Page 14 of Branded Mountain Man
"Is that what you think this was?" Her voice was carefully controlled now, professional. "Me trying to fix you?"
"Wasn't it?"
Sloan stared at him for a long moment, then reached for the flannel shirt. When she pulled it on, Colt felt the loss like a physical ache.
"You know what?" She stood up, moving to her pack with deliberate calm. "You're right. This was a mistake."
Colt told himself the relief he felt was genuine. This was better. Cleaner. She could leave without any messy complications, and he could go back to the life he'd built for himself up here.
So why did it feel like his chest was caving in?
"Sloan—"
"Don't." She held up a hand, not looking at him. "Just... don't."
The silence stretched between them, heavy with all the things they weren't saying. Outside, the storm was finally moving through, the rain gentling to a whisper against the windows.
"I'll finish my assessment in the morning and hike out," Sloan said finally.
Colt nodded, not trusting his voice.
She settled back onto her sleeping bag on the floor, as far from the cot as the small space would allow. The message was clear: whatever had just happened between them was over.
Colt lay back down and stared at the ceiling, listening to the sound of her breathing as it gradually evened out into sleep. Hisbody still hummed with the memory of her touch, the phantom weight of her against him, and he knew with brutal certainty that he'd just made the biggest mistake of his life.
Not sleeping with her.
Letting her go.
5
AFTER THE BURN
SLOAN
Sloan lay on her sleeping bag and tried not to cry.
She'd had casual sex before. She'd had relationships that ended badly, men who'd used her and discarded her, heartbreaks that had taken months to get over. But nothing had prepared her for the whiplash of the last hour.
One moment, Colt had been kissing her like she was the answer to every prayer he'd never said, taking her apart with a desperation that matched her own. The next, he was pushing her away like she was just another problem to be solved.
You're a therapist. I'm not your fucking project.
The words echoed in her head, each repetition like a fresh cut. Was that really what he thought? That she'd slept with him out of some misguided attempt at therapy?
Maybe he wasn't entirely wrong. She'd crossed every professional boundary in the book tonight, let her personal feelings override her training, and her common sense. She'd touched a client—kissed a client, fucked a client—and toldherself it was about connection, about healing, about two people finding solace in each other.
But lying here in the dark with her body still humming from his touch, Sloan had to admit the truth: she'd wanted him from the moment she'd seen him swinging that axe, shirtless and scowling in the afternoon sun. Everything else—the professional concern, the therapeutic instincts—had just been window dressing on simple, devastating attraction.
And somehow, Colt had seen right through her.
She rolled onto her side, facing away from the cot where he lay silent and still. She could feel his wakefulness like a weight on her back, but neither of them spoke. What was there to say?
Sorry for crossing professional boundaries?
Sorry for wanting you so badly I forgot my own name?
Sorry for thinking this might mean something to you?
