Page 8 of Stranded with the Mountain Man

When she turns her head to look at me, our faces are inches apart. Something shifts in her expression—a decision made.

"Jace?" Her voice is barely audible.

"Yeah?"

"I'm getting mixed signals here."

I should move away. This is a complication I don't need. But instead, I hear myself ask, "What signals are you getting?"

"That you wish I wasn't here. And also..." Her eyes drop to my mouth. "That maybe you're glad I am."

"Both can be true." The admission surprises even me.

She shifts, turning to face me fully, the firelight playing across features that have been occupying my thoughts more than they should. "Which one's winning right now?"

The rational part of my brain is sending urgent warnings. This is temporary. She'll be gone as soon as the roads clear. Back to her city, her wedding planning, her world that has nothing in common with mine.

But my body has its own ideas. My cock is already hardening, straining against my pants from just this proximity, just the floral scent of her and the way her tongue darts out to wet her lips.

"Fuck it," I mutter, and close the distance between us.

Her mouth opens under mine immediately, hot and eager. The kiss isn't gentle or tentative—it's hungry, with an intensity that catches me off guard. Her hands find my shoulders, nails diggingin slightly through my shirt. I grip her waist, pulling her closer, groaning when her soft curves press against my chest.

I slide one hand into her hair, cradling the back of her head as I lower her to the thick rug before the fireplace. Her body fits beneath mine perfectly, soft where I'm hard, yielding where I'm insistent. My cock pulses almost painfully now, pressing against her thigh through too many layers of fabric.

When she arches against me, creating delicious friction, I have to break the kiss to catch my breath. "Elisa—"

"Don't overthink it," she whispers, her hands traveling down my back to my hips, urging me closer. "Just... I need this. Don't you?"

The honest answer is yes. After months of solitude, her touch feels like a sip of water in a desert. I capture her mouth again, rougher now, my restraint slipping as she moans softly. Her hands find their way under my shirt, exploring the muscles of my back, tracing each ridge and plane with appreciation that makes my skin burn hotter than the nearby fire.

I trail kisses down her neck, addicted already to the small sounds she makes when I find sensitive spots. My hand moves to her breast, cupping its weight through her sweater, feeling the peak harden against my palm. She gasps, arching into the touch, silently asking for more.

"You're beautiful," I murmur against her collarbone, pushing her sweater up to expose the creamy skin of her stomach. "Wanted to touch you since I first saw you."

"Even though I'm an annoying city girl?" she asks, a hint of challenge in her breathless voice.

"Especially because of that." I dip my head to place open-mouthed kisses along her ribs, moving steadily higher. "The way you walked into the lodge like you owned it. Confident. In control."

She laughs softly, the sound turning to a moan as my thumb brushes over her nipple through the thin fabric of her bra. "I'm not in control now."

"Neither am I." It's truer than I want to admit.

Her hands move lower, skimming my abdomen, fingers dipping just below the waistband of my pants. My cock jerks in response, desperate for her touch. When she cups me through the fabric, I can't hold back a groan.

"You're so hard," she whispers, sounding pleased with herself as she strokes the length of me.

I push her sweater higher, exposing her bra—simple cotton rather than the lace I'd imagined, somehow more arousing for its practicality. I press my mouth to the swell of her breast above the fabric, and she clutches my head to her, fingers threading through my hair.

The firelight plays across her skin, creating shadows in the hollows of her collarbone, highlighting the flush that spreads down her chest. I reach behind her to unfasten her bra, needing to see all of her, when—

The lights suddenly flicker on. The abrupt hum of the refrigerator and heating system startles us both. Real world, crashing back in.

We freeze, her hand still on my cock, my mouth still on her breast. For a long moment, neither of us moves. Then she starts to laugh, softly at first, then with more abandon. It's surprisingly musical.

"Talk about timing," she says, dropping her head back against the rug.

I can't help my own reluctant smile. "Generator must have stabilized."

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