Page 6 of Arctic Mountain Man
I shoved it back into the pack before I did something reckless. Like appearing in his kitchen with it on.
Or nothing at all.
Down, girl.I warned myself. I was already in enough trouble with my traitorous hormones.
I brushed out my hair and pulled it back into a high ponytail. The style always made me feel confident for some reason. I took a deep, fortifying breath before opening the door and making my way to the kitchen.
Blake stood at the stove, his back to me, and holy hell, the man filled out a flannel shirt like it was his job. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing corded forearms. And his hands. A shiver ran down my spine at the sight of his hands—hands I could so easily picture gripping my hips while he drove deep inside me.
“Morning.” This was a first for me. Being in a man’s kitchen early in the morning. I was really hoping I’d be experiencing a lot of firsts this weekend. With Blake.
He turned, and those arctic blue eyes swept over me from head to toe. I felt exposed, like he could see right through my defenses to all the needy, desperate parts of me I kept hidden.
“Coffee?” His voice was gravelly, like he’d just woken up.
“Please. And tell me that’s real bacon I smell, because if you’re one of those health nuts who thinks turkey bacon is acceptable, we’re going to have problems.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Real bacon.”
“Thank God. A man with priorities.”
He handed me a mug, our fingers brushing. Heat shot up my arm, and I almost dropped it. His eyes darkened—he’d felt it too.
“How’s the ankle?” he asked, his gaze dropping to my foot.
I tested it gingerly. “Much better. Barely even hurts now.”
“Good.”
We stood there in awkward silence while I sipped my coffee and tried not to stare at the way his jeans hugged his thighs. This was torture. Pure, sexual torture. He wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that he was looking at me. And, oh boy, was my body telling me how much I wanted him—my nipples hardened beneath my shirt, and my lady parts were growing damp and needy.
“So,” I said, desperate to fill the silence, “what do you do all day up here on the mountain?”
He plated the bacon and eggs, then slid a full plate across the counter to me. “Depends on the day.”
“That’s not really an answer.”
“Wood chopping. Maintenance on the cabin. I’ve got a garage out back.”
“What kind of garage?”
“I work on classic cars. Restoration work.”
“That’s... really cool. My words tangled because I was picturing those grease-stained hands wrapped around my waist, bending me over the hood of some muscle car and takingme hard and fast. “I work in marketing for a tech startup. Considerably less exciting than bringing classic beauties back to life.”
He just shrugged his shoulder leaving me to wonder about his past. One just didn’t wind up alone on a mountain restoring old cars. “You like it?”
I considered the question while I demolished the best breakfast I’d had in months. “It pays the bills. And it’s better than my last job at an insurance company, where I spent my days explaining to people why we couldn’t cover their claims. That was soul-crushing.”
“What would you rather do?”
The question caught me off guard. When was the last time someone had asked me that? “I don’t know. I used to write, back in college. Short stories, mostly. But that’s not exactly a stable career path, and I’ve got student loans that aren’t going to pay themselves.”
He didn’t look away, didn’t dismiss it. “You could still write.”
The certainty in his tone cracked something open in me. Aaron had never once taken me seriously. But Blake? Blake said it like a fact, like he already believed in me.
“Can I see your garage?” I asked. “I promise I won’t touch anything or get in your way.”
