Page 23 of Rescued By the Mountain Guide

The fire casts flickering shadows across his features, highlighting the warring emotions there—desire, hesitation, need, restraint. His thumb traces circles on my palm, each movement sending shivers through me.

"I don't know." Honesty colors his response. "But pretending this isn't happening isn't working anymore."

The admission cracks something open between us—the final barrier of denial. Attraction crackles in the small space separating our bodies, palpable as the cold pressing against the shelter's walls.

"No," I agree softly. "It's not."

Our gazes lock in the firelight, unspoken desire reflected between us. The decision point looms, heavy with potential consequences—for hearts, for boundaries, for the careful distance we've maintained despite close physical proximity.

Whatever path we choose, one truth emerges: the real storm was never the blizzard raging outside but the emotions brewing between two people who found each other at exactly the wrong time, in exactly the wrong place.

Chapter6

Burning Up

Morning arrives differently this time.No stark boundary between night and awakening, but a gradual awareness of warmth, of Jackson's steady breathing beside me, of our hands still intertwined despite hours of sleep.

Everything has changed.

The admission of attraction hangs in the air between us, transforming the atmosphere inside our small shelter. Each glance carries new weight. Each casual touch sparks awareness that neither of us can pretend to ignore any longer.

Jackson rises first, stoking the dying embers in the wood stove. Muscles shift beneath his thermal shirt as he works. His movements are economical and precise. My eyes track him with newfound freedom, no longer hiding my appreciation behind journalistic interest.

He turns, catching my gaze. Something flares in his eyes—heat, hunger, a flash of uncertainty.

"Sleep okay?" His voice carries morning roughness that sends a shiver down my spine.

"Better than expected." The floor beside the stove should have been uncomfortable, yet nestled against his solid warmth, I slept more soundly than any night since our confinement began.

Jackson measures coffee grounds into the pot, his movements deliberate, almost hesitant. The easy connection of last night's conversation has given way to something more charged, crackling with potential energy.

"About last night..." He sets the pot on the stove, back still turned to me.

"We don't have to talk about it." My pulse quickens, unsure whether he regrets our admissions.

"We do." Now he faces me, expression guarded yet determined. "I need to be clear about something."

"Okay." The warmth in my chest cools slightly, preparing for rejection.

"I don't do relationships." His jaw sets firmly, eyes locked on mine. "Haven't since Emma. Don't plan to start now."

The declaration should sting, yet something in his stance—the tension in his shoulders, the careful control in his voice—suggests this costs him. The words aren't as simple as they sound.

"I'm not asking for one." Rising from my blanket nest, I meet his gaze evenly. "After this, I'll be back in Burlington finishing my article, and you'll be here, doing whatever mountain men do when they're not rescuing foolish writers."

"Mountain men?" His eyebrow lifts slightly.

"You know what I mean." A small smile tugs at my lips despite the seriousness of the conversation. "What happens in this shelter can stay in this shelter. No expectations, no complications."

"You say that now." Jackson studies me, searching for something in my expression.

"Because I mean it." Closing the distance between us, I stop just short of touching him. "I'm not looking to be your redemption story, Jackson. Or your second chance. Or your great love. I'm just..."

"Just what?" His voice drops lower, intimate in the small space between us.

"Just drawn to you. Against all logic and reason."

His breath audibly catches. The coffee pot begins to bubble, forgotten.

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