Page 12 of Rescued By the Mountain Man

His hand slides up my ribcage, hesitating just below my breast. I arch into him, silently asking for what I want. With a groan, he palms the weight of me through my shirt, his thumb brushing across the peak. Sparks shoot through my body, pooling low in my belly.

The radio on the counter suddenly crackles to life. "Base to Rhett, come in."

He jerks back like he's been burned, chest heaving. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with desire as he stares at me.

"You should get that," I say, trying to regulate my breathing.

He nods, but doesn't move for a moment, seemingly torn between duty and desire. Finally, he steps back, grabbing the radio with a shaking hand.

"Rhett here," he answers, voice rough.

I can't make out the words from the other end, just the staticky voice of whoever's calling. But I see the change in Rhett's posture, the way he straightens, walls rebuilding.

"Copy that. We'll be ready." He sets the radio down and turns to me, expression carefully blank. "Roads will be clear by mid-afternoon. They're sending a snowcat up to get us."

Just like that, the spell is broken. I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold.

"Rhett—"

"I should check your bandages before we go." He's moving away, voice professional once more. "And get you some painkillers for the ride down."

He disappears into what must be a bathroom, leaving me standing there, lips still tingling from his kiss, body still humming with unfulfilled desire.

I sink back onto the couch, reality crashing down around me. This man is wounded in ways that have nothing to do with his missing leg. His ex-wife didn't just leave him—she destroyed something fundamental in him when she did.

As I listen to him moving around, putting distance between us in more ways than one, I realize that rescuing Rhett Sullivan might be the most dangerous thing I've ever attempted.

But I've never been one to back down from a challenge.

seven

Rhett

Iwakebeforedawn,as always. What's not usual is finding myself on the living room floor, a cushion under my head and a blanket that barely covers my frame. Aspen lies pressed against my side, her warmth a familiar comfort.

The events of yesterday flood back—Jade's fever breaking, our conversation, that kiss—and I close my eyes, cursing myself for my weakness. For giving in. For pulling away.

Aspen's ears perk up, her head turning toward the couch where Jade sleeps. She whines softly, then untangles herself from me and pads over to her. I watch in disbelief as my fiercely loyal companion gently rests her chin on the edge of the couch, eyes fixed on Jade's sleeping form.

"Traitor," I whisper.

Aspen's tail wags once, but she doesn't move from her position. In the six years I've had her, I've never seen her warm up to someone so quickly.

I push myself up, socket protesting after a night on the hard floor. The fire has burned down to embers, so I add more logs, stoking it back to life. The cabin gradually brightens with morning light filtering through the windows. The storm has passed completely, leaving behind that particular crystal-blue sky that only follows heavy snow.

"Good morning."

I turn to find Jade awake, hair tousled, watching me with those summer-green eyes. Aspen immediately jumps up, front paws on the couch, nosing at Jade's hand.

"Sorry about her," I say, moving to pull Aspen back. "She's not usually this pushy with strangers."

"We're not exactly strangers anymore, are we?" Jade says, scratching behind Aspen's ears. The dog's expression is pure bliss, tongue lolling out. "We've bonded. She saved my life too, after all."

I can't argue with that. Instead, I retreat to the kitchen. "Hungry?"

"Starving," she admits, attempting to sit up. Her winces don't escape my notice.

"Let me help." I cross back to her, offering my arm for support. She takes it, her hand small and warm against mine. Once she's sitting, Aspen immediately hops up beside her on the couch, circling three times before settling against her uninjured side.

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