Page 5 of Naughty With The Mountain Man
I take a bite, warmth spreading through me again … and not just from the stew.
If I’m not careful, I might start to believe the universe stranded me just to meet a mountain man who doesn’t know he’s starring in my Christmas fantasy.
Chapter 4
Beckett
The storm’s still pounding outside, snow beginning to cling on some of the windows. Inside, it’s warm enough that I’m ready to peel off my thermal top. But that might make this woman nervous. Instead, I simply roll up my sleeves.
Ranger’s curled up by the hearth, snoring softly, one paw twitching in some happy dream. Usually it’s just me, the fire, and him. It’s quiet and predictable … just the way I like it. But now, there’s something else in the air. Her laugh. Her scent. A kind of warmth that doesn’t come from the stove.
Ruby’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, a bowl of stew balanced in her hands like it’s the finest thing she’s ever tasted. The firelight flickers across her face, her cheeks flushed and glowing. I try not to stare but her eyes are beautiful. Ruby has a thick head of hair that is a little wild. Somehow, it says only one word in my mind … sexy.
I notice she eats with genuine appreciation, not the polite kind. It makes me grin. The truth is, it’s been a long time since anyone but Ranger shared this space with me.
“Wow,” she says between bites. “This is amazing. You make this yourself?”
“Who else would?”
She smiles into her spoon. “Fair point. I just assumed you lived on jerky and canned beans, with a dash of mountain hermit sauce for seasoning.”
I can’t help it, I laugh. “Hermit sauce, huh?”
She points her spoon at me. “See? Youcanlaugh.”
“Don’t spread that around,” I mutter.
For a minute, the only sound is the fire popping. I lean back in my chair, watching her. She’s comfortable here, even in her ridiculous Santa jacket.
I try not to think about how it felt a short while ago with her arms tight around me on the snowmobile, that red jacket flapping behind us like we were leading some deranged holiday parade. I almost laugh again, imagining my YouTube channel banner: “Surviving the Storm: Mountain Man & Ms. Claus.”
If I’d had a camera crew, that footage would’ve gone viral. Lots of views. If my subscribers saw that, they’d think I’d lostmy damn mind. Mountain survivalist turned holiday chauffeur, hauling lingerie through a blizzard.
The mental image dissolves into something else as I remember her soft weight against my back, her breath at my neck. I clear my throat and shove the thought away, refocusing on the bowl in front of me.
She glances up. “You okay?”
“Fine.” I scrape the spoon across the bottom. “You got a sweet tooth?”
Her whole face lights up. “Depends. What’ve you got?”
“Dark chocolate and honey.”
“Oh, you’re talking my language. Be still my heart.”
I grab the stash from the counter and set it on the coffee table. She breaks off a square, holds it near the fire until it’s glossy, then bites it in half with a little noise that shouldn’t sound as good as it does.
I hand her the honey jar and a spoon. “Mountain gold,” I tell her. “From a local beekeeper.”
She dips the spoon and drizzles a little over the chocolate. “That’s sinful.”
“Goes with the jacket,” I say before I can stop myself.
Her eyes glance at mine, a quick, teasing spark. “Careful, you almost sound like you’re flirting.”
“Just making an observation.”
She grins and licks a drop of honey off her thumb, and every cell in my body decides to notice.
