Page 10 of Mountain Man's Muse

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“Who hurt you?” He tried to keep his voice as gentle as his touch though a fury tightened his throat.

“It’s not important.”

“It is to me.” He raised his gaze to hers. “No man should treat you like this.”

“What makes you think it was a man?” When he paused in his gentle massage, she gave him a half-quirk of a smile. “So tell me, Josh, how would you treat me?”

She rotated her hands under his to wrap her fingers around his wrists in loose manacles. Though she left no marks like the scorched lines around her wrists, her touch heated his skin, and despite her delicate build, he did not think he could break her hold. Not that he wanted to be freed.

With the barest tug, she pulled him forward so both his knees were on the bed. As his foot left the floor, he felt like he was falling, not onto the sunny bed but somewhere deeper, darker.

His fingers tingled from the salve, and he wondered what was in it. That tingle was spreading all through his body.

When he opened his mouth to answer—though he wasn’t sure what answer he would have given—she reached up to settle her forefinger over his bottom lip. The scent of wildflowers made his head spin. His mouth heated at the touch of her skin and the sweet salve.

“Don’t tell me,” she murmured. “Show me.”

“Adelyn…”

“No more names.” She shifted to her knees to face him, shoving aside the satchel. The motion dislodged the knot of the towel—just as he had known it would—and the fabric unspooled around her.

He inhaled sharply at the unveiling, but he had only a glimpse of her curved hips and dark-peaked breasts before she leaned in and kissed him.

Her mouth slanted across his, and the tingle of the salve jolted all the way through him. Unbalanced on the bulk of the comforter below them, she rocked into him. He gripped her shoulders to steady her, and the warmth of her skin under his palms made his fingers clench reflexively. To hold her like he’d never let go.

He forced himself to gentle his grip, and he slid one hand upward, into her hair. With a groan, he found the black strands even more silky than he had imagined. Anchored in her hair, he tipped her head and deepened the kiss.

For a second, she stiffened, as if surprised, but then she widened her mouth to accommodate him. Her tongue teased his with matching fervor.

Whatever was in that salve—the heat and the shiver—seemed to spread with the invisible curls of the perfume until his senses were awash. He tasted the sunlight in her, and the darkness, and it threatened to sweep away that last of his sense. He could only cling to her and the long, slowly sinking kisses.

She laughed against his mouth. “Bend me like your soft metals. Shape me to your dreams.”

A dream. That explained it all. A fever dream, he was so hot with wanting her. His whole body tightened as if from a sunburn, as if he stood too close to his forge.

But it wasn’t a dream, he knew that. She was real, a real woman in his arms. He tried to pull back, to push some fresh air between them, and they both gasped as their lips separated.

The space only gave her room to slide her hands up inside his shirt. The pearl snaps popped one after the other, from navel to neck. Air rushed across his bare chest—like oxygen into a forge—and set his blood raging.

She surged up against him again. If he hadn’t braced himself, they would have both tumbled to the bed. Her stiffened nipples thrust against his chest. Unbidden, his fingers curved to match the outer arc of her breasts. A perfect handful for his wide palm. He groaned and took her mouth in a hard kiss.

When he lifted his head, he thought he was tearing himself apart. “Adelyn,” he whispered.

“Josh,” she answered. For a heartbeat, he thought he heard a note of mockery. Or was that desperation? He had always done better reading the animals with their basic needs, the land with its regular cycles. Women were a mystery.

He let his hands slide down to her hips, to hold her back since he couldn’t grab her wounded wrists. He couldn’t help but notice, despite his good intentions, that unlike the dark wealth of her hair, down lower she was smooth, without even a shadow to hide the dusky plump flesh. “Whatever happened to you, this isn’t the way to forget or to pretend it didn’t happen.”

“You said this was a place to get away,” she reminded him.

She trailed her fingertips down his chest and raked lightly over his nipples. His sharp breath sucked in his belly, leaving a gap behind his belt buckle.

With one flick, she released the copper buckle. The etched metal swung open like a welcoming gate, and she unzipped his jeans.

Any last ounce of willpower he had was lost with the whisper of her fingers against his straining flesh. Long hours in the saddle were more comfortable without underwear seams that might chafe in sensitive places, but that common sense wardrobe choice left him no extra layers of defense now.

“Adelyn…” This time her name was not a protest but an enticement.

“Do you have a muse, Josh?”