Page 17 of Marked by the Mountain Man

Hudson shrugs. “I came for you.”

“No, you didn’t.” My voice trembles, and the backs of my eyes sting dangerously.

“Why is that so hard to believe?” he asks, the creases in his forehead deepening.

“Because apart from my deceased dad, no man has ever cared enough to help me. Let alone risk his neck for me. In fact, my experiences with men have been very much like dealing with Andy, caring for them far more than they care for me. Putting way more into the relationship than they put in.”

“I’m not like other men and certainly not like your brother,” he says, bringing his hand up to push a stray hair from my face. The instant his fingertips brush over the flesh, my cheeks flush, burning. “But I am too old for you, maybe?” He finishes with a frown.

“Do you really think age matters that much?” I ask breathlessly, eyes swimming and dancing with his.

“No, but it’s probably the most compelling reason to stay away from you. I’m running out of other excuses, Hadleigh.”

I chuckle, bringing my hand up to palm his chest. “You had plenty of chances not to follow me today. You just didn’t take them.”

Lips inches from mine, his hot breath warms my cheeks.

I swallow hard, temptation pulsing through me. “You could have left pursuit of my abductors to law enforcement to save your own skin, avoid getting shot at.”

He nods, his hand descending to my neck. His thumb lightly strokes the pulse point until I feel light-headed and needy. The juncture at the top of my legs is tight and sticky, desire wrecking me.

I lick my bottom lip slowly, watching how his eyes darken as they follow my tongue, nostrils flaring. “And you definitely didn’t need to follow me into the water. I mean, that was plain foolhardy.”

“Is foolhardy such a bad thing?” he asks, his lips so close to mine I can taste his words.

“For you, it’s been nothing but bad. Think of how much pain and discomfort you could’ve avoided today.”

“It’s all been worth it to be here with you like this,” he whispers darkly.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure as fuck,” he answers without hesitation, his other hand coming up to grip my shoulder, his thumb tracing warm circles in the flesh along my collarbone.

“Thank you,” I say so quietly, I wonder if he even hears me. My eyes capture his as I add emphatically, “I would be dead right now if it weren’t for you.”

“And you don’t owe me anything. Just knowing you exist is pretty fucking amazing to me.”

I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off.

“I’m sorry I’m getting distracted. I need to rebandage your leg and your feet. Stay right where you’re at, Hot Stuff.”

Quickly and without hesitation, he disappears down the hallway, looking for the bathroom and a first-aid kit. He returns a few minutes later with a large, plastic first-aid kit. Unceremoniously, he wraps his massive hands around my waist, lifting me, and plopping me atop the kitchen counter.

Leaning forward, concentration written on his face, he removes my sopping leg bandages, gently cleaning the ragged,deep laceration as I grimace, watching blood drip from the wound.

“Sorry,” he says stony-faced. “You need stitches, Hadleigh. But at least I can keep the wound clean and shut.” I watch him work expertly, staunching the wound and applying butterfly closures until they line my leg, and I look like some kind of Tim Burton creation—a woman stitched back together.

Expertly, he wraps my calf with white bandages before focusing on my feet. Everything throbs.

But all I can think about is my wet, demanding pussy. I need him so much, I can barely breathe. This has never happened to me before, and it scares the hell out of me.

Hudson’s big hands come up to my outer thighs, stroking them gently, seductively. “You’re tough as fuck, Hadleigh. It’s so goddamned sexy, though I hate seeing you in pain.”

“Speaking of pain,” I pant, trying hard to focus on our conversation and failing miserably, my body lost in every touch of his hot flesh. “Are you going to give me a tattoo later if I ask you for it?”

“Hell, yeah,” he says, pressing his lips to my knee. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure than marking you.” His voice tantalizes, thick with unspoken promises. Pulling back slightly, he finishes bandaging a few more places on each of my feet, working gently and gracefully. His hands may be huge, but they have a hypnotic agility.

“Where might I put a tattoo?” I ask breathily. I should stop now, end this dangerous game, but I want Hudson so much I can barely breathe.

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