Page 101 of Ten Mountain Men

I nod. I know we can’t leave the books where they are. But where the heck are we going to put them, other than back on the floor?

As tactfully as possible, I say, “Well, you have plenty of shelves in here we could put the books on, but the shelves are all kind of, well, stuffed to the gills with knickknacks and bric-a-brac and, uh, treasures?”

“Yeah, those are all our Ma’s,” Buck says.

Time for some more tact. “Um, Ash told me your Ma doesn’t ever come onto the mountain? So maybe we could carefully pack them up and store them for her? And actually put books on the shelves?”

“Pack them up how?”

“Store them where?”

Okaaaaaaaaaay. I chew on my lip, noticing that my PureGold has done its job. My mouth is plump and plush once again.

“Hmm.” I survey the living area. Then I turn and march purposefully to the pocket door to the bedrooms, pushing it open.

As I step inside, Nash says, “You read my mind, girl. I, too, think it’s time for a little break. Let’s just lie down and close our eyes for a quick spell—”

“Follow me, but nobody’s lying down and nobody’s closing their eyes. I will, however, reward both of you with a very quick kiss for all your hard work thus far.”

I turn to Nash first, my heart racing. He steps forward, his soulful brown eyes darkening with desire, desire I feel in my core. Without warning, he scoops me up, one arm under my knees and the other supporting my back. I let out a little squeak of surprise, wrapping my arms around his neck for balance.

“I’m ready to accept that reward, darlin’,” he murmurs, his lips hovering just inches from mine.

I nod, unable to form words. Nash closes the distance between us, his mouth meeting mine in a mind-melting kiss. His lips are soft but insistent, moving against mine with a hunger that makes my toes curl. I part my lips, inviting him deeper, and he accepts eagerly, his tongue sliding against mine in a sensual dance.

The taste of him—a hint of bacon from lunch and something uniquely Nash—floods my senses. His beard tickles my chin, adding another layer of sensation to the already overwhelming experience. His arms tighten around me, pulling me flush against his chest. Am I imagining it, or can I feel the rapid beating of his heart matching my own frantic pulse? My fingers thread through his hair, tugging lightly, and he groans into my mouth.

All too soon, Nash breaks the kiss, both of us breathing heavily. He sets me down gently, steadying me as my wobbly legs threaten to give out.

“Damn, Goldie,” he says, voice husky. “That was some reward.”

“You didn’t have to stop,” I whisper. “I—”

He brushes some stray curls off my face, tucking them behind my ears. “Darlin’, if I didn’t stop then, I don’t think I would’ve been able to.”

“Yeah,” I agree, panting, my lungs working overtime to keep breathing, my heart a wild thing between my ribs. I want him inside me so bad the emptiness between my thighs physically hurts. Or maybe that’s just soreness from being taken by Brooks and Hunter earlier? No. No. It’s a void, a need. A painful, painful longing that’s as much about my soul as it is my body.

Friendship and sex, I remind myself.

Before I can fully recover, Buck is there, his massive hands spanning my waist as he lifts me effortlessly. I wrap my legs around his waist instinctively, my arms looping around his neck. I melt into him, my fingers tangling in his hair as I press closer, desperate for more.

“My turn?”

I nod. “Your turn. Please.”

I’m not just rewarding them—they’re rewarding me too.

Where Nash’s kiss was all passion and fire, Buck’s is slow and deep. His lips move against mine with deliberate intent, each brush and caress sending sparks of pleasure shooting through me. I whimper into his mouth, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all.

Buck’s tongue traces the seam of my lips, and I open for him eagerly. As our tongues tangle, I’m acutely aware of every point of contact between us—his strong hands gripping my thighs, my breasts pressed against his broad chest, the heat of him seeping through our clothes.

I lose myself in the kiss, in the feel of Buck’s solid warmth surrounding me. It’s only when the need for air becomes desperate that we finally part, both of us panting.

Buck rests his forehead against mine, his eyes closed. “Sweet Jesus, Goldie,” he murmurs. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

As he sets me down, my legs give out entirely. Both men reach out to steady me, concern etched on their faces.

“You okay there, darlin’?” Nash asks. “Is it your ankle?”

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