Page 10 of Mountain Man Rescue
When I take a bite, he kisses me—quick, sweet, tasting faintly of berries. My heart stumbles all over again.
“It’s still snowing like mad out there,” he says, glancing toward the window. “What do you say we have a lazy afternoon and watch something? I’ve got movies and documentaries on the laptop.”
“That sounds perfect,” I start to stack the dishes on the tray.
“No, siree,” he takes a plate from my hand. “I’ve got this. Why don’t you make us a nest of blankets in front of the fire? We’ll watch the laptop there.”
“Wait!” I jump up as he starts toward the kitchen. I tug him down to my mouth using the sides of his shirt. “I need to kiss the chef.” I slip my tongue into his mouth, then nip at his lips as I sink back down on my feet. “Thank you for cooking for me.”
“My pleasure, Red,” He glances over his shoulder when he reaches the kitchen counter. “I can’t wait to see how you thank me for the cake.”
“Cake?” I squeal.
“Double chocolate fudge cake. I baked it a few days ago.”
“You bake?” I blink, grinning. “You’re getting more than a kiss for that, Mr. Stone.”
He waggles his eyebrows. “That’s what I was hoping for.”
I collect the blankets from around the room, set them in front of the fire, then roll onto my stomach, chin propped on my hands, watching him work in the kitchen. His back muscles move beneath his shirt as he opens a cabinet, and the sight alone could melt the snow outside.
He’s a magnificent specimen of a man—powerful, capable, yet with me, he’s gentle as a kitten. And when he talks—really talks—it’s easy to forget the world outside this cabin exists.
He doesn’t tell me I should skip dessert or joke about calories. He just smiles, tells me I’m beautiful, and that I deserve to be pampered.
He’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a man.
But it’s only temporary.
I have to remind myself of that.
Because when this storm clears, he’ll stay on this mountain—and I’ll have to leave him behind.
Chapter Seven
Wyatt
Gina’s curled against me, soft and warm, her breath brushing over my skin in steady little sighs. The fire’s burned low, throwing slow-moving shadows across the ceiling. Outside, the wind has quieted, and snow drifts lazily past the window.
The storm is easing up.
And the sight of it makes my chest ache.
The last few days have been filled with laughter, warmth, and the sound of her voice echoing through my cabin. The thought of her leaving rips through me harder than any winter wind.
“I can hear you thinking, you know,” she murmurs, half asleep.
“You stole my line.” I tighten my arm around her, pulling her closer.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks softly.
“Nothing.”
It’s a lie. Because what Iwantto say isstay.Stay here with me. Let me take care of you. Let me prove that you’ll never have to wonder if you’re enough ever again.
But saying it out loud feels crazy.
We’ve only had a handful of days, and yet… I know it down to my marrow.
