Page 8 of Trapped with the Mountain Man

"But you don't regret it?"

"Not for a moment." The certainty in my voice surprises even me.

The fire sputters, casting us further into darkness. The temperature is dropping rapidly now. I can feel Tessa trembling against me despite our shared warmth.

"We should sleep," I say reluctantly. "I need to conserve the rest of the firewood for the morning. We should stay close. For warmth." Yes, warmth. The purely practical reason and not because I want to feel her perfect curves against my body.

She nods and stretches out beside me, her back to my chest as I wrap my arm around her waist. The position is intimate by necessity, but that doesn't make it any less affecting. Her body fits against mine as if designed for it, her curves melding perfectly with my angles.

I try to keep my breathing steady, to ignore the scent of her hair or the softness of her skin where my arm touches it. I'm too old for this, too hardened by solitude to be undone by simple proximity. At least, that's what I tell myself.

"Corbin?" Her voice is barely a whisper.

"Hmm?"

"I can't stop thinking about that kiss."

My heart thunders in my chest, so loud I'm certain she must hear it. "You should," I say roughly. "It was a mistake."

She turns in my arms, facing me now. Even in the darkness, I can make out the determination in her expression. "Why?"

"You know why. You're young and beautiful, with your whole life ahead of you. I'm..." I struggle for words.

"You're what?" she challenges. "Wise? Self-sufficient? Honest in a way I've never encountered before? Attractive in a way that makes it hard for me to think straight?"

Her bluntness startles a low laugh from me. "I was going to say 'set in my ways.' Too old for you."

"Age is just a number," she says, and I can hear the eye roll in her voice. "What matters is that I feel more alive with you in this cave than I have in years of dating men my age who couldn't find their way out of a paper bag, let alone a mountain forest."

"Tessa," I begin, but she cuts me off.

"I'm not asking for forever, Corbin. I'm not even asking for tomorrow. I'm just asking for tonight. For this moment."

Her hand finds my face in the darkness, fingers tracing the line of my jaw and the texture of my beard. Her touch is gentle but insistent, breaking down defenses I've built over a decade of solitude.

"I've been alone for so long," I admit, my voice barely audible. "I'm not sure I remember how to be anything else."

"Then let me remind you," she whispers and closes the distance between us.

Her lips find mine unerringly in the darkness. The kiss is different from our first—deeper, more certain. There's no hesitation now, no holding back. Her mouth is warm and eager against mine, and I respond with a hunger that surprises me with its intensity.

My hand finds her waist and slides up her side to tangle in her hair. She makes a quiet sound of pleasure that vibrates against my lips, and something inside me breaks loose—a flood of need and longing I've denied for too many years.

The darkness wraps around us like a cloak as I surrender to the moment. My hands learn her by touch—the curve of her waist, the softness of her skin beneath her shirt, the elegant line of her neck.

She's equally curious, her fingers exploring the terrain of my shoulders, my chest, the sensitive skin at the nape of my neck. When she tugs my shirt up and her hands make contact with bare skin, I shudder at the sensation of her fingertips tracing the ridges of muscle beneath my skin and chest hair.

"Is this okay?" she asks, suddenly uncertain, her hazel eyes searching mine in the dim firelight.

"More than okay," I assure her, my voice thick with desire. "I want to feel your hands on me."

She smiles then, a mixture of shyness and determination that makes my heart race. Her palms slide up my torso, taking my shirt with them. I help her remove it, and the cool air of the cave hits my skin, a stark contrast to the heat building between us.

"Your turn," I whisper, my fingers finding the hem of her—well, my— shirt. I look into her eyes, seeking permission.

She nods, lifting her arms to help me. As I pull the fabric over her head, I'm struck by the beauty of her revealed skin, pale and luminous in the dying firelight. Her bra is simple cotton, practical for hiking, but the sight of her curves spilling over the fabric ignites something primal within me.

"You're beautiful," I tell her, my hands hovering, wanting to touch but still holding back.

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