”

“It was.” That came out before I could stop myself.

“Really?” She smiled up at me like I’d turned into some damn hero. Which was exactly the opposite of what I was now. I knew she expected more of my story, and for once I wasn’t as reluctant to share.

“I worked search and rescue for a while. That’s all.”

“Well, I’m going to recommend the retreat owners put you on retainer for their next adventure. Maybe patrol the mountain for people like me.”

I didn’t say anything, fighting off memories I didn’t want to remember.

She pulled at her shirt. “Not that I’m ungrateful, but do you have a bathroom. Maybe a shower? I’m wet.”

My body tensed as heat flared on her face once again. “I mean, my clothes are wet.”

I didn’t dare unfold my arms, knowing I’d reach for her. Instead, I nodded my head to the hallway by the fireplace. “The bathroom’s through there. You’ve got about ten minutes of hot water.”

She grabbed her pack and headed into the bathroom.

How the hell was I supposed to concentrate now. With a hard-on and the image of her in my bathroom, standing under the hot spray.

I started pulling things from the fridge to make her a sandwich. Turkey on wheat. The lettuce and tomatoes were from my garden just a little way from the cabin. In almost all ways, I was self-sufficient here. The only creature comfort I allowed myself was my daily hit of caffeine from very expensive coffee beans.

I sat her sandwich and another glass of water on the coffee table and waited. I tried not to think about the fact that this was the first time in years I’d had a woman in my space. The first time I’d wanted one here.

I’d exiled myself on Lone Mountain for a reason. I’d made a fatal decision that had almost cost my partner his life. I’d left my post with search and rescue in Middleton, Colorado, behind after that. Left everything behind. Everyone behind.

I’d become the guy who lived past the creek, alone in the woods, with too many scars and no appetite for small talk. The guy who’d rather split wood than deal with people. The guy who’d convinced himself he preferred it that way.

And now she was here.

Disrupting my routine. Filling my space with noise and warmth and the kind of energy that made a man remember what he’d been missing.

I heard the bathroom door open behind me. I didn’t turn around. I didn’t need to.

I could feel her.

The heat of her skin from the hot water. The nervousness in her steps. The awareness that just kept building between us.

“You weren’t kidding about the hot water.” She padded closer.

I kept my eyes adverted. It was either that or turn around and do something we’d both regret. Or maybe something only I’d regret.

She moved closer, and I caught the scent of my soap on her skin. The possessive satisfaction that hit me was dangerous. She smelled like mine now. Like she belonged in my space, in my bed, in my life.

The thought should have made me take her back down the mountain despite the darkness. Instead, it made me hard.

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