Page 2 of Her Older Mountain Man

“Mr. Morningstar,” I yell as I pound on the door. Tears of fright stream down my face and I pound some more, but he doesn’t answer. “Owen! Please help me!”

I nearly faint with relief as a light flicks on inside.

“Hang on,” a deep voice rumbles. “I’m coming.”

The door swings open, and a huge man stands just inside, bare-chested, with a blanket wrapped around his waist. Bright tattoos swirl around his bulky chest and shoulder muscles, and above that, pale blue eyes peer at me from a handsome, bearded face.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, rubbing his bleary eyes with one hand as he holds the blanket tight around his lean hips with the other. “Are you hurt?”

The combination of adrenaline and exhaustion is just too much for me, when I open my mouth to speak, the only thing that comes out is a sob. I lean forward and rest my head against his firm chest as my whole body shudders. He’s warm and reassuringly big, and I nearly melt with relief as he wraps a thick arm around me to hold me tight.

“It’s okay,” he says soothingly. His deep voice almost rumbles in his chest, and the sound wraps around me like a warm blanket. I just sob harder and nestle further into the stranger’s—Owen Morningstar’s—embrace.

“It was a bear,” I finally mutter weakly. “In the trash cans. I didn’t know what to do, and the note on the fridge said to come here.”

Owen ushers me inside, into the dimly lit warmth of his quiet home. “You did the right thing, angel,” he says. “I’ve got it under control.”

He keeps an arm wrapped around my shoulders as he leads me through the living room and down a short hallway, into a dark room with a massive bed, made with a fluffy comforter that he must hastily thrown back when I woke him up with my pounding and screaming.

“Sleep here,” he says. “I’ll just be on the couch if you need me.”

“I can’t kick you out of your bed,” I protest through my sobs, even while I shuffle closer. It looks soft, warm, and clean.

He gives me another gentle push with his big hand. “Sure you can. I’ll be fine, I fall asleep out there half the time anyway.”

“Okay,” I agree. I swipe a hand through my tears and crawl up to the fluffy pillows. I don’t protest as he pulls the duvet over me, his fingers briefly snagging in my long, dark hair. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” he says firmly. He turns and in the pale moonlight that streams through the window, I see the muscles of his tattooed back flexing and rippling with every step. The door shuts with a quietsnick, and I’m alone again.

Except I’m not alone, I think. There’s…well, a lumberjack or something in the living room to keep me safe. I yawn and nuzzle the soft pillows, still warm from where Owen lay just a few minutes ago. The last thing I think before I drift away is that they smell like cedar. Cedar and sunshine.

Chapter 2

Owen

There’s no way it was a bear, but I’m not about to tell her that. The most likely explanation is a family of raccoons, digging through the trash cans to get at the expired food that I cleaned out of the pantry when I was getting the place ready today.

Ready for Luke Barnes, that is. I rented the cabin to him as a favor to his dad, who only told me that his son needed a short-term place to stay. The cabin was empty and Sam Barnes is a good client, so I agreed. But the voluptuous little angel sleeping in my bed is definitely not the twentysomething guy I expected.

I stand outside the bedroom door for a few minutes, listening carefully as her breathing slows. When I’m pretty sure she’s asleep, I crack the door and peer inside. She’s curled on her side around one of my pillows, dark hair spread out around her.

God, she’s gorgeous, I think as I soundlessly close the door again. Gorgeous and young—in her early twenties, if I had to guess.

I settle down on the couch, but I toss and turn, dozing intermittently as I keep an ear open for the woman in my bed. I’m too worried about her. I want—no,needto know who she is, and why she’s in my rental cabin and not Luke Barnes. I have a feeling that something fishy is going on, and I won’t be able to settle until I know what it is.

It’s not even sunrise yet when I give up on real sleep and let my thoughts wander. I picture the gentle swell of her generous breasts, her round tummy and those plush lips. I’m still naked under the blanket, and I reach down to palm my hardening cock as I think about pressing her soft little body to my big, hard one. I don’t know who she is, but I’mdyingto explore her mouth with mine, taste her soft skin, and run my fingers through that silky dark hair.

My dick throbs in my palm as I picture her naked, wrists tied as I tease her pussy with my tongue. In my imagination, her nipples are rosy brown, a beautiful contrast with her olive skin, and she practically sobs with pleasure while she’s at the mercy of my lips, tongue, fingers and cock.

I’msoclose to coming when a loud retching noise shatters my fantasy. My cock deflates in an instant as I sit up, alarmed as I hear the sound again. It’s the girl, and she’s clearly getting sick.

I don’t waste any more time, gathering the blanket around my naked ass as I sprint into my bedroom. The bed is empty, covers haphazardly thrown back. I yank a pair of boxer shorts out of my dresser drawer and drag them on as I stumble toward the master bath. I fling the door open and see her, hunched over the toilet, as her body heaves.

I squat down behind her and gather her hair up in my big hands. “Angel,” I say as I stroke a few strands back from her forehead. “Are you all right?”

She looks over her shoulder at me, face pale and eyes tired and opens her mouth to speak. But before she can get any words out, she turns and leans over the toilet again. I rub her back and wait for her to finish. It takes a while, but finally, the shudders taper off and she sits back, breathing heavily as she leans against the vanity.

“Not an angel,” she says weakly. “Not even close.”

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