Page 9 of Rescued By the Mountain Man

I lower her to the couch, but don't immediately straighten. We remain suspended in this moment, my face hovering above hers, her arms still around my neck. I can feel her breath against my lips, count each freckle scattered across her nose, see the tiny flecks of brown in her green irises.

Every cell in my body screams to close that final distance, to claim her mouth with mine, to discover if she tastes as sweet as I've imagined during my wakeful night keeping vigil.

With herculean effort, I pull away, disentangling myself from her arms. The loss of contact is physical pain, but I force myself to straighten, to step back, to rebuild the walls she's somehow breached without even trying.

"You need to rest," I say, my voice rough with restraint. "Doctor's orders."

She simply nods, settling back against the cushions. Disappointed.

"Whatever you say, Mountain Man." There's a new awareness in her voice, a knowledge of the power she holds over me despite her injured state.

I busy myself adjusting her blankets, checking her bandages, anything to avoid meeting her gaze again. My body is still betraying me, my cock is aching, and the cabin suddenly feels too small, too intimate, too dangerous.

"I'll get you some tea," I mutter, retreating to the kitchen area. With my back to her, I grip the edge of the counter, forcing deep breaths until my heart rate slows.

This is temporary, I remind myself. The roads will be clear tomorrow. She'll go back to her life, and I'll go back to mine. This strange, powerful connection is nothing more than the natural result of extreme circumstances—her brush with death, my role as rescuer, the forced intimacy of our situation.

But even as I think it, I know it's a lie. In twenty years of search and rescue, I've never felt this way about someone I've pulled from the snow. Never spent the night memorizing the curve of a sleeping woman's cheek, the rhythm of her breathing, the small sounds she makes in dreams.

Behind me, I hear her shifting on the couch. "You know," she says, her voice casual but with an undercurrent I can't ignore, "for someone determined to keep me at arm's length, you have a funny way of showing it."

I don't turn around. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you do." I can hear the smile in her voice. "But it's okay. Your secret's safe with me."

And that's the problem. Nothing feels safe anymore. Not since I pulled her from that snow and felt something buried inside me begin to thaw for the first time in five years.

The tea kettle whistles, startling me from my thoughts. Outside, the winter sun glints off the new snow, promising another clear, cold night ahead.

One more night. I just have to make it through one more night without crossing lines that can't be uncrossed. Without admitting that this woman—this reckless, beautiful, too-young woman—has awakened something in me I thought was dead and buried.

I pour the tea with hands that aren't quite steady, bracing myself to turn and face her again. To resist the gravitationalpull that seems to draw me toward her despite every rational objection.

Tomorrow the roads will be clear. Tomorrow this will be over. I can’t fall for her.

six

Jade

Morningseepsintothecabin like honey, golden light sliding across the floorboards. I've been awake for an hour, trapped in my thoughts and the memory of almost-kisses. Rhett hasn't been close to me since he fled to the kitchen last night, though I heard him moving around, checking on me from a distance.

He's avoiding me. Smart man.

The cabin door opens, and Aspen bounds in first, shaking snow from her fur before Rhett follows. He's carrying firewood, his face flushed from the cold, beard frosted at the edges. Our eyes meet, and the air between us practically crackles.

"Morning," he says gruffly, moving to the fireplace.

"Morning," I reply, watching the way he arranges the logs. Everything he does has purpose, no wasted movement. It's mesmerizing.

"Fever stayed down?" He doesn't look at me when he asks.

"Yeah. Just sore now." I shift, wincing as my ribs protest. "Though I feel like I got into a fistfight with the mountain. Spoiler alert: the mountain won."

A hint of a smile tugs at his lips. "Mountains usually do."

The silence that follows isn't uncomfortable, exactly, but it's heavy with unspoken things. I watch as he moves around the cabin, his gait slightly uneven but fluid in its own way.

"How long did it take?" The question slips out before I can stop it.

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