Page 16 of Wild for the Mountain Man
“You’re not kicking me out,” he says, meeting my eyes. “I’m volunteering.”
The air stretches between us again, thin and electric. Guilt seeps into me with this game I’m playing. I’m not hurt. Each time Wade checks my ankle, he credits his magical tea for keeping inflammation down.
Maybe it’s time I told him the truth – that he was so insistent in carrying me off when he saw me on the ground that I could resist.
But I kissed him. I should promise to behave, pretend the kiss was some combination of shock and gratitude.
But that would be another lie.
“I don’t regret it,” I say quietly.
He freezes. The fire crackles. For a moment, there’s only the sound of the wood crackling in the fire.
“Lilah…”
“I’m not saying we should do it again,” I add, though part of me absolutely is. “I just need you to know I meant it.”
He draws a slow breath, hand curling around the back of the chair like he needs something solid. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“Maybe not,” I admit, pulse hammering. “But I know what I want.”
That gets him. I see it — the emotion he tries to bury behind that calm exterior.
He crosses to the window, stares out into the storm. “You should get some sleep,” he says at last, voice rough.
I nod, but my heart won’t slow down because I know the truth now. This isn’t just a crush I’ve carried for years. It’s something bigger, maybe destined, definitely inevitable.
And he knows it too.
Wade leads me down the short hall, steadying the crutch under my arm when it wobbles. “You can take my room tonight.”
I start to argue, but the look he gives me says it isn’t up for debate. He pushes the door open with his shoulder. “There’s a clean shirt in the dresser,” he adds, pulling open a drawer. “And a new toothbrush still in the package in the cabinet in the bath. I keep extras out of habit.”
“You’re too prepared,” I say.
He hands me the flannel, soft from washing. “It’ll hang on you, but it’s warm.”
When he leaves, the door stays half-open. I sit on the edge of his bed, the flannel in my lap, and for a second all I can do is breathe him in. His room.
I tug my top over my head, slide into the shirt. It falls past my thighs, the fabric heavy and comforting. I try to ease my jeans off next, but the denim catches where he has my ankle wrapped. “Dammit.”
Footsteps thunder down the hall. “Lilah?”
Before I can answer, he’s in the doorway.
“I’m fine,” I lie, gripping the hem of my jeans. “They’re just … stuck.”
He kneels without hesitation. “Hold still.”
His hands are careful, working the fabric loose from the area. Each brush of his fingers makes my breath catch.
“There,” he murmurs once the denim finally slides free. His voice has changed. It’s lower with a rough edge. He looks up, eyes catching the lamplight, and for a moment neither of us moves.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He nods, but his gaze lingers a second too long before he clears his throat and stands. “You should get some rest. I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”
The door closes most of the way, not all. I can still see the faint glow of the fire through the gap and hear him moving around the cabin. He could come to his bed and sleep besideme if he wanted to. Caleb won’t be coming home. No one would know.
