Page 22 of Wrong Number, Right Mountain Man
I stand, lifting her with me. Her legs wrap around my waist as I carry her toward the bedroom, our mouths never separating. At the doorway, I pause, pulling back just enough to see her face.
“Last chance to change your mind,” I say, voice rough with need.
Her answer is to kiss me again, deep and hungry, her body pressing impossibly closer to mine.
I know with absolute certainty that nothing will ever be the same again. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Chapter 9
Sunny
Becklaysmeonhis bed like I’m something precious, his eyes never leaving mine. The mattress dips beneath our combined weight as he hovers above me, his breathing ragged. Light streams through the windows, illuminating his face in ways our photos and brief video calls never captured. I catch the flecks of gold in his gray eyes, admire the way his beard frames his mouth, and spot the tiny scar near his temple.
“You’re staring,” he whispers, one hand tracing my cheek.
“Can you blame me?” My fingers trace the powerful line of his jaw. “I’ve been imagining this for weeks.”
His laugh rumbles through his chest. “What exactly have you been imagining?”
Heat floods my face. “Do you want the PG version or the one that kept me up at night?”
“Definitely the second one.” His voice drops to a growl that sends shivers racing down my spine.
My confidence surges. “I’ve been thinking about your hands.”
“You’re obsessed with my hands.”
“Hush.” I take one of his broad palms and press it against my racing heart. “Wondering how they’d feel against my skin. If they’d be gentle or rough. How you would cup my breasts or stroke my skin? How your fingers would feel inside of me? Prepping me.”
He groans, then growls out, “And what’s the verdict?” He slides his hand lower, cupping my breast through the flannel shirt, thumb circling my nipple until it pebbles beneath the fabric.
“Jury’s still out.” My breath catches as his touch sends sparks shooting through me. “Need more evidence.”
He grins, with his rare smile that transforms his face and makes my heart stutter. “Happy to provide.”
His fingers work the buttons of the flannel, exposing my skin inch by tantalizing inch. The cool air makes me shiver, or maybe it’s the heat in his gaze as he takes me in.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, reverence in his voice. “Even better than I remembered.”
My laugh emerges strangled as his hands explore my exposed skin. “Are you comparing me to my drunk boob selfie? Because that’s not fair competition.”
“That picture’s been driving me crazy for weeks.” His admission makes me bolder.
“Show me.” I reach for the hem of his shirt, tugging upward. “I want to see what’s been hiding under all that flannel.”
He pulls the shirt over his head in one fluid motion, and my mouth goes dry. His chest and shoulders are broad andsolid, dusted with dark hair that narrows to a trail disappearing beneath his jeans. Scars mark his skin here and there—stories I want to learn, adventures written on his body.
“Like what you see?” The vulnerability beneath his teasing question makes my chest tighten.
My fingers trace an impressive scar along his ribs. “Very much.” I lean in to press my lips against the mark. “Though I have questions about this one.”
“Bear attack,” he says with a straight face.
“Liar.” I bite the skin gently, and his sharp intake of breath is intensely satisfying.
“Fine.” His hand tangles in my hair. “Fell off a ladder my first year here. Caught myself on a nail sticking out of the roof.”
“And you still stay in this death trap?” I tease, letting my fingers wander lower.
