Page 43 of Wrecked on the Mountain
"And for the record," he adds, blue eyes gleaming with mischief. "You snore."
My head snaps up. "I do not."
"You absolutely do," he says, looking smug as hell. "Little snuffly thing, like a sleepy bear cub."
"I—what? No I don't!"
"It was adorable," he teases, leaning closer towards me. "Every time you exhaled, your nose twitched. At one point, you kind of... whined?"
"I didnotwhine!"
"You did." He grins. "I thought about recording it, but figured that’d get me punched."
"Youshouldget punched."
I try to sound outraged, but he's still standing close,too close, and I’m suddenly aware of the heat radiating off his body, thesteady trickle of water over his hand, and the way his eyes flick down to my mouth when I lick my lips without thinking.
I keep his hand under the cold water while I examine the burn more carefully. "This isn't too bad. You'll want to keep it clean and maybe use some aloe if you have it."
"Dr. Shields," Jamie says quietly, and something in his tone makes me look up. "Thank you."
"For what? I'm the one who caused this."
"For taking care of me." His free hand comes up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing across my skin. "And for last night. For yesterday. Hell, for everything since you got here."
My heart starts pounding as he leans closer, close enough that I can see the gold flecks in his blue eyes.
And just like that, I’m back in the warming tent yesterday. His mouth on mine, his hands in my hair, the quiet desperation in the way he kissed me like he couldn’t stop himself.
That kiss had cracked something open in me.
Not just pure sexual desire… thoughGod, there is plenty of that when it comes to Jamie Striker. But it turning into something softer. Scarier.
And now… he’s looking at me like that again.
Like I'm not just a passing moment in his life.
Like I’m something he doesn’t want to let go of.
"I think I should be the one thanking you. I had a wonderful birthday," I whisper. "All because of you."
"Happy birthday, sweetheart," he murmurs, and then, like he can read my every thought, he does the one thing I need right now.
He kisses me.
This kiss is different from yesterday. Moreintentional. Like he’s savoring every second, like heknowsexactly how to unravel me with nothing but his mouth.
His lips brush against mine with a teasing gentleness at first, coaxing rather than demanding, but there's heat simmering just beneath it. A restrained hunger. The kind that makes my breath catch and my thighs press together instinctively.
I reach up, threading my fingers through his hair, and he groans, low and guttural, the sound vibrating against my mouth. One hand slides to the small of my back, pulling me flush against him, and suddenly I can feeleverything. The hard planes of his chest. The tension in every tight muscle in his arms. The way his body reacts to mine without hesitation.
The sink is still running beside us, cold water splashing into the basin in a steady stream that swirls and goes down the drain.
His hand—the one I just treated—is still damp, and when he cups the back of my neck, the contrast between the coolness of his fingers and the heat burning across my skin makes me shiver.
My shirt sticks where his wet palm meets my back, but I don't care.
I want more. I want all of it.
