Page 1 of Mountain Mens' Curvy Obsession

1

Anya

Smoke claws down my throat as a voice slices through the chaos.

“Anya—hold on!”

I don’t know an Anya.

At least, I don’t think so.

Panic surges, white-hot, because the truth is even worse: I don’t remember havinganyname at all.

“Who are you?” I try to say, but my tongue feels swollen. The words come out slurred, sticky.

His eyes lock on mine—sharp, stunned. Then they drop to my temple. I follow his gaze, lift a shaky hand, and flinch when my fingers brush a slick, burning gash.

“You shouldn’t touch that,” he says, voice low and firm. “You’re hurt. Can you move your toes?”

I nod, barely. “I…yeah. I think so.”

“Good. That means I can move you.”

He’s taking charge.

That shouldn’t be comforting. But right now? It’s everything.

My world’s on fire. My brain’s scrambled.

But something about him makes me hold on.

“We have to get you out now. The blizzard’s only getting worse.”

I glance out the windshield—cracked and laced with frost. The snow’s coming sideways now, like razors.

“Okay,” I whisper.

“Arms around my neck. Hold tight.”

I hesitate—but only for a second.

He’s massive. Broad-shouldered. Rugged in a way that makes something stir low in my belly, even through the pain. I wrap my arms around him, and as he lifts me from the wreck, the heat of his body swallows mine.

Something I shouldn’t crave, but do.

The only thing clear in this hellscape is the way his hands feel on me—like salvation and sin at once.

The stranger lifts me like I weigh nothing.

His coat smells like pine and whiskey and something darker. I bury my face in it for a beat longer than I should.

Stupid. Dangerous.

But my body doesn’t care—it’s clinging to him like he’s the only warm thing left in the world.

“Is that…?” I glance back at the twisted hunk of metal. “I was in that?”

“You shouldn’t be alive,” he says. “But you are. Let’s keep it that way.”

---