Page 14 of Stranded with the Mountain Man

"Isn't it?" I turn to face him fully."I've built a life there. My career, my research, my colleagues.Everything that matters is in Atlanta."

"Everything that matters, huh?" His eyes meet mine, searching.

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry."I don't know anymore. Coming back here has been... complicated."

"Because of the house?"

"Because of you," I say before I can stop myself."Being here, with you, it's making me question choices I thought were settled years ago."

The admission hangs between us, too honest for the careful equilibrium we've established.Rosco sets down the dish towel, his expression unreadable.

"What choices?" His voice is low, almost a rumble.

"Whether leaving was the right decision." I wipe my hands on my jeans, needing something to do with them."Whether what I gained was worth what I lost."

"And what did you lose, Deena?"

The way he says my name, soft and rough at the same time, makes my chest ache."You," I whisper. "Us. The future we talked about up on that ridge."

Something shifts in his eyes, a wall coming down or perhaps being built higher.He steps closer, close enough that I have to tilt my head to maintain eye contact.

"That future died when you drove away," he says, but there's no bite to his words, just a weary acceptance."We're different people now."

"Are we?" I challenge. "Because sometimes, when you look at me a certain way, or laugh at something I say, it feels like nothing's changed at all."

His jaw tightens. "Everything's changed.I'm not that idealistic kid anymore, and you're not the girl who used to press wildflowers in her notebooks."

"But some things stay the same," I press, emboldened by his proximity."Like how you still rub the back of your neck whenyou're uncomfortable.Or how you can't stand having the coffee mugs facing different directions in the cabinet.Or how you still look at me sometimes like you did that summer by Miller's Creek."

His hands come up to grip the counter on either side of me, effectively caging me in."What are you doing, Deena?"

"I don't know," I admit. "Making observations.It's what I'm trained to do."

"And what conclusion are you drawing from these... observations?"

Heat floods my cheeks. "That maybe time and distance don't erase everything.That maybe there's still something here worth exploring."

His eyes darken, dropping briefly to my lips before returning to meet my gaze."That's a dangerous hypothesis, Doctor."

"The best research always is." I lift my chin, heart hammering in my chest."The question is whether you're brave enough to test it."

For a long moment, he doesn't move, his expression caught between desire and caution.I've pushed too far, I think.Crossed a line we've been carefully avoiding since I arrived.

Then his hand comes up to cup my cheek, his calloused thumb tracing the curve of my cheekbone with surprising gentleness."You always did know exactly how to challenge me."

"Ross," I breathe.

That's all it takes. The last thread of his restraint snaps, and his mouth crashes down on mine.

The kiss is nothing like the tentative explorations of our youth.This is a man who knows exactly what he wants, claiming it with a hunger that steals my breath.I respond instantly, arms wrapping around his neck, pressing myself against the solid wall of his chest.

He tastes like coffee and the wild honey we had for dessert, familiar and new all at once.His beard scratches pleasantly against my skin as he angles his head to deepen the kiss.One large hand slides to my waist, the other tangling in my curls as he backs me against the counter.

I make a small, needy sound in the back of my throat, and his grip tightens in response.Twelve years of distance and hurt and wanting crystallize into this moment, this kiss that feels like coming home and diving off a cliff simultaneously.

When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard.His forehead rests against mine, eyes closed as if gathering himself.

"This is a bad idea," he murmurs, but his hand still cradles my face like I'm something precious.

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