Page 17 of The Mountain Man's Virgin
I noticed that she was still holding down the talk button.
I reached out and tried to take the radio from her hand. She looked like she was in shock. Women. She almost dies the day before and walked away like it was nothing, now her boyfriend disappears for a day and she turns into a zombie.
I put my hand around her fingers and eased the radio out of her hand. I pressed the talk button and told the concierge that I would be in touch with a drop off time once the storm had passed. We finished our conversation and I noticed Lucy’s hand shaking in mine. I subconsciously kept her small fingers wrapped in mine.
She looked up at me as if I could offer some kind of explanation.
What a fucking idiot that guy was. His future wife had been at death’s door, and her first priority was talking to him and he was nowhere to be found.
I stared into her eyes, wishing that I could comfort her. But, I know that there are only two reasons a man goes MIA like that, and she wasn’t going to like either of them.
He was either dead. Or he was with another woman.
Chapter 13– Lucy
I stared at the radio in my hand. What did Tania mean they couldn’t find Lawrence? Could he be hurt? He practically lived with his cell phone glued to his hand, so unless he was unconscious there was no reason that he wouldn’t respond.
“I need to talk to him,” I said to no one in particular.
Instead of responding, Mick took the radio from my hand, then he jumped up and ran to the toaster. I could see the smoke curling up from the appliance – burnt toast.
“I need to get out of here,” I said, trying to stay calm.
“Look, Lucy. As soon as the storm breaks you’re out of here. I don’t want you here any more than you want to be here.”
Why was he so kind and caring one minute and then an absolute fucking asshole the next?
“It can’t be soon enough,” I muttered and set my coffee mug down on the rough-hewn table. I started to pace the room like a caged lioness, my mind racing about where Lawrence could be – each imaginary scenario worse than the last.
I felt trapped in the tiny cabin like its walls were closing in on me. I’m not claustrophobic, but my chest started to feel tight and it was getting harder and harder for me to breathe. I bent over the kitchen counter and started gulping and gasping for air.
I felt Mick come up behind me. He placed his huge heavy hand between my heaving shoulder blades and just held it there. I could feel the heat from his hand radiate across my back.
“Breathe,” he said calmly.
If only it were that easy. At his prompt I tried to calm my breaths, I tried to channel the breathing that I used when I was racing, but my chest was betraying me, and my heart started racing even faster.
“I…I-can’t…” I said through heaving breaths.
Mick pulled me upright by my shoulder and turned me to face him.
“Stand up straight and look at me,” he ordered gently.
I straightened my body and had to tilt my head back to look him in the eyes. It was the first time I noticed just how blue they were, like ice. He put his hand on my belly, “do it with me, breathe into my hand.”
I breathed in all the air that I could, filling up my lungs and exhaling. “Do it again,” Mick ordered, “this time force my hand out with your breath”. I nodded and inhaled again, this time willing the air to continue past my chest and into my stomach.
Mick released his breath, “Good, now breathe out slowly,” he said.
I did.
“Now do it again,” he said inhaling.
We synched our breathing together and held eye contact as I pulled the breath into my body, filling up my lungs and then my belly, it, in turn, pressing against his hand.
It started to work, and my heart rate began to slow, but with my slowing heart came the tears. Mick’s blue eyes seemed farther away as my vision blurred and the tears breached my eyelids, streaming down my cheeks. I pulled my gaze away from his, embarrassed. With the focus of my breath, I became acutely aware of his hand on my stomach. It didn’t need to be there anymore, I gripped his wrist to move his hand from my body but paused and held my hand over his. I looked back up at him and thought I saw compassion flicker in his eyes.
He pulled his hand away from my body, but instead of turning from me like he did the night before, he wrapped his arms around me tightly. I breathed in his scent, he smelled like cedar, musk, and woodstove.I let the tears fall freely and breathed into his wool sweater, burying my face into his broad chest. He stroked my hair and held me tightly.
