Page 33 of Mated to the Mountain Bear
“I was just...” My hand is still on his shoulder, and I can feel the tension running through him. After last night and my dreams, it felt natural to touch him, but now that he’s looking at me, it occurs to me that he wasn’t aware of any of it. Not a willing participant. Still not someone I should have my hands all over. “The cobwebs...”
I’m momentarily hypnotised by his brown eyes, which I thought looked angry, but now, seem welcoming. And hungry. Definitely hungry. I swallow hard, and my tongue darts out to wet my bottom lip as the heat in the tiny space shoots up.
“Zara?” His voice is rougher than usual, deeper, like he’s fighting for control.
“Mmmm?” I’m in a trance, lost in his firm muscles, his dark brooding stare and alluring manly smell.
He clears his throat. “I need another tool.”
Oh. Oh, shit.
I jump back, yanking my hands off his body, and hold them up high in front of me, like I’m surrendering. Maybe I am.
We attempt to switch positions but step in the same direction, then again, until I finally press myself against the wall.
He squeezes past, his hand lingering on my waist longer than strictly necessary to steady himself. His hip brushes mine, and I bite back a gasp at the contact that burns through the thin fabric.
Oh my.
“Phillips head,” he says, voice rougher than before.
I practically dive for the toolbox, eager to please, finding the screwdriver. When I turn, I swear, Ben’s eyes are on my backside before sliding quickly to the tool in my fingers. I hand it over carefully, making sure our fingers don’t touch this time. I can’t handle it.
“Your sister,” he says suddenly, clearing his throat and attacking the water heater with renewed focus. “Tell me about her.”
The topic change takes me back. Most people avoid bringing her up, even he has until now, but he must be desperate to ease this tension that’s been building since I walked into the kitchen this morning.
“Amber’s two years older,” I start, settling against the doorframe at a safe distance. “Always been the performer. Mom used to say she came out of the womb ready for her close-up.”
He works while I talk, and the familiar rhythm of sharing Amber stories calms my racing pulse. All my life, I’ve been good at talking to people about Amber. I tell him about dance recitals and acting classes, about following her to auditions with homework in my backpack, and how I started keeping her calendar as a teen because she’d double-book herself otherwise.
“She landed her first real TV role at fifteen,” I continue, watching his efficient, confident movements, impressed with how capable he seems at each and every task he turns his handto. Each turn of the wrench is deliberate and powerful. “A guest spot on a medical drama. Threw up twice from nerves before filming, and I had to feed her half a tub of ice-cream to make her go on.”
“But she did it?”
“Nailed it. The director wrote her into two more episodes, and the rest, as they say, is history.” The memory makes me smile. “That’s when I knew she’d make it.”
Gradually, she was making a name for herself. Moving from a supporting actress on a TV show to a lead role. Then some minor film parts. And recently, she was cast alongside an A-list actor in a global franchise. This was going to be her breakout role. Filming is supposed to start in six months. The studio has held off re-casting, probably afraid of looking callous rather than out of any loyalty to her, but they won’t wait forever.
“Your parents must be proud.”
I grimace. “They were.”
He turns his head slowly, immediately understanding the change of tone. In the dim light, I can just make out his expression softening.
“Car accident. Almost six years now.” I provide, saving him from asking.
I swallow down the swell of emotion that always comes from speaking about them. My fingers find the doorframe, needing something solid to hold onto.
“That’s tough. I’m so sorry. It’s not easy being on your own so young.”
Something tells me he knows from experience, but I don’t want to get into some kind of misery-off where we compare our hard-luck stories. Ben doesn’t strike me as a man who’s going to open up to a stranger, anyway.
“Amber and I had each other. We managed.” I shift my weight from one foot to the other. “We were supposed to bemoving into her new apartment next week. She’d just signed contracts, wanted us to have a real home base instead of that rental.”
When he turns, his dark eyes search mine. “But now?”
“Now, I don’t even know if she’s...” I can’t finish the sentence. “Everything’s in limbo. The apartment, the mortgage, our whole life. Obviously, finding Amber is the most important thing, but… I have no job and nowhere to live… Guess I’m going to have to figure all that out when I get back.”
