Page 6 of Mountain Man's Mail Order Surprise

I stepped into the room as quietly as I could, but it wasn’t like I could hide. He was facing me.

His eyes flicked over me—bare legs, sleep shorts, tank top—then returned to my face, his expression unreadable as ever. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, his voice a low rumble in the quiet space.

I shook my head. “Not even a little.”

He gestured toward the other end of the couch. “Want to join me?”

I crossed the room and sat, curling one leg under me, trying to pretend my heart wasn’t pounding. The warmth from his body radiated across the cushions like some kind of gravitational pull, and I tried not to lean toward him.

The TV was playing a movie I vaguely recognized—some kind of romantic drama. A couple on screen kissed like the world was ending, hands fumbling at clothing, breathy gasps and soft moans rising beneath a sweeping orchestral score.

Of course. Of course, this was what he was watching.

I glanced over at him, trying to keep my tone casual. “Is this what you usually put on when you can’t sleep?”

His mouth curved, barely. “It was on when I flipped on the TV. I haven’t exactly been paying attention.”

But he was now. His eyes stayed on the screen, but I could see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers tightened slightly around the neck of the beer bottle.

I shifted my attention back to the TV, letting the heat of the scene wash over me. The woman pulled off the man’s shirt, and he kissed down her neck, hands roaming. It wasn’t crude—it was emotional. Raw. Beautiful. I’d always imagined my first time would be like that.

I bit my bottom lip, then released it and turned to Reilly. “I don’t want to wait anymore.”

He looked over, brow furrowed. “Wait for what?”

“For this.” My voice trembled, but I didn’t look away. “For you.”

His eyes darkened, and he set the beer on the end table, leaning forward slightly, elbows on his knees. “Bridget…”

“I know you said you’re not marrying me,” I said quickly. “And that’s fine. I mean it. You don’t have to. But I came here for a fresh start. I came here because I wanted to feel free. To make choices for myself for once.”

“And you think sleeping with me is the way to do that?”

“Yes.” I swallowed hard. “I want my first time to be with someone who makes me feel safe. Someone who makes me feel wanted. Someone who knows what he’s doing.”

His nostrils flared, and he looked away, dragging a hand over his mouth. “This isn’t a decision you make just because you’re trying to start a new life.”

“That’s not it.” I shifted closer. “I’m ready.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough. I know you didn’t ask for this, but you didn’t throw me out. I know you’ve got this grumpy lumberjack shell, but you’re solid underneath, steady. You didn’t have to invite me to stay with you, but you did.”

He looked at me then, really looked at me, and his voice dropped. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“Yes, I do.” I reached out, placing my hand on his forearm. His skin was warm and solid, the muscle beneath it taut. “I don’t want candles or rose petals. I don’t want some perfect fantasy. I just want you.”

He didn’t move for a long beat. Didn’t speak. I could feel the push and pull in his body, in his breath, like he was at war with himself. And then, slowly, his hand came up and covered mine.

“Bridget,” he said, his voice rough and low, “if I take you to bed tonight, there’s no going back.”

“I don’t want to go back.”

His hand tightened over mine. “Last chance, sweetheart. You sure this is what you want?”

I met his gaze, heart pounding, and nodded. “I’m sure.”

His eyes flared with heat, and then he stood, tugging me gently to my feet. This was happening. It was soon after meeting him, but somehow I felt like it was long, long overdue.

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