Page 4 of Arctic Mountain Man
This was a problem.
“So,” she said settling back against my cushions like she’s planning to stay awhile, “you live here alone?”
“Yeah.”
“How long?”
“Three years.”
“Why?”
I stood up abruptly, putting distance between us. If I didn’t, I’d be kneeling between her thighs for a very different reason. “You hungry?”
She blinked at the subject change but didn’t push. Yet. I could see the questions in her eyes. “Starving, actually. Aaron wasn’t big on meal breaks during our romantic hiking adventure.” The way she said romantic dripped with sarcasm.
“What did you see in him?” The question was out before I can stop it.
She shrugged, and the movement made her long-sleeved shirt stretch tight across her breasts. Her nipples brush faintly against the fabric, and every instinct inside me said to claim her. Right then. I force myself to look away.
“Good question. He seemed...safe, I guess? Stable job, nice apartment, knew which fork to use at fancy restaurants.” She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Turns out safe doesn’t mean much when he leaves you stranded on a mountain with a twisted ankle.”
“His loss.”
The words slipped out, and she went still. We stared at each other for a long moment, something settling in the air between us.
“Is it?” she asks softly.
Yes. His fucking loss and my gain.
Instead of answering, I headed to the kitchen. “Hope you like grilled cheese.”
“Are you kidding? I love grilled cheese. Aaron was always trying to get me to eat quinoa salads and kale smoothies.” She made a gagging sound. “Apparently my curves needed managing.”
I froze, my hand clenched around the loaf of bread. A growl worked its way up my throat before I caught it. The thought of anyone telling her to hide those curves made my blood boil. Theurge to hunt down that pretentious prick and break more than just his jaw was so strong it took my breath away.
“Your curves are perfect.”
The words were out before I could stop them, low and unguarded in the quiet of the cabin.
Silence.
I turned around, and she’s staring at me with wide eyes, color flooding her cheeks. I knew I wasn’t the only one thinking about what I could do with those curves.
“I...” she started, then stops. “I’ve never had a romantic weekend, you know. I should have known it wasn’t going to be romantic when he asked me to drive myself to meet him.” She let out a bitter laugh. “What kind of romantic weekend starts with separate cars?”
“A shitty one.”
She looked up at me, surprised by my bluntness, then smiled. “Exactly. I guess I’m not really the romantic weekend type anyway.”
“Why not?”
“Look at me,” she said with a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m not exactly the size two blonde most guys take to cozy mountain cabins. But then we weren’t going to a cabin. He wanted to rough it by sleeping in a tent. I personally like four walls between me and the dark.” She drew in a deep breath. “Sorry, I tend to ramble when I’m nervous.”
I set the bread down and walked back to her slowly, deliberately. She watched me approach like I’m a predator, which wasn’t far off.
Stopping in front of the couch, every muscle tight, I said, “Any man who doesn’t want to worship every inch of your body is a fucking idiot.”
I barely resisted the urge to bend down and taste her mouth. I wanted to see if it was as tartly sweet as I imagined. I wantedto take her hand and press it to me, make her feel exactly what her curves were doing to my body. Instead, I forced myself back to the kitchen, needing space, needing something to touch that wasn’t her. The bread. The counter. Anything solid enough to keep me from reaching for her.
