Chapter 2 #2
She wanted to get up and check Jaxon’s temperature—which was beyond ridiculous. She thought about getting a cup of magnesium to help her sleep, but if she snuck to the kitchen she’d risk waking him.
God, he was hot. Stripping off his bloody shirt had felt both wrong and deliciously right.
Geez, those muscles. She needed a man in her life.
Someone to keep her warm at night, to fill her every throbbing desire that her vibrator couldn’t touch.
Her desire for intimacy. And heck, it’d be nice to have someone to help shovel snow and chop firewood . . .
She shoved her hand through her hair and flipped over to stare at the wall again.
No, no, no. She wasn’t going there. One of the reasons she’d moved to Whistlemore was to get away from sleazy men who just wanted in her pants.
Lo and behold, the small community had its fair share of creeps, but she’d done a damn good job keeping to herself while still running a small business that was enough to keep her comfortable and able to do what she loved.
She didn’t need anything or anyone else.
Except sex. That’d be nice. But sex meant there had to be a man and thus, she’d do without.
Jaxon would be good in bed.
Need pushed through the annoyance clouding her mind.
She reached under the blanket and to the flannel pj pants that she almost never wore to bed.
Pushing aside her panties, she stroked her fingers over her folds.
Jaxon’s sideways grin flashed in her mind’s eye and she pictured the hot, thick muscle on his chest, his round, pale-pink nipples, his scruffy beard.
Her insides tightened as she pushed two fingers inside herself and arched her back.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she envisioned Jaxon’s beard scraping along her inner thighs, imagined him pressing kisses up her leg then nuzzling his mouth over her clitoris.
A small cry tangled itself at her lips as her orgasm built higher and higher.
“McKenna!” The scream from the living room made her bolt upright. Her breath came out in fast pants, not from panic but from the orgasm that she teetered on. It’d only take a second . . .
“McKenna!”
Racing footsteps on the old floors of her cabin barreled toward her bedroom.
She yanked her hand out of her pants and reached for the gun.
The door burst open and Jaxon stood at the threshold.
His chest took up the wide expanse of the doorway.
Boxers covered his junk, but the rest of his body was on display. He flicked on the light.
She snapped her eyebrows down and stood. Embarrassment warmed her cheeks as his gaze flitted down her body and back up. The interest behind his stare hinted he knew exactly what she’d been doing.
She stormed to the doorway, gun in hand. “How dare you barge into my room like this? You scared the life out of me and—”
“Sorry.” His Adam’s apple moved on a swallow. “I need your gun.”
She kept the barrel close to her thigh and shook her head. “Why?”
“Something’s outside. I think it’s the mountain lion.”
She exhaled through her nose and chewed back the harsh words that pecked her tongue. “That’s insane. Cougars don’t stalk people like that. You must’ve had a nightmare.”
“Something’s out there. Come see.” Fear crinkled the skin around his eyes, and a ball of concern formed in her chest.
Please, God, tell me I’m not harboring a crazy person.
He caught her wrist and towed her down the hall. If it weren’t for the sight of his high, tight ass in the black briefs, she’d have torn her hand from his.
Lord, she might be as crazy as he was.
He led her to the back door off the kitchen and peeled back the curtain.
“I was sleeping and heard the deck boards squeak. At first, I thought it was just the wind. Then I heard a small crash. I came to the window and saw it—the cat—staring at me from the end.” He pointed to the far side of the porch.
“I know I sound like I’m going loopy. If the phones weren’t down I’d call the wildlife officer to take care of it. ”
She bumped him out of the way with her shoulder and shoved open the curtain as far as it would stretch.
He’d already turned on the porch light, so a yellow glow stretched the length of the porch and a few feet into the snowy yard.
Tracks ate up the snow that should have covered the edge of the deck.
Something had disturbed the pristine area, but not necessarily a cougar.
“Those don’t look like mountain-lion prints.”
His abdomen pressed against her arm as he moved closer. Gosh, he was tall. She was five foot seven, so that put him at close to six and a half feet. His washboard abs brushed against her elbow, and longing burned in her belly.
It was the first time that she’d had skin-to-skin contact with a man since moving to Whistlemore.
“What’s it look like to you then?” he asked. An edge tugged at the question, but she didn’t take the bait. Who was she to question what he’d seen? All she could do was point out the obvious.
“The tracks look like skid marks,” she said.
“I don’t see any clear paw indents, but we’d have to go outside to inspect.
” Despite her unstable belief in his claim, she wasn’t going to set foot out of the house.
She hiked up her chin and stared at the hard ridge of his jawbone.
“You’re sure you saw it? That it looked at you? ”
His stomach muscles bunched against her arm. He cleared his throat. “I hadn’t turned on the light when I saw it. But there was a figure and I saw its eyes glowing.”
She twisted her lips and dropped the curtain.
“Well, it’s outside and we’re safe here.
No one in town will be out walking in this tonight.
” She stepped away from the window. The green depths of his eyes roamed her face, moved to the thin material of her shirt, stopped, and continued down.
Warmth awakened her breasts and her nipples turned to hard nubs.
Thank god she’d worn thick flannel pants to hide the curve of her hips.
A cord jumped in his forearm, and he opened and closed his hand at his side as if to stop himself from touching her.
She molded her arms across her chest. Her ribs ached beneath the pressure, but it did nothing to calm the fire he’d roused.
When this is over, I’m going to the city to get laid.
He turned and coughed, covering his mouth with his elbow. The deep rattle made her wince. All she wanted to do was check him over, but she curled her fingernails into her side. “Do you want to take something for that?”
He faced her again, and a flare of amusement lit his eyes. “You mean to tell me you have cough syrup?”
She snorted and turned to the cupboard. “You mean something to stifle your symptoms and allow the virus to thrive? Not quite. But I have a few things that can help boost your immune system so you can fight this better, hopefully before it turns into anything worse.” She pulled a glass jar of elderberry syrup from the fridge, shook it, and poured a shot glass full.
He wrinkled his nose. The expression should have been annoying on a grown-ass man, but on Jaxon . . . it was cute. He seemed genuinely concerned about the taste.
“It’s actually pretty good stuff. I sell this at the market and can barely keep it in stock this time of year.”
He reached for the glass, and his fingers slipped over hers. The rough callouses on the inside of his hand conjured all kinds of delicious fantasies. He tossed back the liquid. His eyebrows rose, and he licked off the deep purple ring around his top lip.
“Holy shit that’s . . . potent.”
She didn’t hide her grin. “It’s packed full of elderberries, ginger root, spices, and raw honey.
” She returned the bottle to the fridge then went to the medicine cabinet over the toaster and poured about a teaspoon of colloidal silver into a plastic medicine cup.
“Feel free to take this every few hours.”
“That’s the stuff you cleaned my wound with.”
She tilted her head and tried not to roll her eyes. “That’s right. It has multiple purposes. Just don’t use a spoon. The metal interacts with the silver and makes it less effective.”
He accepted the spoon, smelled it, and lifted one perfectly shaped brown eyebrow. “I’m starting to wonder if you’re trying to drug me.”
Laughter tickled her throat. Some of the paleness left his skin, along with the shadow of anxiety that had been taking up residence on his face ever since she opened the door. Not to mention he didn’t appear the least bit uneasy standing in front of her in only his briefs.
Her gaze dipped to the black material below his waist. His manhood pressed against the tight underwear, promising to fill every inch of her.
“I like my men conscious.” She rocked onto the edges of her feet.
“They’re more useful that way.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to gobble them back in.
Goodness, she must be going bonkers. She was flirting.
Which was a surefire way to get all that male yumminess in her panties before she had the chance to screw her head back on straight.
His mouth quirked, and he placed the cup on the counter.
The movement brought him into her personal space.
His scent had changed. Now, instead of fearful, it was .
. . primeval. She inhaled before he returned to his position a couple of feet away, dragging in the intoxicating aroma of sweat, sea-breeze-scented aftershave, and whatever pheromones were getting her juices going.
She sidled around him. “I need to get to bed.” She dragged her fingers through her hair, stopping when they got trapped in the unkempt strands.
She yanked them out harder than she normally would.
“If you need anything, ugh, don’t wake me.
Make yourself at home.” She waved toward the kitchen and fluttered into the hall.
“McKenna.” The low drawl of his voice sent tremors along her inner thighs.
She cast a glance over her shoulder.
“Thanks.”
She lifted a hand in acknowledgment and fled to her room.
Shutting the door, she pressed her back to the thin wood.
Her heart pummeled against her breastplate, drowning out the sound of reason in her head.
Over the years, she’d had boyfriends and the occasional fling.
It wasn’t as if being around man candy was entirely foreign to her.
Sure, she’d lost her touch and composure over the years, but when had she become so darn weak?
She’d never had a man send her into a tailspin.
She had a firm grip on reality. Some said she was wise beyond her years—Livy said she was a seventy-year-old woman trapped in a twenty-nine-year-old’s body.
She pleasured herself regularly, and indulged in flirting and maybe sex on the rare occasion she ventured to the city. So why did Jaxon get under her skin?
Easy. Because he’s in your home. Sleeping with a guy from town goes against your rules and having him here is forbidden and tantalizing.
Once she got him out of her house, all this nonsense would stop. Regret piled up in her stomach. She’d never get to find out if he knew how to use all that muscle on display.