Page 2 of Burning for the Mountain Man
I turned the handle and stepped out, steam billowing around me like I was some kind of mystical forest goddess. Which was a nice thought until reality hit—I was wearing nothing but a towel in a room that could double as a meat locker.
The door beeped, then clicked.
I froze. Someone was coming into my room. My heart hammered against my ribs as the door swung open, revealing a man with a toolbox who looked like he'd stepped straight out of a lumberjack fantasy.
Broad shoulders filled the doorframe. Dark hair, slightly tousled. A jaw that could cut glass. And eyes—God, those eyes—that locked onto mine and didn't look away.
We stared at each other.
He was gorgeous in that rugged, outdoorsy way that made my knees forget how to function. Flannel shirt rolled up to reveal strong forearms. Work boots that had seen actual work. The kind of man who probably chopped wood for fun and could fix anything with his bare hands.
And he was staring at me like I'd just materialized from thin air.
“Don’t you knock?” I managed to squeak, clutching my towel like it was body armor.
His eyebrows pulled together, creating a scowl that somehow made him even more attractive. "I did knock." His voice was low, gravelly, with just a hint of irritation. "Three times. When nobody answered, I figured the room was empty."
"Well, it's not empty," I said, stating the obvious while my brain scrambled to form coherent thoughts. "I'm in it."
"Yeah." His gaze flickered down, then back up to my face. "I can see that."
Warmth that had nothing to do with the broken heater crawled up my neck. This was not how I'd planned to meet anyone in Wildwood Valley. Especially not someone who looked like he could bench press a truck.
"Are you here about the heat?" I asked, because standing here half-naked wasn't awkward enough.
He held up the toolbox like evidence. "Heard the heat's out."
"Right. Yes. Fix it. Please." I took a step back, remembering I needed clothes. Real clothes. Not just terry cloth and hope. "I'll just—" I gestured toward my overnight bag sitting on the luggage stand. "Give me two seconds."
I grabbed the bag and practically sprinted back to the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. My reflection stared back at me, flushed and wild-eyed.
Get it together, Sage.
I could hear him moving around in the room, the sound of tools clinking. At least he was actually working and not just standing there being distractingly handsome.
I yanked on jeans and a sweater, finger-combed my wet hair, and took a deep breath. Time to face the music—and the most gorgeous repairman in North Carolina.
2
WILDER
Ishould have left the second she disappeared into the bathroom. Instead, I stood there like an idiot, toolbox in hand, pulse hammering like I’d sprinted uphill.
Three years. Three long years since anything had hit me like this—seeing her in nothing but a towel, steam curling around her, looking untouchable.
Get it together, Wilder.
I yanked my focus back to the heating unit on the wall. Work. That’s what I was here for. Not to stand around acting like some creep gawking at a woman way out of my league—one who probably thought I didn’t know how to knock.
I had knocked. Three times. My left ear was useless, leaving me with half my original hearing capacity. Maybe she’d called out and I hadn’t heard. Maybe she’d been in the shower. Either way, barging in here had been a mistake—a mistake that had my heart clawing its way up my throat.
The vent cover came off easily, revealing what I’d suspected. Dust so thick it looked like a gray carpet, filter choked beyond saving. No wonder the room felt like a walk-in freezer.
Behind me, the shower cut off. Soft movements. A thud. My hands trembled as I pulled out the clogged filter and muttered a curse. This was exactly why I stuck to maintenance gigs. Guests usually treated me like furniture—I could work, get paid, retreat to my cabin, no small talk required.
But she hadn’t ignored me. Even shocked and half-naked, she’d looked me dead in the eye. Most people flinched at my scars—shoulder and arm, impossible to miss. She hadn’t. Maybe she’d been too flustered. Maybe not.
The bathroom door opened. I locked my eyes on the unit.
