Montana Rescue (The Wildes of Birch Bay Book 2)

by Kim Law

  She worked him for several minutes, finding her own thrill as long-ago techniques came back. Then she slid both palms to his butt and gripped, and pulled him tight to her. He was large in her mouth, but she didn’t shy away. It was too damned exhilarating just to be doing this.

  When she finally broke for a breath, easing her mouth slowly off him, she intended to mutter something clever and teasing, but was caught by surprise instead. Nick’s face was suddenly in front of hers, his thumb and forefinger gripping her chin. Then he was punishing her mouth with his.

  There was no playing in him now. He demanded her obedience, and in one smooth move, his body covered hers.

  Within seconds, Nick had the promised condom on and had lifted slightly off her. He stared down, his eyes blazing, but seeming to ask for permission one last time. She gave it with a nod, and his thighs wasted no time nudging hers apart. He positioned himself at her opening, and though she had one tiny second of panic at the thought of what she was about to do, she didn’t change course. She merely closed her eyes so Nick wouldn’t see, and pulled his mouth back down to hers. He pushed inside her.

  The feel of him was intense and heady, and a darned-near out-of-body experience. Their breaths mingled, and their bodies fit together with not a single breath of air between them. And Nick felt right inside of her.

  Chapter Seven

  It took more than a few minutes before Nick’s breathing allowed speech again. While he waited, he kept his eyes closed and noted several key facts.

  First, the television was still on. The movie had flashed in silence as they’d come together. It had been fascinating to watch her reach orgasm in the strobe-light effect.

  Additionally, since they’d finished, Harper hadn’t uttered a sound.

  Nick swallowed a bout of nerves as the final observation hit his consciousness. She remained beside him, but she lay completely still. No part of her touched any part of him.

  Had they just made a mistake?

  And if so, what was he supposed to say to make it better now?

  This wasn’t how his “after” usually played out, so he decided that until proven otherwise, he’d go with the theory that Harper was simply not a cuddler. Hopefully her stillness was par for the course.

  “Did you have sex with Betsy before coming over here?”

  His eyes popped open. “What?” he snapped. He gaped at her. “Of course not.”

  “Okay.” She looked neither upset nor relieved. “I was just checking.”

  And he was just pissed.

  He rolled to his elbow and frowned when she closed her eyes. “Harper,” he said.

  She didn’t reply. Nor did she open her eyes. So he brought her face around to his. When she still didn’t look at him, he continued to glare at her, hoping the look would somehow burn its way through her eyelids. It took a moment, but his determination paid off. She finally peeked at him, and he could tell by her now-smug expression that she was going for a superior look, trying to play off the moment with humor. But he wasn’t laughing.

  “Why would you think that?”

  Her smugness faltered, uncertainty replacing the self-assured, bold woman he knew her to be. “She was just . . . And you were . . .” She shrugged. “Not that it would matter either way. You can do whatever you want.”

  “Of course I can. But do you really think that’s what I would do?”

  “I don’t really know you, Nick.” Her words were soft spoken, and the honesty in them immediately drained him of anger. She was right. Neither of them knew much about the other.

  “Well, that’s one thing you now know.” He gentled his words. “I wouldn’t do that. To anyone.”

  She licked her lips, relief flashing through her eyes.

  And he suddenly wondered who she really was if that kind of vulnerability lived inside her. He told himself to return to his side of the bed. To resume their post-sex non-cuddling. To not make more of the moment than it was. But he didn’t want to roll away from her. Especially not with that slight look of uncertainty still lingering on her face. So he kissed her again.

  He could still taste the mix of beer and popcorn on her lips, and when he pulled back, she was looking at him. The vulnerability had disappeared, but the moment remained heavy.

  At a loss for what to do next, he fell back on his old standby. Charm.

  He gave her a knowing smile, and he picked up her hand and turned it over. He pressed his mouth to the inside of her wrist and inhaled. As she had earlier in the day, she smelled like baby powder. “I had an amazing time,” he murmured. He watched her as he began to nip along her forearm, noting that she wasn’t immune to his touch. A renewed flare of heat began to burn behind her eyes. He liked that.

  He worked his way toward her inner elbow, enjoying the slide of smooth skin beneath his lips. He hadn’t brought it up, but he also had a second condom tucked away in his wallet.

  “I hope it was fun for you, too,” he said. He tugged at the sheet she’d pulled up over her, inching it down just enough to expose the top curves of her breasts. He hadn’t had nearly enough time exploring those.

  He gave one more tug, and one dusty-rose nipple popped free. His mouth watered.

  “I definitely had fun,” she agreed. Her gaze swept down to his mouth. “But . . .”

  He froze. He hated that word. “But what?”

  She paused for a second, her eyes steady on his, as if trying to decide whether to say what was on her mind or not. Then she glanced toward the door, and he got it.

  “But you want me to go?” He sighed.

  She offered a tight smile. “Will you hate me if I say yes?”

  “Of course not.”

  He didn’t waste any time rising and reaching for his jeans. He’d been right before. He shouldn’t have shown up there tonight. Sex hadn’t been what she’d needed. He’d known that. Hadn’t he told himself that very thing with every step he’d made from his room to hers?

  He could kick himself for forgetting. However, no judge, whether moral or judicial, would find him guilty for sticking around after she’d come out of her bathroom the way she had.

  He fastened his jeans and took a moment longer than necessary to shrug into his shirt. He didn’t look at her as he dressed; he needed to get his thoughts together first. He wasn’t mad—he’d never be mad because a woman asked him to leave. But he was disappointed. Mostly in himself. He shouldn’t have let this go so far.

  But he was also asking himself: What the hell?

  As the last whirl of the helicopter blades came to a stop, Harper found herself going as motionless as everything around her. She’d just arrived home after dropping the corporate execs back at the Missoula airport. And though there were still several hours of daylight ahead of her, she had no additional flights scheduled, nor did she want any.

  What she wanted was to crawl into her own bed and forget. Or maybe relive.

  Sex with Nick had been off the charts.

  Only . . . she’d had sex with Nick.

  The thoughts were conflicting, and each had been battling to be heard since she’d kicked him out of her motel room Friday night.

  She’d managed to make it all the way through Saturday without getting caught alone with him, then she and Jewel had driven back immediately after the last bull-riding event. Harper had stayed over at Jewel’s last night, both because they’d gotten in so late and because Jewel had once again been sick. Yet through every minute that had passed the remainder of the weekend, even with everything she’d had going on, her head had continuously carried out the fight.

  Sex with Nick had been off the charts.

  She’d had sex with Nick.

  Was she supposed to be thrilled or feel guilty? And if guilty . . . should it be directed toward Thomas? Or Nick? Or herself?

  She suddenly felt antsy and forced herself to exit the aircraft and head toward her house. She was on the back side of her property, land spread out in every direction, with her enormous two-story home sitting
directly in front of her. Thomas had not only taken a chunk of his trust the minute he’d gained full access to it and bought them a souped-up helicopter, but he’d also had a huge house built for them. He’d even poured a helicopter pad in their backyard. They’d had everything they would ever need here.

  She focused straight ahead as she kept her feet moving. She lived on the west side of the lake, and the property sat high enough that even though she was several miles from the shoreline, she had a view all the way across the water. And as she’d done at the end of every flight since Thomas had died, she looked beyond the lake, across to where Birch Bay was nestled snugly among the pines and birches . . . and felt even more alone than she was.

  Entering the house through the back door, she pulled out her cell and checked for messages. There were three. She didn’t advertise regular business hours and rarely bothered answering her phone when working.

  “Hello,” a male voice said after she hit the button to play the messages. “I was told that you don’t have a problem taking people to the top of Mount Cleveland.”

  Nope. She didn’t have a problem doing anything.

  “If that’s the case. My girlfriend and I”—the owner of the voice cleared his throat and then lowered his voice—“I want to propose to my girlfriend. She loves to hike Glacier, so I want to take her to the top.”

  Harper’s heart squeezed. Proposals were both her favorite and the most bittersweet.

  The caller left his number, and Harper listened to the remaining two messages, both of them inquiring about chartering a personalized tour of the area. She wrote down all the numbers and decided to fix herself a late lunch. She’d taken a snack with her when she’d headed out to pick up her passengers that morning but hadn’t been in the mood to eat when lunchtime had rolled around. How could she eat when her insides were in turmoil?

  But the funny thing was, the turmoil hadn’t shown up in the form she’d expected.

  Immediately after sleeping with Nick, she’d been overwhelmed by what she’d done. She’d expected that. It was her first and only time with another man, after all. But she’d also been bowled over by how much she’d enjoyed it. And she had not expected that. Not because she’d doubted Nick’s skill, but for the pure fact that he wasn’t Thomas. It had never once crossed her mind that another man’s touch could make her feel anything similar to Thomas’s.

  Therefore, she’d kicked Nick out. And had felt a little bad about it ever since.

  She smiled at the memory as she stood at the sink and rinsed off lettuce and spinach to go on a sandwich. She’d caught him off guard again. That time, not in a good way. She’d instigated the entire thing, had been a full participant, and she’d gotten way more than she’d ever hoped for. Yet the minute it had been over, the thought of touching him—of snuggling up to him—had terrified her.

  Her sending him away had hurt his feelings, she knew. Though he’d assured her that leaving was perfectly fine. He slept better alone, after all.

  But she hadn’t bought it. It had bothered him how she’d changed course so quickly. And the truth was, it bothered her, too. But she’d needed to be alone in that moment. It had all been too much. He’d made her feel and need and want so much. Way more than one night in bed with him could ever provide. But the worst part had been that she’d wanted to curl into him in the aftermath. Just let him hold her. Only, if he’d held her . . .

  She blew out a harsh breath. If Nick had held her after showing such tenderness and concern before he’d even touched her, she feared she would’ve fallen apart.

  Ditching the idea of food, she moved to the living room and turned on the TV. There was little she ever watched with interest—mostly it was about having noise in the house—so she dropped to the couch and started flipping through channels. She stopped when she got to a commercial that caught her attention. It was the one featuring Nick.

  She sat up straighter as his face filled the seventy-inch screen. He was wearing that smile he was so good at. Then the camera panned back, and she trailed down over the rest of him. His thumbs were tucked securely behind a championship belt buckle, dark-washed jeans hugged every inch of his lower body, and his cowboy hat was pushed slightly off his forehead. Not the tugged-low way he wore it when standing off to the side watching his competitors.

  The entire package had her drooling.

  And wasn’t that something? She’d seen this commercial many times before, but she’d barely paid attention. She’d known who Nick was, of course—her younger sister’s long-ago friend. Therefore, the extent of her thoughts before today had been happiness that he’d done well for himself.

  The commercial ended and she hit rewind, backing it up so she could watch again. She’d slept with a man that wasn’t her husband. And she’d really, really enjoyed it. And she should probably feel guilty about that.

  Only, she didn’t want to feel guilt. Not about any of it.

  Was spending one evening having a good time such a bad thing? Because if she could have a redo . . . she would redo. Everything. Exactly as she had Friday night.

  She shook her head as she sat there, making up her mind based on facts. No. She would not have guilt. Not over this. If Thomas had been here, she wouldn’t even be in a position to do anything to feel guilty about. But even more telling—and this was where she kept landing—for the first time since waking up in the hospital and realizing that her world was no longer her world, she’d taken a step forward.

  The commercial ended again, and she hit “Mute.” She brought her cell phone up and scrolled through the contacts until she found the number Nick had entered the first day she’d given him a lift.

  Nick.

  He hadn’t even bothered with his last name. She tapped the screen to bring up the number, thinking about why he’d given it to her. He’d offered to be someone she could talk to.

  Of course, he’d been attracted to her, too. She’d known that. But she didn’t think that had been the full impetus for the phone number. He’d genuinely come across as if he’d be an impartial ear if she ever needed one. And hadn’t she already shared things with him? She’d talked about Thomas at his house the other day. A conversation that had felt right.

  But did she want to share more? To try to get past this wall she was stuck behind?

  Or did she just want more sex?

  Her heart rate picked up at the thought of letting someone in, either physically or mentally. She liked to claim that she could handle everything on her own. That help was the last thing she needed. But eighteen months had passed, and until Friday night she’d been in the exact same spot she’d been since the accident. And even in her messed-up state, she could admit that that was not a good place to linger.

  She studied the phone number for a minute longer before clearing the screen and setting her cell down. Then she opened the drawer of the end table. There was one picture of Thomas she hadn’t packed away, and she kept it there. She hadn’t looked at it since tucking it inside, but she took it out now, still in its black matte frame. Thomas stood beside her in the picture, his arm around her shoulders, both of them beaming with pride. Their helicopter sat immediately behind them. They’d just returned from their first search and rescue mission. They hadn’t located the missing hikers themselves, but they’d played a part in the couple’s lives being saved. And that had been the key. They’d been following their dreams. Together. They’d been unstoppable.

  She glanced out the back door to where the aircraft sat waiting in the distance, its red-and-white colors a sharp contrast against the green of the emerging foliage. The sun glinted off the windshield, as if it were winking at her. Or maybe it was asking why she’d changed. She still took it up most days. That wouldn’t alter; she loved to fly too much. No one would take that away from her.

  But she hadn’t participated in an SAR mission since losing Thomas. And the blame for that one was on him.

  For the two days since returning from Great Falls, Nick had gotten up early to get in a
ninety-minute workout at the local gym, had showered, eaten breakfast, and had taken care of whatever needed to be seen to on the farm that day. He’d then driven into town for a late lunch. Afterward, he’d returned home and either walked the empty halls of the house or found himself sitting on the boat dock “contemplating.” And what he’d ended up contemplating, every single time, had been Harper.

  He hadn’t heard from her since he’d left her room Friday night.

  He wasn’t worried that something might be wrong with her, because honestly, she was the most self-sufficient woman he’d ever met. She could handle herself just fine. But he was still concerned, seeing as she’d run in the opposite direction any time she’d caught sight of him Saturday.

  What did she think? That he’d rush over and demand a do-over?

  Or was her avoidance more in line with what he kept telling himself? That she hadn’t needed sex. That his sleeping with her had possibly hurt more than helped.

  That she regretted the act.

  Up until the moment, he’d been wondering if she’d been with anyone since losing her husband. Then she’d come out of her bathroom, and he’d convinced himself that she had. That sleeping with others wasn’t an odd occurrence for her. However, her behavior afterward—her closing herself off and kicking him out—had told a different story. Yet, she’d slept with him.

  Why?

  And why did he keep replaying those few seconds before she’d taken him into her mouth, and asking himself if he’d really seen a flash of anger at that point?

  He dragged a hand over his face and shut down the accounting files he was once again sorting through. He should have stopped it. Should have walked out. And he shouldn’t have let her get away with ignoring him the next day.

  It ripped him apart to think that she’d been sitting around all weekend regretting being with him.