Page 21 of Rescued By the Mountain Man

She nodded, eyes conveying volumes words couldn't express. "Whenever you are."

Ian intercepted us as we prepared to leave, pressing a large paper bag into my hands. "Helen and the church ladies have been cooking since the evacuation order lifted. Take this—you both look dead on your feet."

The savory aroma wafting from the bag triggered hunger I hadn't registered until that moment. "Thanks," I said, meaning it for more than just the food.

Something unspoken passed between us, three years of estrangement finally bridged by shared purpose. Ian clasped my shoulder briefly before turning back to his duties, leaving me with the sense that a door long closed had just opened.

The drive home passed in comfortable silence, both of us too exhausted for conversation yet somehow more at ease in each other's presence than before the flood. Scout sprawled across the back seat, occasionally sighing contentedly as the truck wound its way up the mountain road.

Inside the cabin, warmth enveloped us like a physical embrace. I fed Scout and built a fire in the fireplace while Brynn unpacked our unexpected feast—fried chicken, mashed potatoes, buttery rolls, and homemade chocolate chip cookies still slightly warm from the oven.

"I need a drink," I announced, rummaging through cabinets until I located the bottle of twelve-year-old Scotch Ian had given me last Christmas, still unopened. "Join me?"

Brynn nodded, something vulnerable and determined mingling in her expression. "Absolutely."

We settled on the couch before the crackling fire, plates balanced on our laps, glasses of amber liquid catching the firelight. The simple pleasure of hot food after extreme exertion bordered on transcendent, neither of us speaking until the edge of hunger had been satisfied.

"Thank you," she said finally, setting her empty plate aside. "For letting me come with you today. For showing me who you are."

The directness of her gaze unsettled me. "And who is that, exactly?"

"A natural leader. Someone who puts others before himself. A man who can function under pressure that would break most people." She paused, fingers tracing the rim of her glass. "Everything I wrote in that notebook is true, Mack. I just should have told you about it directly."

The mention of her notebook should have reignited my anger, but exhaustion and the peculiar intimacy of sharing a crisis had transmuted it into something more complex. "Why didn't you?"

"Fear," she admitted simply. "I was afraid you'd look at me differently if you knew I was a romance writer studying real emotions for my work. That you'd think everything between us was just...research."

"Wasn't it?" The question emerged softer than intended, vulnerability leaking through.

"No." She set her glass down, turning fully toward me. "What I feel for you has nothing to do with my writing. If anything, it's the opposite—my writing has suffered because I've never felt anything like this before. I don’t want to bury myself in a book. I want to live."

The confession hung between us, fraught with implication. Outside, the storm had finally passed, silence replacing the constant drumbeat of rain that had been our soundtrack for days.

Something shifted between us, the air suddenly charged with possibility. I found myself cataloging details of the gorgeouswoman in front of me I'd tried desperately to ignore—the curve of her lower lip, the pulse visible at the base of her throat, the way firelight caught copper highlights in her dark hair.

"I've wanted you since I pulled you from that car," I confessed, the words emerging before I could censor them. "Didn't think I deserved someone like you. Still don't."

"That's not your decision to make, Mack." She moved closer, one hand coming to rest against my cheek. "It's mine."

The kiss, when it came, shattered something fundamental within me—a wall constructed of grief and guilt and isolation crumbling beneath the simple human connection I'd denied myself for years. Her lips, soft and tentative at first, grew bolder as I responded, years of solitude dissolving in the heat generated between us. I felt my heart hammering against my ribs, every breath laced with her scent and the faint trace of rain still clinging to her skin.

I cupped her cheeks, angling her face so I could deepen the kiss, tongues meeting with a mix of urgency and wonder. A low groan escaped me; no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t rein in the desire that had been coiling inside me from the moment I pulled her out of that wrecked sedan. Both her spirit and her body were pure—and they were breathtaking.

A hand slipped over my shoulder, gentle but insistent, tugging me closer. I let out a shaky exhale as she pressed against me, her soft frame fitting so perfectly it bordered on surreal. The warmth of the fire flickered in the periphery, reflecting off the planes of her cheeks and highlighting how her eyes shone with absolute trust.

Without breaking the kiss, I rose from the couch, arms circling her waist to lift her with me. She gasped softly in surprise, but her thighs wrapped around my hips. The slightest brush of her core through our clothes sent a hot spike of needpounding through my veins. Step by step, I guided us toward the bedroom.

By the time we reached the bed, the pounding in my chest was thunderous. Gently, I set her down on the rumpled blankets, then straightened, letting my gaze rove over her. She was still wearing damp jeans and a loose shirt, hair disheveled from the day’s trials. She looked gorgeous.

“Are you sure?” I managed, voice rough with longing. But I needed to hear her say the words.

She nodded, cheeks blooming with color. “I’ve never been more sure about anything.”

I swallowed hard, nerves warring with arousal. Slowly, I reached for the hem of her shirt, drawing it up. She raised her arms obediently, letting me slide it off. Underneath, a simple bra clung to her damp skin, her nipples visibly peaked beneath the thin cups. My hands shook as I fumbled with the clasp, coaxing it open. The garment fell away, revealing her breasts fully. I forgot to breathe.

She trembled, half from the cool air, half from the intensity in my stare. I exhaled slowly, brushing my thumbs across her nipples. She made a tiny sound, arching into my touch. The sight of her parted lips and half-lidded eyes sent a jolt through me.

Leaning in, I pressed my mouth to the swell of her breast, trailing open-mouthed kisses toward one taut nipple. Gently, I took it between my lips, giving an experimental suck that drew a low moan from her throat. Her fingers threaded through my hair, clinging as I lavished attention on each sensitive peak, reveling in the soft gasps that escaped her.

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