Page 13 of The Mountain Man's Irresistible Bride
Thunder growls low over the mountains. Rain lashes the windows. I light candles in the kitchen and make soup while Wren does homework at the table.
Elias hasn’t been inside in hours.
Wren looks up. “Is he seriously still out there?”
“I’ll check.”
I pull on a raincoat and boots, step outside into the storm. It doesn’t take long to find him—shirt soaked, arms swinging an axe into firewood like he’s chasing demons.
“Elias!”
He doesn’t stop.
“Elias, for God’s sake, you’re going to make yourself sick!”
He pauses, breathing hard, sweat and rain dripping from his brow.
“What the hell are you doing?” I shout over the storm.
He drops the axe. “Trying to think.”
I cross my arms. “Well, you’re scaring Wren. And me.”
His chest rises and falls. He looks at me like I’m the storm. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
I step closer. “Neither do I.”
Our eyes lock, and suddenly, we’re on each other. His hands are in my hair. My arms are around his neck. The kiss is hungry, then slower and deeper. Like we’re trying to fix everything with mouths and skin.
He lifts me, carries me inside, and into our room.
No flannel blanket this time. Just us and everything we’ve been pretending we don’t feel. We fall into bed, tangled in sheets and whispers, every touch soft and needy. No words, just gasps.
When it’s over, he pulls me close, arms around me like he’s afraid I’ll vanish. I press my cheek to his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
For once, I don’t think about what comes next.
Chapter Eight
Elias
The room is still dark when I wake, the sound of rain tapping softly against the window. Juniper’s warm body is curled against mine, her leg tangled over my thigh, her arm across my chest. I can feel the even rise and fall of her breath, her skin soft where it brushes mine.
I shouldn’t touch her. I shouldn’t hold her like this, but I can’t bring myself to move. Last night wasn’t supposed to happen. Not again.
It wasn’t the plan. What happened last night wasn’t fake. It was everything I’ve been trying to pretend I don’t want. Her skin. Her laugh. The way she looks at me like I’m not broken.
She shifts in her sleep, her hand splaying over my chest, and I swear my heart thunders like she can feel it.
I drag a hand down my face, trying to ground myself. It doesn’t work. Everything about her is in my head—her voice, her curves, her scent still lingering on my skin.
She’s not the problem. I am.
I ease out of bed, careful not to wake her, and pull on jeans and a t-shirt. The cabin is quiet, except for the wind pressing against the glass. I move through the house on autopilot, stepping into the kitchen, needing space.
I stare out the window, arms braced on the sink. What the hell am I doing? This was supposed to be about Wren. Aboutkeeping her out of the system and giving her a stable place to live. Not dragging Juniper into my mess.
She deserves more than that. I hear her footsteps a few minutes later—barefoot on the creaky floorboards.
