Page 12 of Mated to the Mountain Bear
I clutch the first-aid kit to my chest and escape down the dimly lit hall. The bathroom is tiny but warm. I close the door and lean against it, not sure whether I want to be alone or if the thought just terrifies me.
But I’m not alone, I remind myself. Ben’s right here. And there’s no way anyone could know I’m here. I tell myself that as I push open the door and set the first-aid kit down on the edge of the vanity and lift my eyes to the mirror.
My reflection is shocking. Hair plastered to my head. Remnants of yesterdays mascara streaked down my face, and my vest, now completely see-through, stuck to my skin. I groan, and the very clear outline of my nipples through the pale fabric.
I shouldn’t care what I look like, but I do. I don’t want to be a total mess.
I set the dry clothes on the counter. Sweatpants, a thermal shirt, and thick wool socks. Everything smells of laundry detergent. And him. I’m peeling off my soaked clothes with shaking hands when a soft knock interrupts.
Ben’s voice comes through. “It might be easier to deal with those cuts after you wash your feet. I can help you when you come out.”
The unexpected offer makes my throat tighten. “Thank you.”
His footsteps retreat as I sink onto the closed toilet seat and finally examine the damage. They’re not as bad as they feel. There are dozens of tiny cuts from the metal and gravel. Some still bleed sluggishly, but there’s nothing deep, and no splinters.
I do a quick clean at the sink, knowing it’s not enough, but I just need to rinse the worst of the grime away.
The shower, when I test it, is barely a trickle of lukewarm water. It’s not the hot, cleansing blast of water that I desperately need, but it’s better than nothing. I scrub my hair and skin under the weak stream with whatever soap I can find before pointing the shower head at my feet and attempting to clean the cuts.
I check my phone, not sure what I expect to see on it so soon, but to my dismay, there’s not even a single bar of coverage.Fuck. When Beau said remote, he really wasn’t exaggerating.
When I dry off and finally emerge back in the living area, dressed in Ben’s too-big clothes, he’s waiting for me at the small kitchen table. His back is to me, but his broad shoulders tense, thick muscles bunching under his shirt, the moment I enter.
He turns, and something flashes in his dark eyes when he sees me drowning in his thermal shirt. His jaw tightens under his thick, dark beard, and he extends a hand, curling his fingers in my direction.
My legs carry me toward him, doing as I’m told, and coming to a stop between his knees, before I realise it’s not me he wants. He’s demanding the first-aid kit.
“Sit.” He nods at the chair across from him as he takes the green box gently from my hands. His fingers touch my palm ever so briefly as he pulls it away before opening the kit and spreading it out in front of him.
Embarrassed at how close I’m standing to him, how my thighs are touching the inside of his knees, I back away.
“I already cleaned them in the shower. I’m sure they’re fine...”
He looks at me, one dark eyebrow raised, and I trail off. I bet this guy is used to getting his way. There’s something about him that makes me eager to please.
“Sit.”
I move again before I think about it, my butt hitting the chair instantly. The satisfied look he gives me is with the glimmer of annoyance I feel at being compliant.
Tugging up the hem on one leg, having already had to roll the sweatpants up three times at the waist just to walk, I wiggle my toes. They look much better now that they’re clean.
Stealing an alcohol wipe off the table, I bend over, groaning in frustration as my sleeve falls down, refusing to stay put no matter how hard I shove it back up. The pant leg falls again, hiding my foot from view, and I curse, exhaustion pushing me to the brink of having a meltdown over the slightest inconvenience.
“Shhh. Let me help you.” His deep voice soothes me immediately, and the hysteria bubbling up inside me melts away.
Ben wraps his big hand around my ankle and slides the trouser leg higher, all the way up to my knee, and then a little higher again, when he sees more scrapes there.
Thank God I shaved my legs.
His rough palm brushes across my skin, and I swallow hard at the flicker of awareness I feel deep inside me, when he touches the sensitive skin inside my knee.
He’s big and handsome, and he smells so good; my insides are turning to mush just being this close to him. Despite my life being a total car crash, and this being the worst potential state to be in when you meet a man, there’s no denying how attractive he is.
My reaction to him isn’t just a recognition of his good looks. I see hot actors every day when Amber is on set or going to auditions, but none of them ever elicited this kind of response from me. This feels… primal.
I watch him while he works, opening packets and laying out bandages in an orderly row. His powerful hands moveefficiently, his face in deep concentration as he makes sure everything remains sterile.
Maybe it’s merely a sorry testament to the fact that I’ve never had a sexy man take care of me before but I like it.
