6. Rowan
Iwake suddenly, my cock hard enough to drill through rock. It has not been a restful night. My stomach aches from hours and hours of fierce arousal, and somehow while I slept, my treacherous hand delved through the blankets to cup Evie’s breast, clutching her against my chest. Shit. Did she notice?
It’s hot under these layers. The boundaries of our bodies have blurred, and every time I breathe in, I draw her cinnamon scent into my lungs.
She sighs as I let go, alarmed. My city girl rubs her cheek against the pelt and rocks her hips back into mine, murmuring garbled nonsense.
She’s sleeping. Unconscious. She doesn’t—it doesn’t mean anything. She doesn’t want me to tip her forward, draw out my cock and sink into her tight, wet heat. That is insanity.
I roll away from her slowly, trying not to disturb her rest, every muscle in my body tensed and aching. God, what I’d give for some relief.
Pink-tinged morning light fills the cave, filtering through the waterfall. The sounds of birds chirping, greeting each other for a new day, is loud enough to hear over the water, and Evie’s stomach growls in her sleep.
Food. Right.
Food I can do.
My wobbly legs carry me to the cave entrance where I snatch up a small canvas bag, and I don’t bother using a stick to part the water. Instead, icy water dunks my head, sluicing over my bare front and shoulders, and I suck in my first deep breath of the day.
The mountains are beautiful in the morning. Sleepy but majestic. The jagged peaks that rise all around look calmer in the rosy glow of sunrise, and the patches of forest come alive with birdsong. Even the river, when I hike down to its banks, seems stiller than usual, its surface glittering.
Breakfast.
What would a girl like Evie want for breakfast out here in the wild? Back home she might eat a bowl of cereal or fresh pastries with coffee, but out here on the mountain, our menu is limited.
That has never bothered me before. After all, I came out here craving simplicity; a quieter, calmer life away from all the hectic bullshit. Away from the memories. Fewer dining choices is part of that, and I’ve never missed supermarkets or takeout, not once.
Besides, I’m not completely cut off. Every few months, I do a supply run into town for soap and matches and toothpaste and other luxuries I don’t want to give up, wincing the whole time at the nearness of other people. They eye me cautiously, especially my shaggy beard, but with my feet shoved into boots and a shirt covering my chest, at least I pass as a hunter traveling through.
Should I hike down to town before Evie wakes up, then bring her pastries and coffee? No, that’s nuts. The round trip will take me hours, and she’ll wake up scared and alone in a strange environment.
Foraging it is, then.
My bare feet move over stony dirt, thick grass, and cracked, dried mud. It’s soothing to be out here alone again, my heart rate settling as the breeze washes over my chest. My seasons spent living up here mean that I know the best blackberry bushes by heart, and I walk to them on autopilot, my thoughts whirring.
Evie.
Is her ankle better this morning? Will she be okay to hike down the mountain?
I pluck berries quickly, dropping them one by one into the canvas bag. Purple juice stains my fingertips and seeps through the fabric.
What if she needs another night’s rest first? How can I sleep next to her again and keep hold of my sanity?
She looked so fucking perfect, curled up on that pelt this morning. Her auburn hair splayed behind her and tickled my nose, and a small smile curved her lips—like she was keeping a joke all to herself. Does she like blackberries? Is she awake yet?
Christ. I’m ruined.
One night of that woman in my cave, and my thoughts aren’t my own anymore. She’s all I can think about, my heart thumping every time I picture her on that pelt. She rules my tired brain, until the serenity of the morning drains away and I’m on edge again, shoving berries faster into the bag. Anxious to get back to Evie.
I hate this.
Hate wanting her. Hate needing her.
What will I do once she’s gone?
Resentment and desire war in my brain, and I hike back to the cave with extra-long strides, bag swinging in my grip. By the time I duck under the icy flow of the waterfall, shaking droplets from my eyes, I’m ready to fling our blackberries at the wall and then crash to my knees at her feet and beg for… something. Anything.
“There you are.”
It’s those words again; the same delighted greeting that Evie gave me the first time we met. She’s sitting over on the cot, tugging on her hiking boots, but she straightens up with a relieved smile when I enter. There are shadows beneath her eyes, but she seems well enough rested this morning.
“Thought you ditched me,” Evie says, tipping her head back and combing her fingers through her mussed hair. “I was gonna hike down the mountain all heartbroken, singing Celine Dion songs.”
…Nope, can’t process that. I stride closer and toss the canvas bag into her lap.
“Breakfast. Eat up. You’ll need your strength.”
Evie tuts, peering into the bag. The whole base is soaked with purple juice, and she rummages for a handful of berries. “So bossy.”
Her eyes widen a little when she pops the first berry into her mouth, then she groans, loud and long. “Oh my god,” Evie says, tossing a second berry past her lips and chewing quickly. “These taste amazing. So sweet and fresh. They’re the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”
“It’s the mountain air and exercise. And sleeping wild. Everything tastes better out here,” I finish, my cheeks turning unaccountably hot.
Evie moans and nods, delving into the bag again like she hasn’t eaten in weeks.
That’s fine. She can eat every last berry—there are plenty more where they came from, and besides: I’m not hungry. I’m too on edge to eat, my gut tensing every time I think about this girl leaving never to return.
Will she miss me? Miss the mountain?
Would she ever come back to visit?
What if I helped with that ridiculous article—would she come back then?
“How far is the town from here?” Evie asks through a mouthful of blackberries, her cheeks bulging like an adorable hamster. It’s fine that she’s eager to leave. Perfectly reasonable.
“Three hours, give or take. Depends on your ankle, and how often we stop for breaks.”
She brightens. “We?”
Obviously. How much of an asshole does she think I am? I slide her a glare as I cross to the shelves, digging out an old flannel shirt and the boots and socks I wear for my supply runs. This will go better if other hikers on the mountain don’t think I’m a crazy man abducting a beautiful woman.
Evie’s laugh warms the cave. “So you do have clothes!”
The boots thud against the stone floor, and I shove my arms through the shirtsleeves, trying not to rankle at the stretch of fabric over my shoulders; the trapped feeling it gives me sometimes.
“Eat up,” I clip out again. “We’re leaving in five minutes.”
* * *
The walk down the mountain is slow as hell. Evie keeps stopping to admire the view, or sip water from her bottle, or point out birds of prey hovering high overhead. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was trying to drag this out too, reluctant to part, because her ankle isn’t swollen at all this morning.
She’s not even favoring her other leg. She’s fine.
And yet every ten minutes or so, she makes us stop and inhale the mountain air.
“Yeah, it’s pretty,” I agree for the millionth time. “I think so too, that’s why I live up here.”
Evie elbows me in the ribs. “Grump.”
We play I Spy and the alphabet game, naming countries starting with each letter of the alphabet. Every time I name one, Evie seems surprised that I’m aware of the outside world.
“I’m not an actual caveman, you know,” I say after she gapes when I name Qatar. “I went to school, had a job. Had a whole life before I came up here. Hell, I even saw the occasional map.”
Evie hums, reaching over to smooth my shirt collar down where it keeps flipping up with the breeze. As if that’s gonna make me fit for public consumption. “Did you ever go abroad?”
“Yes.”
“Work or vacation?”
“Both.”
“And out of all the mountains in the world, these are the ones you picked.”
I shrug, squinting into the wind. “Guess so.”
“Why?”
My beard itches as I scratch my jaw. Maybe it is time for a shave. “You’re relentless, do you know that?”
Evie dodges around a rock jutting from the path. “Just trying to research my article.”
“Well, I’ll tell you, but you can’t write about it.”
The offer is out before my common sense can kick in. Because why the hell would I want to confess my private life to a stranger? A writer, no less? But a night spent twined together on that damn pelt means that Evie doesn’t feel like a stranger to me—not anymore.
If I’m honest, I’m not sure she ever did.
“Deal.” She grabs my hand, swinging our arms between us. “Oh my god, deal. This is off the record, I swear.”
And I should let go of her hand, not knit our fingers together.
Should hurry her along, not stroll like there’s nowhere we need to be.
Should do a lot of things.
“My sister,” I say finally, frowning down at the town of Starlight Ridge where it nestles below us in the valley. “My little sister Tess lives in town. We both grew up here. I like staying close in case she needs me.”
Not that I’m much help only checking in every few months. All at once, my many failures weigh so heavily on my shoulders, they might crush me. Every step is leaden, and it’s hard to draw air into my lungs. Feel so fucking old and tired.
Tess deserves a big brother who’s around—one who’s not broken beyond repair. And Evie deserves… more than this. More than me.
“Come on,” I say gruffly, tugging on our joined hands. “We should pick up the pace. The day’s wasting.”
Not long now, then I’ll be alone again.
As I should be.