Page 12 of The Beast of the Mountain
It should be scary being holed up with a rugged man I hardly know, miles away from civilization, but it’s not. I’ve never felt safer. Bear might resemble his namesake but he’s kind and caring, a gentle giant who has taken care of me from the moment we met.
I roll over, stretching out my arms and letting out a sigh before I grab the pillow covered in Bear’s scent. I shove my faceinto it, breathing deeply because I can’t help myself. There’s something about it that sends my body into overdrive. I need more.
I need more of Bear. Every time he touches me, my body crackles with electricity. It feels like I’m on a rollercoaster, twisting and turning. Climbing and falling. When he grazes my cheek with his fingertips, and I can’t figure out which way is up.
No one has ever had that effect on me. Nothing has. I’m torn because I’ve met a man I like—really, reallylike. But we’re from completely different worlds. He has his life in the mountains, and I have my life in the city.
I ran away from the city to spark my imagination—I never thought it would spark my heart. My love life. The part of me that I’ve neglected for so long to further my career.
The longer I stay, the more difficult the decision will be. But if I go now, I know I’d regret leaving and crushing a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. And that’s what this is. I’ve waited for something like this—am I really going to dump it?
I take another deep inhale of Bear’s pillow, tingles radiating all over my body as my nipples tighten and my core throbs. His scent is dredging something primal inside me. Buttons I never knew I had are being pressed. Knobs twisted. Levers pulled. Everything is working overtime to show me the answer I already know but have been resisting—Bear is it. He’s the one!
Am I making this more complicated than it needs to be? Maybe. I tend to do that sometimes. I guess that’s why I like writing thrillers so much. Twists and turns. Throwing everything at my characters to see how they react and where the story takes them.
Maybe I need to simplify things and stop looking for complications everywhere I go.
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, pausing as my chest begins to flutter. My imagination runs rampant as I wonder howBear looks in the morning. A little grumpy? Thick hair ruffled with drooping eyes? Does he sleep in denim and flannel?
I swallow. Does he sleepnaked?
I’m out of my element with mountain men. I’d have thought they were a myth until Bear lumbered into my life. Surprisingly though, he wasn’t holding onto an axe or carrying a tree trunk over his shoulder. Maybe he’s not as wild.
Or maybe my imagination needs to chill. I need to save this for my manuscript—the first draft of which is due at the end of the month. I wonder if Bear would let me stay here a little longer. It’s not the cabin I rented, but I can’t deny that my creativity has been jump-started.
I’m not sure if it’s the mountains or Bear. Maybe it’s both.
I slide on my slippers and pad to the door. I don’t hear any movement, so maybe he’s still asleep. I doubt it though—don’t mountain men wake up before the sun to catch trout with their bare hands for breakfast? Alright. Alright. Calm down, Riley. Bear’s a man, not some mythical beast with super-human abilities and strength.
The door creaks as I push it open. Light spills from the windows into the main living area. The interior is spartan but cozy. It’s lived-in, functional, and has more character than any apartment I’ve seen. I run my hand along the wood logs that make up one wall, imagining the rich history of this cabin.
Generations have lived between these walls. I can understand why Bear’s drawn to this place and the land around it. Not many people can trace their heritage down one long unending line. I can’t imagine living in the same cabin my great-great-great-great-great-grandfather built. I might be missing a few of Bear’s greats, but the point is made—Bear has an ancestral history that boggles my mind.
I’m a little jealous, to be honest. I hardly know anything about my great-grandparents let alone as far back as Bear’s history. It’s a different way of living, that’s for sure.
The couch Bear slept on last night is empty. The blanket is folded neatly with a pillow stacked on top of it. My slippers scrape against the wood planks as I make my way to the kitchen and find a note from Bear.
Morning Riley,
Hope you slept well and the storm didn’t keep you up. Got an early start. Seeing if I can get your car running again. There’s coffee in a thermos on the counter. Made you a breakfast sandwich. It’s wrapped up and in the oven. Make yourself at home. I’ll see you soon.
Bear
Butterflies are fluttering in my stomach, chest, and head. They’reeverywhere. I can’t think of a time someone’s been this nice to me. No one apart from my parents has ever made me breakfast. Then again, I’ve never been in a relationship before. Never dated seriously—only a few casual dates before one of us moved on.
Bear’s different from every man I’ve ever met. I like that. A lot.
I grab one of the speckled metal mugs hanging on a hook beneath one of the cabinets and pour some coffee before grabbing my breakfast from the oven. Still warm. I wonder how long he’s been gone. Maybe once I finish I could hike back to the car and see if he needs my help.
I could supervise.
It’s really hot out, Bear. I think it would be better if you took your shirt off. Pants too. In fact, just go naked. Proper airflow and all that.
Yeah, I’d be agreathelp to him. If I’d even make it to him. I don’t even know how to get to my car from here. Andknowing my luck, I’d cross paths with the mountain lion we saw yesterday.
Nope. I need to stay here.
I’m halfway through my delicious sandwich when I hear a loud crack. A thump. I take a sip of my coffee and then set down my sandwich before heading to the window.
