Page 7 of Getaway with the Mountain Man
The memory of that first encounter sends heat spiraling through me, and not just the embarrassed kind. "I'm sorry about that, by the way. The lurking in the bushes thing. Very creepy behavior."
"Very flattering behavior," he corrects, his voice dropping to a register that makes my pulse quicken. "A beautiful woman taking interest in my work? I should be so lucky."
We're standing close now, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. Close enough to see the golden flecks in their green depths, to catch his scent of pine and sawdust and something that makes my mouth water.
"Lottie," he says.
I should step back. Should maintain appropriate distance and remember all the reasons this is a terrible idea. Instead, I rise on my toes and press my lips to his.
The kiss starts gentle, tentative, but ignites immediately into something hungrier. His hands frame my face as his mouth moves against mine with surprising skill. When his tongue traces the seam of my lips, I open for him eagerly, a soft moan escaping me as our tongues meet and dance.
I've kissed plenty of men, but none of them have ever made me feel this immediate, overwhelming need. My hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer as the kiss deepens, my body coming alive in ways I'd forgotten were possible.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. His forehead rests against mine, his eyes dark with want that mirrors the ache building between my thighs.
"This is moving fast," I whisper, though I make no move to increase the distance between us.
"Too fast?" he asks, his thumb tracing my lower lip in a gesture that sends shivers down my spine.
The smart answer is yes. We've known each other for exactly one day. I'm leaving in five days. He lives in a world completely foreign to mine.
But when I look into his eyes, smart seems highly overrated.
"Not too fast," I breathe, my decision made. "Do you want to come up?"
Heat flares in his gaze. "Are you sure?"
"I'm sure I want you," I reply with an honesty that surprises us both. "Beyond that, I'm not sure of anything."
His smile is slow and devastating. "I can work with that."
The lodge is quiet as we climb the stairs to the second floor, my hand clasped in his larger one. My heart pounds against my ribs—not from nervousness, but from anticipation that feels almost electric.
My room overlooks the mountains, moonlight streaming through the large windows to illuminate the rustic butcomfortable space. I'd left a lamp on, casting everything in warm, golden light that makes Jakob's eyes look like forest fire.
His hands cup my face with surprising tenderness as he kisses me again, slow and thorough this time. No urgency, no rushing—just the careful exploration of a man who has all the time in the world and intends to use it.
I melt into him, my hands sliding up his chest to his shoulders, feeling the solid strength beneath his shirt. When he trails kisses along my jaw to the sensitive spot below my ear, I gasp, my knees going weak.
"You're so beautiful," he murmurs against my throat, his voice rough with desire. "I can't wait to find all the places that make you come apart."
His crude words send liquid heat pooling between my thighs. "Jakob," I whisper, not sure what I'm asking for but needing more.
"Tell me what you want, Lottie," he demands, pulling back to look at me. "Tell me exactly what you need."
The command in his voice makes me shiver with want. "I want you to touch me," I breathe. "I want to feel your hands on my skin."
"Where?" he asks, his hands moving to the zipper at the back of my dress. "Here?" The zipper slides down with excruciating slowness. "Or somewhere else?"
"Everywhere," I gasp as my dress pools at my feet, leaving me in nothing but lace underwear. "I want your hands everywhere."
Jakob steps back just enough to look at me, his gaze travels over my exposed skin. "Christ, you're perfect," he breathes. "Look at you—standing there in that sexy lingerie, already wet for me. I can smell how much you want this."
His frank appreciation makes me feel like a goddess despite my vulnerability. "Your turn," I say, reaching for the buttons of his shirt with hands that aren't quite steady.
He lets me undress him slowly, my fingers fumbling slightly with each button. When I push the shirt from his shoulders, I have to catch my breath. His chest is magnificent—broad shoulders tapering to a lean waist, muscles defined, skin bronzed by outdoor labor.
"God, look at you," I murmur, running my hands over his chest. "You're so beautiful, Jakob."
