by Em Petrova
As she shuddered through her fifth—sixth?—orgasm, he ran his tongue over the light perspiration between shoulder and throat and rode out the waves of his own release.
She went still. Too still.
Should he ask if she was all right? They’d had a lot of sex. Maybe he’d hurt her.
“Ryan?”
Why was his throat tight?
“Hm?”
“I haven’t thanked you yet for saving my life.”
His chest burned as memories hit, bombing his mind with the reality of what had happened. She turned into his arms and placed a hand on his chest, studying his face in the dim light coming from above.
“Thank you for what you did.”
He felt like he was wearing a shirt that was two sizes too small, his shoulders constricted. He shifted them a bit but didn’t find a more comfortable position. “Anyone would have done it,” he said gruffly.
“But it was you.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” His voice came out too harsh, and she winced. Brows pinched, she nodded and removed her hand from his chest where it rested over his thumping heart.
Fuck, he wanted her hand back, and that scared him more than her having it there.
This indecision was why he’d resisted her in the first place. She deserved someone better, someone whole, who could take her to fancy dinners and art galas, to tropical places and roll with her on a sandy beach.
The last thought brought a growl to his throat, but he held it back. Lying here with her naked in his arms and his fresh cum inside her made her more his than even a ring could.
“Why can’t you accept my thank-you?” Her gaze moved over his face.
“Because it’s undeserved.” He sat up.
She did too, dragging the blanket over her bare breasts. He couldn’t help but think she must be cold and he could warm her. Damn, this was going to be hell when she left.
He started to get off the sleeping pallet.
“Ryan.” Her hand on his shoulder stopped him. He glanced at her. “Americans thank their troops every day for fighting for their freedom. It’s a sign of respect, but I’m giving you more than that.”
The look on her face said exactly what she was offering—herself.
He couldn’t accept it. He got out of bed and grabbed his jeans off the floor. Then he went to the door and opened it. Standing in the opening, he just breathed the cold mountain air. The fire had long since gone out and his animals were still slumbering.
A quiet whine made him jerk and he peered into the darkness to see the puppy lying by the cold fire, head on his paws.
Great, now he was trapped between the beautiful redhead bombshell still naked in his bed and a furry companion who’d touched his heart far too easily the last time he’d come around.
Ryan glared at the pup as he got up and trotted over to him, butt wiggling.
“Dammit, you’re both going to kill me.”
* * * * *
“Is this the dog you mentioned?” Livvy pushed by him wearing his blanket like a toga and squatted to let the pup sniff her. She couldn’t tell much about his coloring in the dim light of pre-dawn, but he was definitely spotted.
“That’s Freckles,” Ryan said in a grating way as if he hadn’t spoken in months.
She twisted to look back and up at him towering in the doorway like some sort of stone guardian. Or Stone guardian.
Her fingers itched for her camera, but she turned her attention to the animal again. “Do you think he just showed up before we went into the cabin? I never saw him.” She scratched the dog’s chin and he pushed into her hand.
Ryan grunted. “Who knows. He just comes and goes.”
She straightened. “I bet he really does belong to the homesteading family nearby.”
He made another sound like tearing paper. If she was sticking around, she’d need to figure out what his noises meant. One she knew well, though, was the sandpapery growl of his release.
The puppy bent itself around her legs, and she picked him up. “I think he’s cold. Can we take him inside?”
His face was impassive. “Fine.”
She scooped the puppy against her chest and carried it into the cabin. Ryan followed and closed the door behind them. She set Freckles on the floor while she got dressed. Then she dug around in her pack until she found a thin thermal blanket.
Ryan paused by the woodstove, a stick of wood in his hand. “You coulda used my blanket.”
She wanted to smile but that would only irritate him more. He wanted her to believe he was made of robot parts, iron and steel. When really he was just a strong framework with the softest taffy for insides. A man who’d let a woman wrap a neighbor’s puppy up in his own blanket wasn’t as hard as he let on.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she spread the blanket over her thighs and then drew the puppy to sit in the circle. Ryan watched her swaddle the puppy until only its little head stuck out.
“Ohhh, look at him.” She restrained a squeal. “Those black button eyes and nose. What breed is it?”
“Mutt, I’d say,” he grumbled, feeding the stove a few more sticks of wood and lighting a match. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and the lines of his body called to her even as she felt the pleasant after-soreness from their night together. If he turned to her right now and held out his hand, she’d stand and slip into his arms.
But that was how Ryan had always affected her—she couldn’t get close enough.
She cuddled the dog. “How did you know its name if you don’t know where it came from? I didn’t see a collar.”
“I gave him that name after he wouldn’t go away.”
She stared at his back as he coddled the fire until the flames caught, and the orange light smiled from the yawning mouth of the stove.
She dropped her stare. “Do you want me to go away?” Her voice was a whisper of its normal strength, and she couldn’t look at him when she asked. Staring at the puppy curled up in her lap was all she could muster right now.
He shifted but didn’t turn or reply.
“I have to check the animals and then my traps. I’ll be away all day. I don’t want you to leave the homestead without a gun.”
So he didn’t want her to go. And he was worried for her safety.
She hid her smile in case he turned and saw.
“It’s too dark to hunt, isn’t it? The rooster hasn’t even crowed yet.”
He closed the door of the woodstove. In seconds, she felt the heat radiating from it. The puppy did too and fought his way out of the bundle of blanket to sniff around the cabin.
Ryan found his box of clothes and pulled out a clean shirt and socks. She watched him dress but he didn’t throw even a glance her way. The ice-cold treatment made her second-guess staying here. She’d said her thanks and could easily hike back down the mountain with a free conscience.
Except there was a big problem.
Her feelings for Ryan, smoldering all this time away from him, had combusted and now burned hotter than any fire either of them could build.
After he was dressed, he let his gaze slide over her where she still sat on the floor, watching Freckles romp around sniffing everything.
“Don’t let him crap on the floor.”
She arched a brow. “That’s all you have to say to me after last night?”
He shifted his jaw but didn’t speak. When it became evident he wasn’t going to say more, she sighed. “Fine. Then at least tell me why you named him Freckles.”
He stomped to the door and opened it like his enemy stood on the other side. With a final look her way, he said, “It was the name of my dog growing up.” Then he disappeared outside, leaving her looking at her pack and boots, wondering if it wasn’t better to leave things as they stood. To let the man live his solitary life and try to move on with her own.
* * * * *
When Ryan walked back into the yard, it was to the yipping barks of Freckles. So the dog had stuck around—what about the woman?<
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He didn’t hear her. Not a clank of a pot or a hummed bar of a song. His heart clenched as he looked for her. All of this took place in a blink’s time—before his head had even wrapped around how scared he was to find her gone.
“Livvy,” he croaked.
She came out of the cabin, hands dripping wet, face flushed. He looked at her closer. “Is that blood on your clothes?”
He crossed the yard to her in a few steps and caught her by the elbows, scanning her for injuries. She wore the scarf once more, hiding her scar from him in the daylight. But that didn’t hide the fact she had blood dotting her top.
“I’m not hurt. It was…” She flushed hard in the way only redheads could. So hard it was almost painful for him to look at her.
He resisted shaking her. “What happened, Livvy?”
“The chickens.”
He blinked. “You butchered my chickens?”
She shook her head, red hair back in the braid and slithering over his fingertips where they rested on her arms. “A coyote tried to get them.”
He jerked. He’d only warned her to keep the gun handy but hadn’t thought she’d need it. More or less, predators kept away from his homestead. “What happened? Do I have a hurt chicken to put down?”
“No. I shot to scare off the coyote, but the chicken had already been grabbed. I checked it over and I think it will be okay, but… You better have a look.”
“Damn.” He hated himself for leaving her unprotected. It wasn’t unusual to hear of coyote attacks up in these parts and a couple of the wild animals could take down an elk. A woman would be no match.
Thank God she’d been quick-witted and unafraid to use her weapon.
A sting like pride hit his chest. He let go of her and looked around. “Let’s go check it out. Tell me everything that happened.”
He couldn’t help but look at the blood dotting her blue top. The realization of how tough it was to exist up here on the mountain rocked him again. It was no place for a woman like Livvy.
He strode toward the coop. She followed him, and the chickens kicked up a fuss.
She leaned against the fence. “I heard the chickens going crazy and I came out.”
“You just came out to confront whatever it was? Jesus, Livvy, what if it’d been a brown bear?”
She lifted her jaw. “Would it have mattered? A homesteader has to protect the land and animals.”
Issuing a low growl of warning, he said, “But not put themselves at risk.” Besides, she wasn’t even a homesteader—he was. Now she was insinuating herself into his life and taking risks that he wouldn’t stand for.
Setting a hand on her hip, she said, “What would you have done?”
He would have walked out with the shotgun and investigated. Just as she had. Only she was soft and sweet. And obviously too fearless for her own good.
After he picked out the injured chicken from the flock, he caught it and cradled it against his chest to examine it. She leaned closer to him, watching with a worried frown on her beautiful face.
“Does it look okay to you? It’s been running around like…well, a chicken with its head cut off. But it doesn’t seem to be in distress.” She chewed on her lower lip, which only had him grinding his teeth.
“Looks all right to me.” He set the chicken on its feet and it took off running back to the others. Ryan closed the pen gate and turned to Livvy. “Are you sure none of that blood’s yours?”
Her eyes widened, and she shook her head. She swayed toward him as if to lean on him. With a shaky sigh, he put his arm around her and squeezed her, inhaling her sweet scent and trying to slow the adrenaline coursing through his veins at the sight of her bloodied.
“Don’t do something like that again.” He sounded too gruff.
“What am I supposed to do? Let some predator take all the chickens that mean your livelihood?” He issued a low growl, but she spoke over him. “I thought you were hunting. Did you get anything?”
He had a feeling she was turning the attention from herself.
He shook his head. “Bad day. It happens.”
“We still have rabbit. I can make a stew. Or we can have eggs. Or both.”
He stared down at her flushed face and those lips that were far too tempting for his sanity. He really wasn’t getting rid of her anytime soon, was he?
At her feet, Freckles pounced around, attacking a stone. He picked it up in his jaws, tossed it and then chased it so fast that his back end almost flipped over the front.
“I’ll think of something to eat. First, I’ll let the chickens forage a bit. The pigs too.”
“The goats have been out already.” She blushed again and he faced her.
“Getting those goats back in the pen is a rough job on a good day and this doesn’t sound like a good day. How’d you manage it?”
She shot a look at the goat pen, a small shelter where they were cozily curled up inside as if they’d spent an afternoon at rest. He knew better. The pair of them were ornery and mischievous to the point of irritation.
“Long story.”
“Well, I have nothing but time.” Great. Now her plush lips were getting to him and he was making comments that sounded more appropriate for the bedroom.
Her eyes darkened at his words, and his cock gave a hard jerk in his jeans. Was she thinking of what they could do to pass that time besides talk about goats too?
Before he grabbed her and did anything like pin her against the chicken fence and have his way with her, he set to work to free the animals.
Freckles pounced at the rock again, which now appeared to be his toy of choice. When he rounded the cabin again, Livvy didn’t seem to be in the yard where he’d told her to wait for him. And there was a very tiny, very lacy pair of underwear hanging on the drying rack she’d rigged up.
He ran a hand over his face, still shocked at his shorn beard. Though now that it was shorter, he remembered how much it itched at this length. Maybe it was time to sharpen his knife to an edge fit for shaving. He could bear the irritation of the beard and let it grow out rather than bother to shave daily, but he had a feeling she might like the feel of his smooth jaw on her inner thighs…
“Livvy?” The name came out as a croak. She came out of the cabin with more of her wet clothes. The white tank top she’d been wearing the previous night—the one he’d stripped off her—sent a spike of need straight to his groin.
First, he needed a bath in an icy cold stream, both to wash away the grime of the day and to make his cock behave. His need was blatantly pushing at his fly and she’d noticed the bulge too.
She sashayed her little round ass around to the drying rack and made a fuss over bending over seductively as she draped the wet garments over it.
“Livvy, I swear to Christ—”
She turned with a smile that would span the Rockies. And a knowing look too. She had him and she knew it. Dammit.
When she walked up to him, he couldn’t move an inch. “Let’s get you into a bath, mountain man. Then when you’re finished, I’ll have that stew ready for you.”
He stared at her mouth a heartbeat too long for his own good. He’d never turn away now.
“And if I’m not wrong, you’d like some dessert too.” She tossed him a wink before disappearing back into his cabin, the dog at her heels.
Chapter Five
Ryan must have scrubbed himself as fast as a tornado wrecked a farm, because the man was back in three-point-two seconds, wet hair streaming in rivulets over his shoulders.
He stepped inside the cabin and closed the door. His expression, a dark warning one, sent her heartbeat into overdrive. She leaned against the wooden table in the center of the room for support.
“You look… clean.”
Wordlessly, he took a step toward her. Just his heavy footfall made her nipples tighten and ache for his hard lips. She stared at his chiseled features and thick neck, down to his wide, bare shoulders and couldn’t stop the soft sigh from leaving her lips.
>
His gaze flashed to her mouth and his eyes narrowed into a glare that made him look almost angry at her lips. Secretly, she thought he was ticked off at his reaction to her. He was waging some sort of internal war, but she wasn’t sure why. Yet. But she’d figure him out.
He was still dripping.
She grabbed a clean folded towel and flicked it open, swinging it up around his neck. He stared at her without pause as she dried him off. The act gave her a warmth in her belly like warm honey drizzled over toast.
After she’d blotted away the wetness on his nape and shoulders, she went for his hair. He grabbed both her wrists.
“You don’t have to do these things.”
“I…” She was at a loss for words.
“You don’t have to clean my cabin or cook my meals or wash my clothes. And you sure as hell don’t have to dry me off.”
She stepped back but he retained his grip on her wrists. “I know I don’t have to do any of those things. But what if I want to?”
His hazel eyes flickered with something she couldn’t name. “Why?”
How to put her feelings into words? For a second, she floundered over what to say, but one answer kept surfacing in her brain.
“I-I like taking care of you.”
“Why?”
She pulled her wrists free of his grip and set her hands on her hips. “Don’t you think you’re worth taking care of, Stone?”
“Oh, now you’re back to using my last name.”
She felt heat climb her cheeks. Curse her touchy complexion.
“I thought you of all people would understand wanting to take care of someone.”
His face blanked but he dropped his gaze to her neck and the scarf covering her scar. This morning she’d hesitated in tying it around her neck again, but he’d only seen it in partial lighting. In the sunshine, the twisted skin was red and uglier than ever, and it was best if she saved him from that.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he grated out, so low it was nearly a whisper.
“All those villages you protected in Afghanistan. People you didn’t even know. You had the backs of your buddies too. And me…”
He turned his face aside. “I told you I’m not talking about the war. Now you go on outside and sit down while I put on a shirt and then I’ll make you dinner.”
