Page 114 of Ten Mountain Men

We head to the bedroom, where I dig out the mud-caked clothes from my bag, a testament to my less-than-graceful entrance into their lives.

“The rest of my clothes can wait ’til I get home—they’re not exactly in dire straits like this poor thing,” I say, holding up the ruined garments with a resigned laugh.

Rusty takes them from me, his fingers lightly brushing against mine, sending an unexpected buzz through me, like he’s a human vibrator. As he examines the fabric, the closeness of our bodies in the small bedroom feels suddenly intimate. Rusty meets my gaze, his hazel eyes a clear, open invitation. I hesitate for a breath, then, emboldened by his gentle confidence, I close the gap between us and our lips meet in a soft collision of a kiss.

The touch of his lips is gentle, almost reverent, and a rush of affection sweeps through me, warm and enveloping as his hug had been. The kiss is short, but oh so sweet.

Suddenly, a sobering thought kicks me in the logic sector of my brain. Rusty is only twenty, a full decade my junior. In my “real” world, I’d never even consider dating someone so much younger—too many complications, too much potential for mess and heartache, way too much societal judgment—I know because one of Mother’s husbands was ten years younger than she was. It’s a serious, eyebrow-raising age gap, especially and unfortunately, when the guy is the younger one.

But as I stand here, looking into Rusty’s hopeful eyes, a wave of sadness washes over me. How many experiences have I denied myself in the pursuit of an ideal that may not even exist? How many moments of genuine connection have I sacrificed on the altar of societal expectations?

Coming to this mountain—stumbling into the lives of these men—has demolished so many damaging beliefs I’ve been walking around with. In only a few days, they’ve taught me that life’s true beauty can exist in the unexpected, wild moments that you never planned for.

The old Goldie would be horrified that I’ve fucked three men I barely know without even making a pros and cons list before sitting on their dicks. But now? These days on this mountain will be ones I’ll remember on my deathbed, days I’ll tell my grandkids about (leaving out the naughty bits, of course). Days I could’ve completely missed out on because of my quest for perfection.

“Pick me up?” I ask.

Tossing down the wrecked outfit, he picks me up, and then I give him a proper kiss. Fuck the age gap and the horse it rode in on. He’s two years past legal.

His breath is warm against my skin as he leans in, a smile playing on his lips. I can feel the heat radiating off him, and for a moment, the world narrows down to just us—his lips, my lips, and the magnetic pull between us.

His hand comes up to cradle the back of my neck, his touch both rough and gentle, and my breath hitches. He pauses, his lips hovering so close to mine I can almost taste him, and for a second, I think he might be having second thoughts. Maybe he’s decided I’m too old for him? But then he closes the distance.

The first brush is soft, tentative, like he’s giving me a chance to pull away. But I don’t. I press into him, and that’s all the encouragement he needs. His mouth takes mine, deliberate and desire-filled, and I lose myself in the kiss, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as I wrap my legs tighter around him. He deepens the kiss, his tongue sweeping across my bottom lip, and I part for him, letting him in.

The moment our tongues meet, something inside me snaps, and the kiss turns hungry, desperate. I’m kissing like a starving woman. I’ve been starving for some Rusty. My hands slide up to grip his hair, pulling him closer, and he groans, his hands wandering down my back, down, down, until his hands are hooked under my ass.

The kiss lasts until someone clears their throat. We pull apart and Rusty puts me down. He is bluuuuuuuuuuuuuushing. Lynx is standing in the doorway.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” he says. “Luke just told me you were doing laundry and I have some flannels that need washing. You got room in the basket?”

Rusty nods. “Throw ’em in. Do you want to come with me, Rose-Gold? I can show you how we use the washboard.”

“I bet you could show me all sorts of things, Rusty, and believe me when I say I want to see them all. But I’m on lunch duty.”

“Next time, then,” he says.

I nod. “Next time. Oh, did you get Luke’s good pants? Because they got covered in mud too.”

Rusty nods. “He says they’re a lost cause, but I’m gonna give it my best shot. See ya in a while.”

“Good luck! Be back in time for lunch!” I remind him as he leaves Lynx and I alone in the bedroom.

“What time is it getting to be?” I ask.

“You still have plenty of time to make lunch, especially if I help, which I will,” Lynx says. His gaze shifts from my eyes downward with a blend of concern and mischief. “How’s that ankle doing, Goldie? I haven’t checked it out in a bit. Want me to take a look?”

“It’s actually a little bit sore today, so that would be great, thanks.”

Lynx gestures toward the two beds that are pushed together with a playful raise of his eyebrows. “Let’s get you to the examination table, shall we? I’ll run and grab my medical bag and be right back.”

Holy shit, are we gonna literally play doctor? If so, I definitely need to mention my concerns about my out-of-control libido.

I get settled on the bed, lying back on the pillows, and Lynx returns. He sits on the edge of the mattress, gently lifting my foot onto his knee. His fingers are gentle yet firm as they probe the area around my ankle, his touch professional but…also a little bit not.

“Looks like it’s healing nicely,” he comments with a smile, after he’s given it a thorough examination. His tone is light, but his careful attention reassures me he takes my well-being seriously. Then he leans forward to press a soft kiss to the still bruised skin. “Just to make it better faster,” he adds with a wink of those gold-green cat-eyes. “Your insurance probably won’t cover that.”

I can’t help but laugh. Lynx’s playfulness eases any tension, and his proximity stirs something deeper than just the comfort of being cared for.

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