Page 14 of Mountain Daddy
I grab the back of her neck gently. She clutches my coat like she needs to anchor herself. Her mouth opens beneath mine, soft and sweet and desperate, and I swear I could drown in her.
It’s the kind of kiss a man thinks about for years. The kind he dreams of.
The kind he shouldn’t take but can’t resist.
The wind howls. Snow swirls around us. But her lips, her body, her warmth—everything else disappears.
When we break apart, both of us are breathing hard.
“Wells,” she whispers, voice shaking, “I?—”
“Celia, watch your step?—”
Too late.
The storm has disguised everything. Fresh drifts cover the uneven ground around the fallen tree, and as she backs up, her boot catches on a buried tangle of roots and she slips.
She cries out, sliding into the hollow left by the uprooted stump—deep and sudden and cold.
I move before I think.
“Celia!”
I dive forward, grabbing her by the wrist and hauling her up before the drift can swallow her whole. The snow is waist-deep in places around the stump, and if she’d fallen in fully, getting out would’ve been a nightmare.
She shakes, wide-eyed, clutching me.
“You okay?” I ask, breath harsh.
She nods, trembling. “I didn’t see—it was just?—”
“I know.” I pull her into my arms, lifting her easily against my chest. “I’ve got you.”
Her arms loop around my neck. Her face presses into my collar. She shivers hard.
That’s all it takes. No hesitation. No thinking.
Just instinct.
I carry her all the way back to the house, fighting the wind, the snow, the pounding in my chest.
Inside, the power hums back to life, casting warm light across the room. I kick the door shut behind us and carry her straight into my bedroom, the one place that’s already warm thanks to the fire I stoked earlier in case the generator failed.
I set her gently on the bed and crouch in front of her. Her hair is damp with snow. Her cheeks flushed. She looks small and brave and wrecked in a way that makes my heart feel too big.
“Did you twist anything?” I ask, running my hands down her calves, checking her boots.
“No,” she whispers, voice trembling. “Just… cold.”
I rise to my feet.
She reaches for my wrist.
Her hand is small and shaking. It breaks my God damn heart.
“Wells,” she breathes.
I look down at her.
