Page 5 of The Mountain Man's Bride

I dish out two bowls of stew from the pot on the stove. I shouldn’t even be thinking about her at all. Maggie just ran from her own wedding. But still, those curves—those are straight out of my dirtiest fantasies. She’s built like she was meant to be bred by me, to scream in ecstasy when I’m deep inside of her, to bare my children.

I shake my head, unsure of where that thought came from. Her falling into my life is just some cosmic joke and I’m the dumb bastard who’s the punchline.

Turning toward the table, I realize I only have a single chair. An image of pulling her onto my lap and feeding her has my cock growing hard again. Fuck, what is it about this woman?

I decide on the safe option and take the food to my couch. Setting the bowls on the coffee table, I try to remember the last time I shared a meal with a woman. Let alone a woman I found so mouth-watering.

I wait for nearly fifteen minutes before I finally knock on the bedroom door. She’s had a head injury and I haven’t heard the sound of movement in my room in a few minutes.

The door finally opens, and she’s still wearing that damn wedding dress, the eternal reminder that she’s not mine. That she never will be.

Her eyes are glassy, and she clutches a half-gone bottle of wine. “What do you want?”

I pluck it from her hands easily despite her surprisingly strong grip. “I don’t think we should be drinking after a head injury.”

“You’re just like everyone elsh.” Her words slur and she points a finger in my chest. “Alwayshh telling me what to do.”

I ignore her. I spent a few nights tanked after my failed nuptials. “It’s time to eat.”

“Ish it chocolate cookiesh?” Even wasted, her brown eyes are stunning. I want to drown in their depths as I thrust deep inside her. I want to feel her coming on my cock as I stare into that mesmerizing gaze.

“Let’s start with stew.” I put a hand on her back when she sways and guide her to the couch. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the head injury. But I don’t like the fact that she can’t quite keep her balance.

She settles on the couch beside me without protesting and accepts the bowl I pass her way. She takes several large bites, letting it dribble down her chin. Fuck me, I find it adorable to watch the way she behaves when she’s a little bit tipsy.

I reach for a cloth and wipe gently at her face, clearing the food from it. Why I like taking care of her I don’t know. But it fills me with a sense of warmth and rightness.

“He wasshh never going to love me,” Maggie proclaims.

I grunt, unsure of what to add. I don’t want to talk about the bastard who was foolish enough not to make her his whole world.

Her lower lip trembles and panic shoots through me. There’s a lot of shit I can deal with. Black bears and wolves in the forest where we cut down trees for the mill. Grown men getting crushed by those same trees because they were too stupid to follow my basic safety instructions.

But the woman in front of me crying? Nothing in my life has ever prepared me for this sight or the way I’m suddenly ready to go to fuckin’ war. No woman has ever stirred this response in me.

“He was a fuckwad,” I proclaim, wanting to make her feel better.

The words have their intended effect when she gives me a watery smile. “I bet he wasssh bad in bed.”

I chuckle at that. “See, there’s always a silver lining.” Then what she said registers and I realize the pretty little bride beside me is untouched. Lust like I’ve never known before shoots through me.

“He didn’t take care of you, did he?” The thought troubles me that she hasn’t been looked after. But it also opens up a door of possibilities. Possibilities that I could be the one meeting her needs.

Maggie buries her head in my shoulder. “You even shhmell better than him.” Then before I can respond, she’s snoring.

I study her for a moment, overwhelmed with the desire to kiss those ruby red lips. They’ve been taunting me since I first opened the limo door and found her slumped over that steering wheel.

But I’m not that kind of man. I’m not the kind of man that has a fling with a woman I barely met, let alone one who’s in obvious distress.

4

MAGGIE

I wake to a sound I don’t recognize. It has an uneven rhythm and as I open my eyes, it takes me a moment to realize where I am and how I got here.

Groaning from the headache, I gingerly stand and shuffle into the bathroom. I study my reflection in the mirror, seeing a woman I barely recognize. My makeup is smeared, and my hair is in a tangled knot.

I pad to the bedroom and grab the hairbrush and toiletries from my suitcase. At least I had the good sense to put that stuff in with my underwear.

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