Page 11 of Emergency with the Mountain Man
Maybe he's right. Maybe the competent, confident woman who saved Robbie's life was always inside me, just buried under a year of gaslighting and self-doubt.
"Can I ask you something?" I set down my wine glass and turn to face him fully. "Earlier, you said you were falling in love with me. Did you mean it?"
"Every word."
"Even though we've only known each other two weeks?"
"Especially because of that." Jake sets down his own glass and reaches for my hands. "I've dated plenty of women, Norma. Nice women, attractive women, women I enjoyed spending time with. But I've never met anyone who made me want to rearrange my entire life around the possibility of making them happy. Never met anyone who felt like coming home."
"Is that what I feel like?"
"You feel like everything I didn't know I was looking for. Like the missing piece that makes everything else make sense."
The intensity in his voice, the certainty in his eyes, takes my breath away. "I feel the same way. Like I've been holding my breath for a year, and suddenly I can breathe again."
"Does that scare you?"
"Terrifies me," I admit. "But not enough to run away. Not anymore."
Jake's thumb traces across my knuckles, and the simple touch sends heat spiraling through my body. "What do you need from me, Norma? To feel safe, to feel sure?"
"Just be yourself. Be the man who shows up in emergencies, who sees the best in people, who makes me feel like I'm worth fighting for."
"You are worth fighting for. Worth everything."
When he kisses me this time, it's different from our careful explorations over the past week. This kiss is claiming, demanding, full of the passion we've been holding back. I kiss him back with equal fervor, months of loneliness and self-doubt dissolving under the heat of his mouth.
"Bedroom?" I whisper when we break apart, both breathing hard.
He stands and pulls me to my feet, leading me down a short hallway to a room dominated by a king-sized bed built from the same rich wood as his dining table.
"Come here," he says softly, pulling me into his arms.
I go willingly, rising on my toes to meet his kiss. His hands slide into my hair, angling my head for deeper access, and I can feel his heart racing against my chest.
I pull his shirt off. The sight of his bare chest—broad and muscled and dusted with dark hair—makes my mouth go dry. I run my hands over his warm skin, marveling at the reality of finally being able to touch him freely.
"God, you're beautiful," he murmurs, returning the favor by slowly lifting my shirt over my head. His eyes darken as he takes in the sight of me in just my bra and jeans. "Perfect."
"Not perfect," I correct, suddenly self-conscious about the small imperfections Sebastian used to poke at.
"Perfect," Jake repeats firmly, hands framing my face. "To me, you're absolutely perfect."
The conviction in his voice banishes my insecurities. This is Jake, who sees my worth even when I can't, who makes me feel beautiful and desired and treasured.
When we're finally naked, he lays me back against the soft sheets and just looks at me, his expression full of awe and desire and something deeper.
"I love you," he says simply. "Everything about you. Your strength, your compassion, your incredible mind. The way you make me want to be a better man."
"You're already the best man I've ever known."
"Then let me show you how much you mean to me."
His mouth trails fire down my throat, across my collarbone, to my breasts. When his lips close around my nipple, I arch off the bed with a cry of pleasure that seems to drive him wild.
"So beautiful," he groans against my skin. "So perfect for me."
His hands map every inch of my body with thorough attention, finding sensitive spots I didn't know existed. When his fingers slide between my legs, I'm already wet and ready for him.
