Page 59 of Ten Mountain Men

“Oh, thank you. But really, one will suffice…”

“Be right back,” he says again, placing both glasses on the bedside table.

When he returns this time, he has the most beautiful bouquet of wildflowers I’ve ever seen.

“I picked these for you just before supper,” he says, putting them in the extra glass of water.

My heart does a thing.

“No man has ever given me flowers before,” I admit.

He looks at me, his face solemn. “That’s a damn shame, and it’s an honor to be the first.” Then he lights up. “Say…I don’t suppose you’d want a lullaby?”

“You sing?” I ask, surprised.

He nods. “A little bit.”

Who in their right mind would say no? “Please. I’d like that a lot.”

But when he opens his mouth and starts to sing, a capella, a song I’ve never heard before, my mouth drops open and hangs there. This man doesn’t sing alittle bit. This man has one of the most gorgeous voices I’ve ever heard in my life. Swoon, swoon, swooooooooooooon.

When he finishes, I’m so moved there are tears in my eyes. “That was beautiful, Brooks. You…you’re so talented. Thank you for singing to me.”

He shrugs modestly.

“You’re very welcome, snapdragon,” he says. “I’m happy to oblige, anytime.”

“Snapdragon?” I ask.

“They’re my favorite flower,” he says, nodding at the bouquet. “Those yellow ones there remind me of you.”

Then he bends and very gently presses his lips against my forehead.

“You sleep well, Gold. Have sweet dreams and if you need anything at all, holler and at least one of us will come running.”

Chapter 17

Goldie

Shit.

I had a plan.

Wait until the brothers all turn in, creep back out to the living room, and check the footage to see if I caught anything yet. Did I think it would be as easy as Grumpy Luke gathering them all around and saying, “She cannot stay because if she does she’s inevitably going to discover our deep, dark family secret, that our father was Bigfoot, hence making us all half-Sasquatch?” Of course not. But I was hopeful that I’d glean some info or clue that they weren’t going to let slip in my presence.

But apparently I dozed off before they turned in, because a loud, deep moan of pleasure startles me awake.

It’s pitch-black. My heartbeat is pounding in my chest. There’s a hand in my panties—my damp panties—fingering my clit, which is engorged, slick, and responding to said fingering with enthusiasm and delight.

I know I’m not in the bed alone. I can hear someone else breathing—someone who is about to get a serious lecture about consent.

Not that I would’ve said no if they’d asked permission, but they have toask.

But then I realize that the hand in my panties is small and smooth and…attached to my arm. The hand is mine.

I gasp, mortified, as I’m hit with the realization thatIwas masturbating in my sleep.Iwas the one loudly moaning.

Holy fuck.

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