Page 13 of Haunted By the Mountain Man
"Would that be so bad?"
"Yes, because when I finally get inside you, I'm going to take my time." His hand cupped my face one more time, thumb tracing my swollen lips. "I'm going to make you come so many times you forget your own name. And I'm going to make damn sure you know exactly who you belong to."
Then he was gone, striding out of the pool room to find Walt, leaving me trembling and aching and completely undone.
I touched my lips where they still tingled from his kiss. Touched my neck where I could already feel the marks he'd left. Pressed my thighs together against the ache he'd created. I gave myself a minute to recover—to stop shaking, to catch my breath, to try and calm the aching need still pulsing over my body. Then I gathered my camera equipment with trembling hands and followed the sound of Walt and Shane’s voices.
I found them in what had been the lodge's main office. Walt was agitated, pointing at an old heating vent where dust was drifting out, disturbed by a breeze.
"I smell it," Walt was saying, his weathered hands shaking. "Just like that night. The smoke. The fire. It's happening again."
"There's no fire, Walt." Shane's tone was infinitely patient despite the tension still visible in his shoulders. "It's just dust.See?" He waved his hand, showing how it dispersed. "No heat. No flame. Just old building materials."
"But I smell it." Walt's eyes were wild with fear and confusion. "The smoke. The screams. We have to evacuate the guests."
Shane's expression tightened, but his voice stayed calm. "There are no guests here right now. You're safe. I'm here, and I won't let anything happen to you."
"You promise?" Walt looked suddenly small and vulnerable, a frightened old man instead of the cheerful caretaker from this morning.
"I promise." Shane guided Walt to a chair, kneeling beside him. "Deep breaths. That's it. In and out. Feel how cool the air is? No smoke. No fire. Just you and me and Raven."
Walt's eyes found me in the doorway, and some of the panic receded. "Miss Raven. You're still here."
"Of course I am." I moved closer, setting down my equipment. "Where else would I be?"
"Good, good." He nodded, some color returning to his face. "Can't have staff leaving mid-season. Bad for morale."
I glanced at Shane, who gave me a subtle shake of his head. Don't push. Don't ask.
For the next hour, we sat with Walt as he gradually calmed down. Shane checked his vitals—blood pressure slightly elevated but not dangerous, blood sugar normal, heart rate settling back to baseline. All the while keeping up a steady stream of gentle conversation about lodge operations, upcoming guests, and the holiday preparations.
It was fascinating to watch. Shane was so careful with Walt, so patient, adjusting his responses to match wherever the old man's mind had drifted. When Walt thought it was 1993, Shane talked about ski conditions. When he slipped closer to 1995,Shane carefully redirected before the conversation could turn to the fire.
Watching him care for Walt with such infinite tenderness made me realize I could fall in love with Shane. This wasn't just duty or obligation. He genuinely loved this confused old man, would do anything to protect him.
And after that kiss, after the way he'd touched me and claimed me and promised me everything, I was starting to understand why. Because when Shane Wolfe cared about something, he did it with his whole heart. Completely. Irrevocably.
The question was: was I ready for that kind of intensity? That kind of claiming?
Because after one kiss, I was already addicted. Already craving more. Already imagining what it would be like when he finally made good on his promise to make me forget my own name.
Walt finally dozed off in his chair, exhausted from the emotional episode. Shane covered him with a blanket, checking one more time that he was comfortable before gesturing for me to follow him out of the room.
We stood in the hallway, the afternoon light casting long shadows. Shane looked emotionally wrung out in a way that made me want to hold him.
"Does that happen often?" I asked quietly. "The episodes about the fire?"
"More frequently lately." He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture weary. "The closer we get to the anniversary—November third, the night it happened—the worse they get. It's like his mind knows, even if he doesn't consciously remember."
"That must be hard on him. On you."
"It's hell." His silver eyes met mine. "Which is why I can't afford distractions. Why this—" he gestured between us "—can't happen."
I couldn’t believe he just said that. "What?"
"What happened in the pool room. It can't happen again." But even as he said it, his gaze dropped to my mouth, hungry and wanting. "Walt needs me focused. I can't be thinking about—"
"About what?" I moved closer, watching his jaw clench. "About kissing me? Touching me? Making good on all those promises you made?"
