Chosen for the Mountain Man (Mountain Man Mail Order Bride)

4. Ciara

CHAPTER 4

CIARA

“ Y ou’re up,” Max calls, and I turn around to see him in the water, his back to me.

I gaze at his broad shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist. His muscles ripple with every movement, and I have to remind myself to breathe. He's a Greek god and I'm just a mortal trying not to drool.

What am I doing? Hiking? Skinny-dipping?

I quickly slip off my clothes and wade into the water. It’s cold, but refreshing, soothing even, and briefly, I forget about my nerves and the constant worry about my condition. Instead, I focus on the sensation—the freedom of being naked in nature and how good my body feels for once.

“I’m in,” I say, trying to act casual while internally freaking out.

Then Max turns around.

Yes, this is happening.

The water is crystal clear—which is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because it's absolutely gorgeous, sparkling under the sun like a scene from a fairy tale. A curse because, well, Max is naked, and so am I, and this water isn't doing much to conceal anything.

The sight of him takes my breath away. Strong, defined, and so...male. His presence is commanding, yet comforting, filling the space around him with pure, raw energy.

I'm in deeper than I thought I'd be—in more ways than one.

He dives under, and I watch as he swims toward me, his form graceful and powerful. When he surfaces, he's closer than I expect, water droplets clinging to his lashes. I can see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes, and my breath catches.

“Hi, my little water nymph,” he teases, voice husky.

I blush, feeling the heat spread across my cheeks.

He chuckles, the sound vibrating through the water, sending little waves toward me.

We swim around, splashing each other, laughing. It's easy, natural, and I find myself relaxing into it. The water feels amazing, and being here with Max is more than I could’ve hoped for.

He’s playful, teasing, and everything I could’ve imagined a guy like him would be. We splash around like kids, though with much less innocent intentions to our movements.

As we play, our bodies occasionally brush against each other. Accidentally. On purpose. Okay, fine, mostly on purpose. But I love the shivery tingles that rush over me with each touch.

His hands find my waist under the water, pulling me closer, pressing my body against his. I rest my palms and my head on his chest as he holds me, my heart is pounding so hard I'm sure he can hear it.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” he murmurs.

The water swirls around us, but all I can focus on is him— and his arms around me.

“It really is,” I sigh, listening to the water lap with the breeze.

We stay like that for a while, until I feel Max pull back. “We should probably head back,” Max says, his eyes searching mine.

“Probably.” I don't know what he's looking for, but I hope he finds it in me. Because, in all honesty, I want to give him everything.

He runs a finger under my chin and chuckles. “Alright, let's get out of here before we turn into prunes.”

We wade back to the shore, and I get out first to dress. Then he gets out and I can't help but steal glances at him as he’s pulling his shirt over his head. He's just.. .wow . I've never seen anyone so comfortable in their own skin, so unashamedly themselves.

It's sexy as hell.

As we pack up, I feel the familiar ache starting in my legs. I push through it, thinking it might dissipate as I move. But as we hike back, my body protests more and more.

When I stumble over some loose rocks, my legs give out on me, but Max is by my side in an instant, his strong arms catching me before I hit the ground.

“You alright?” he asks, hauling me up against him.

“Yeah, I um...must have sprained my ankle or something,” I lie, hating that I have to. But I can't tell him the truth. Not yet.

He frowns, looking at my ankle. “It doesn't look swollen. But let's not take any chances.”

Before I can protest, he squats down, his back to me, and pulls my arms around his neck.

“What are you doing?”

“Hop on and hold on,” he orders.

“Max, you don’t have to give me a piggyback ride all the way to the cabin.”

“Nonsense,” he says, his voice firm. “You barely weigh anything, and I don’t want your ankle swelling up.”

I melt a little at that, but I can't help the guilt gnawing at me. He thinks he's saving me from a sprained ankle, not my chronic condition.

“It’s nothing,” I insist, edging away. “I’ll just walk it off.”

He grabs my arm gently. “Ciara, don’t pull this bullshit with me.”

I freeze. Does he know? No way.

He takes one of my hands in both of his, still with one knee on the ground. “I’m not about to let you walk all the way back hurt. Get on. Please.”

Reluctantly, I do, wrapping my arms tightly around his neck. He carries me the rest of the way, his strong arms holding me securely. My breasts are crushed against his broad, muscled back, and I can feel his heartbeat—hard, steady, and reassuring.

When we get back to the cabin, he sets me down on the couch, then kneels in front of me. “Let's look at that ankle,” he says, his hands softly probing it.

I wince, not from pain, but from my stupid lie. He glances up at me, concern in his eyes. “I’ll get you some ice.”

He disappears into the kitchen, returning a moment later with an ice pack. He sits down next to me, propping my foot up on his lap. The cold is a shock at first, but then it starts to feel good, numbing the ache.

Max starts to massage my calves, his strong hands working out the tension.

“This okay?” he asks, as I lean back, letting out a soft moan. It feels incredible, and not just physically. The care, the tenderness…

“Very. You’re really good with your hands.”

He chuckles and our eyes meet. There's heat in his gaze, a hunger that seeps into my bones. I can't help it—I clutch at his arm, and pull him to me, pressing my lips to his.

He pauses, then captures my mouth with his. The kiss deepens, and he groans—a needy rumble that goes straight to my core. His hands squeeze my thighs, sending shivers through me, and a wave of anxiety.

I pull back, breathless, my heart pounding. Max looks at me, his eyes dark with desire, but he hesitates.

“Uh...this feels like too much,” I say, even as my body protests.

He nods, his expression softening. “You're right,” he says, voice husky. “We should take our time. I don't want to rush you into anything.”

I smile, grateful for his understanding. But it only makes me want him more.

Dammit.

He stands up, adjusting himself discreetly. I stifle a whimper, clenching my thighs together trying not to imagine how hard his cock is right now.

“How about I make us some dinner?” he says, his voice still rough.

My stomach rumbles in reply. “Sounds good.”

“Ciara,” he begins. “I’ve waited a long time to meet someone like you. A few hours, a few days…whatever you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

And with that, I wonder how I can continue to hide who I am—or who I want to become.