Page 6 of Mountain Man Rescue
I slide back onto the bed, careful to keep space between us, but she snuggles into my chest like she belongs there. Before I can tell her she’s safe, that I won’t do anything, she goes slack against me. Her breaths come out in tiny soft puffs across my skin.
I close my eyes, one hand curled around her shoulder, and for the first time in years, I fall asleep with a smile on my face.
Chapter Four
Gina
I wake to the steady sound of wind pressing against the cabin walls. For a moment, I’m caught between dream and reality—warm, safe, and cocooned in a world that smells faintly of cedar, smoke, and something rich and masculine.
It takes a second for my brain to process that the pillow under my cheek isn’t actually a pillow. It’s solid. Warm. And moving.
My eyes fly open.
Oh…I’m sprawled across Wyatt’s chest.
A magnificent tattoo stretches over his skin—an American flag unfurling across one side, an eagle mid-flight soaring over his heart. The ink ripples slightly with every breath he takes. I hold mine, tilting my head just enough to confirm what I already know.
I slept on Wyatt.
All night.
My first instinct is to bolt, but the second one—stronger, reckless, impossible to ignore—whispersstay. My fingers itch to trace the bold lines and colors. I’ve never been this close to aman like him. Solid. Steady. The kind you can lean on without falling.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I lift my hand and follow the curve of the eagle’s wing with a trembling finger. His skin is warm beneath my touch, the kind of heat that slides straight through my veins and settles low in my belly.
I shouldn’t.
But I do.
Wyatt stirs, his voice rough with sleep. “Morning, Red.”
I freeze mid-touch. “Morning, Wyatt.” I tip my head back until I meet those wolf-gray eyes. “Guess I owe you another thank-you.”
“Not necessary.” His voice rumbles through his chest, deep and gentle. “You already thanked me.”
“Well, I think it’s necessary.”
He gives me a faint squeeze, and that simple, unconscious gesture nearly undoes me. His strength doesn’t scare me—it wraps around me, makes me feel safe in a way I’ve never felt before.
Something inside me clicks into place. Maybe it’s insanity, or maybe it’s clarity, but I decide to take a risk.
I lean up and press a soft kiss to his mouth. His beard tickles my skin, rough and perfect, and the taste of him—sleep, warmth, a hint of whiskey from last night—makes my head spin.
He goes still beneath me, every muscle turning to stone. “What are you doing?” he asks, his voice unsteady.
“Thanking you,” I whisper, my pulse tripping over itself.
I swing a leg over him, my heart pounding so hard it almost drowns out the storm outside. “I want you, Wyatt.”
His breath catches. “No.” He shakes his head, but the protest sounds thin, uncertain. “No, you don’t.”
“I do.” My voice comes out softer than I intend. “And I think you want me, too.”
“We shouldn’t do this,” he murmurs.
“Why not?” I search his face.
He licks his lips, his eyes flicking away. “Because I’m old enough to be your father.”
