Page 16 of Marked by the Mountain Man

“Dunno. The more I learn about you, the closer you inch to one hundred percent. It’s alarming, actually.”

“After everything we’ve been through today?Thisis what you find alarming?”

I nod, fucking certain I’m even more in love with Hadleigh Bardot now than when I decided to launch my ass into a fast-moving river. Despite my concerns about her family and age.Thisis not good.What in the hell is this angel doing to me?

Chapter Eight

HADLEIGH

Hudson’s green eyes sear me, and I’m a goner. My body pulses with need, the throb between my legs impossible to ignore.

But do I really want to give my virginity, after all these years, to a bad boy mountain man who’s a tattoo artistandAndy’s boss?

Chalking these feelings up to some kind of crazy survival hormones, I forbid myself from falling any further for this man. Or continuing to play with the fire of tempting, dark, dirty thoughts. Instead, I dive headlong into distraction.

“After a thorough inspection of the many canned delights in the pantry,” I say, turning towards him with a can in each hand. “How about beef stew and brown bread?” I hold up the corresponding cans.

“Sounds delectable,” he says sarcastically. “See any wine in there while you were looking around?”

“No, but there’s a closet down the hallway. “Maybe check there?”

Hudson stands, sauntering in the direction I nod as I eye his tight ass until smoke comes out of my ears. His wet Wranglersfit like a glove, one I’d love to peel off with my teeth. My cheeks burn as he lets out a long, loud whistle.

“Find something?” I ask guiltily, poking my head around the corner.What happened to no more sexy thoughts, Hadleigh?

“Whiskey, bourbon, brandy, champagne, and red wine. What’s your pleasure?”

“Hmm…” I lick my lips. “What does one drink after a day spent careening off bridges, nearly drowning in rivers, and climbing barefoot up the walls of flash flooding gorges?”

“For the lady with discerning tastes?” he asks in a mock posh voice, holding up a dusty bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon.

I nod, laughing. “That should taste decent with our canned stew and bread. Have you ever eaten canned bread before?”

“You forget I’m a beach bum Marine bachelor. Canned bread sounds gourmet to me.”

I laugh as he heads back into the kitchen with the bottle.

Hudson opens the drawer next to him as I open one diagonally across the way.

“You looking for a can opener?” he asks.

“Yes, and you’re after a bottle opener?”

“Yep.”

“I’ll keep my eyes out for you.”

“Same.”

We search drawer after drawer, the only sounds the thin whine of the generator outside and the rustling of junk against wood. Finally, we end up standing in front of the same drawer. Hudson opens it, and my eyes go to the bottle opener and can opener, lined up next to each other, a hair’s breadth of distance between them.

“Well, that was meant to be,” he chuckles, eyeing me as we stand shoulder to shoulder. My hand goes for the can opener and his for the bottle opener, our fingers brushing. Electricity arcs between us, a searing echo of the earlier lightning storm.

There’s something I have to get straight with this man. “You followed me from the tattoo shop. One of the last things I remember before the crash was you in fast pursuit, though you were getting shot at.”

He nods slowly.

I arch an eyebrow. “But after that. How did you end up in the river? And why?”

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