Page 8 of The Mountain Man's Heat
“I’d love a hot chocolate,” I say. Why does my voice sound like a husky breath?
His face splits in a smile. “Excellent. Two hot chocolates coming up.” He spins on his heel and crosses to the kitchen counter. He stops and turns back to me. “Probably should tell you where you can change. First door on the right down the hallway is the spare room. It’s the gym home office junk room. I call it the Bermuda Triangle. Who knows what’s in there? My bedroom is the door after that. Either is fine.” An unreadable expression flickers over his face. “Both can be locked from the inside.”
My heart thumps up into my already tight throat. “Thank you. But I trust you.”
And I do. Which makes no sense, given he’s a total stranger. But then…is he? I feel safer with him than any person I’ve met. And Archie likes him. Aunt Lily told me Archie doesn’t like anyone. But Archie likes him.
His gaze holds mine, a question in it I’m sure I’m imagining.
What would happen if I removed the small space between us? If I slid my palms up his exquisite chest, cupped his face in my hands, drew his head down to mine, and kissed him?
“I won’t be long,” I murmur, ducking my head and moving past him. Archie follows, nails clicking on the floorboards.
I want to look back as I leave. I want to see if he’s watching me. But if he is, I’m not sure what I would do. Instead, I hasten my pace, almost running along the hallway. I open the first door I see and throw myself into…
His bedroom.
Breath shallow, I stare at the king-size bed in the center of the room. Breathe in the scent of him. “Oh…”
Archie slips past me, and before I can stop him, he jumps onto the bed, bum up in the air, tail wagging. “Archie,” I groan, closing the door behind me and crossing the room. “Off. Hop off.”
Archie wags his tail some more, lets out an excited woof, and bounds around in a tight, playful circle.
Great. It looks like I’ve climbed on Hudson’s bed and performed some kind of haka on it.
Or had wild monkey sex on it?
For my own peace of mind, I turn my back on it—I’ll straighten it up later—and peel off my damp T-shirt and shorts. Pausing for a moment, I consider my damp bra and G-string and then strip them off as well.
Cool air licks at my bare skin, and my nipples pucker hard. I’ve never undressed in a man’s room before. An excitement throbs between my thighs. My clit tingles.
For a wicked moment, I imagine being brave enough to open Hudson’s door and call him down to me.
And then, cheeks burning, I grab the shirt he gave me and tug it over my head.
His scent permeates my breath as the fabric caresses my face, my boobs, the tops of my thighs. The shirt is too big for me, almost a loose minidress in length, and yet I’ve never felt sexier.
What is wrong with me?
I snatch up the track pants and yank them on. They’re way too long. Plus, they sit so low on my hips, the waistband brushes my pubic hair.
Better than nothing on my legs at all.
I bend over, roll the hem a few times so my feet are free, and then, clawing my hair out of my face, turn to Archie.
He’s asleep in the middle of Hudson’s bed, curled in a ball, tail over his nose. After the scare he had, I don’t want to wake him, but if I leave him here, I’ll have no buffer, no distraction from the intensity of the potent response I’m feeling for the firefighter. It’ll just be me and Hudson.
My pulse pounds hard, and with a roll of my neck, I head for the door.
Sans Archie.
Chapter Seven
Hudson
A hot pressure curls around my chest and sinks down into my groin. Iris dressed in my old brigade T-shirt and track pants is every sexual fantasy I never knew I had.
“Hot chocolate,” I say, holding out a mug shaped like Batman’s cowled head. Another gift from my sister.
