Page 18 of Running to the Mountain Man

Sunlight creeps into the room, awakening me to the most startling news of my life.

More startling than dead elders or a rushed wedding.

The startling news is this: My right hand is wedged between a sleeping Barrett’s upper thighs.

I never intended to be the big spoon in a sleeping scenario with this man. I must have gotten cold during the night and unconsciously snuggled in close. One thing led to another, and now here I am, molesting him while he sleeps.

I could not be more creeped out by my own actions. I’ve never even kissed a man—not that I’m saying I want to make out with this particular man. Of course, I don’t want to kiss Barrett. Like it or not, I’m a married woman.

Although, he is incredibly hot. Hot doesn’t even come close to what he is. I am attracted to him in a way I didn’t dream possible.

Now, how to get out of this? I make myself lie perfectly still and consider my options.

I could acknowledge the unfortunate situation of my hand being sandwiched between two hairy tree trunks and ask him to please release his grip.

Option 2: I could oh-so-carefully, gradually, without waking Barrett, extract my hand with the slow deliberation of a bomb squad.

Option 3: Leave it there and hope for the best. Maybe Barrett will roll over in his sleep, and I can take the opportunity to move far, far away without him noticing.

Option 4: Yank my hand free, roll over, and pretend nothing happened.

I run the pros and cons of each option. Number one is too much honesty. No, I can’t bear it. Number 2 is not likely to work because his thigh muscles are unbelievably tight. Plus, if he wakes up, he’ll think for sure that I’m fondling him on purpose. Number three relies on too many variables.

I choose option 4. Sucking in a deep, quiet breath, I silently count down from three.

Three, two, one!

I rip my hand from between Barrett’s thighs. Just when I think I’m home free, everything falls apart. Something is stopping me from rolling away. Something big and heavy, and it’s breathing very hard.

It’s Barrett.

He is awake, and he’s on top of me. He’s got my arms pinned to the mattress with his big hands, and he hovers so close I can feel everything below his waistline is bare.

“Where do you think you’re going, my little sneak?”

His face is tight, and his expression is intense. The contour of bone in his square jaw and high cheekbones is visible. His eyes are strangely dark under his hooded lids.

I gasp. “Sneak? It was an accident!”

Barrett narrows his eyes and lets out a growl. Damn him, I feel it down below my navel.

His voice is thick with sleep as he croaks, “An accident, huh?”

“Yes!”

“Tell me you didn’t like it.”

The way my body lights up at this is totally inappropriate.

“I didn’t!” I like. “Let me up!”

Strangely, I itch when Barrett rolls away, letting me go.

He senses my hesitation. One of his eyebrows lifts. “Well?”

“Well, what?” I ask.

Barrett sighs, sitting up and swinging his huge legs over the side of the bed. In that brief movement, I could see his cock bobbing, fully erect.

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