CHAPTER SEVEN
Roxie
It was love.
I was completely, utterly, stupidly in love with Bridger.
Momma’s rules didn’t account for waking up in a man’s bed after he’d spent half the night worshipping your body. Didn’t account for the way he’d pulled you close in his sleep like he couldn’t bear to let go. Didn’t account for finding someone who felt like home.
The bed was a tangled mess of sheets that smelled like him and sex and us.
At some point during the night, he’d gathered up our scattered clothes from the staircase. They lay on the padded bench at the end of the bed. His t-shirt, my shorts. My underwear... I didn’t see that.
I grabbed his t-shirt and pulled it on. It fell to mid-thigh. I brought it to my nose and inhaled deeply.
Rule #41: Don’t smell a man’s clothes like a psychopath.
Another rule to add. I was now thinking Momma had left a whole lot of blanks for just this situation.
I padded downstairs, following the hiss and gurgle of the espresso machine. I walked into the kitchen and stopped.
Bridger was there, wearing just his jeans, no shirt, hair messy from sleep and my hands. He was working the espresso machine with the same focused competence he did everything.
And I did mean everything. My nipples were red and sore. So was my…
I blushed just thinking how sore I was between my legs and why.
He looked up and saw me.
“I hope you don’t mind, I borrowed your shirt,” I said, tugging at the hem.
He set down the coffee cup and crossed to me in three strides.
His hand slid under the shirt, his calloused palm immediately sinking into my bare hip.
His thick fingers squeezed into my flesh with a possessive heavy grip, anchoring me against his hard frame.
“Mind? I’m never letting you wear anything else. ”
I felt an unexpected blush color my cheeks. I didn’t know how I could feel any sort of embarrassment after the things we’d done last night.
How I’d agreed to be his good girl.
My mountain man was indeed red hot.
He smiled, his hand rising to cup my face.
He stroked his thumb over my cheek. “I like this. You blushing. Are you remembering last night? Because if you’ve forgotten anything, I can quickly refresh your memory.
” He kissed down the side of my neck, teeth grazing hard enough to leave a mark.
“About the sounds you made. When I was eating you out. When you came on my cock. Whichever you prefer.”
I buried my head in his shoulder. “Bridger.” I whispered his name because I wanted him to make me remember. I nibbled the shell of his ear. “How about coffee?”
“Coffee,” he said, like he was reminding himself this was the morning after. Not the night before. He went back to the espresso machine. “Right. Coffee. Normal human activities.”
I hopped up on the counter, watching him work. Sitting on the cold stone in nothing but his shirt made me entirely aware of the yield of my bare thighs spreading against the marble. It was a massive contrast—my curved edges against the solid, weighted. Just like us.
He handed me a small cup of espresso, perfectly pulled.
Just like that first day.
“Thank you.”
He leaned against the counter across from me, coffee in hand, and just looked at me.
“What?” I asked.
“So, are there any blank spaces for new rules?” he asked.
“I guess there’s a few.” I grinned at him over the top of my cup.
“And you’ve broken how many since you got here?”
I laughed. “Pretty much all of them.”
I’d spent my whole life following rules. Playing it safe. Doing what I was supposed to do. Being who I was supposed to be. And I’d been miserable.
Rule #28: A hard lesson is still a lesson. Learn it once.
I’d learned mine. Years of doing everything right and ending up empty had taught me exactly what I didn’t want. I wasn’t going back to that. Not for anyone. Not for any reason.
“Good.” He set down his coffee and then took my cup. “How about I make rule number fifty?”
“Okay. What’s that?”
His hands came to rest on my thighs, parting my legs easily, settling his dense, heavy frame right into the cradle of my hips until the rigid length of his morning erection pressed firmly against my soft center.
“Rule #50: Move in with the mountain man who’s crazy about you.”
The world stopped.
“Bridger.” I placed my hands on his chest.
“I’m serious, Roxie. Stay here. With me.” His thumbs stroked over the tops of my thigh. “I made a few rules of my own. Rule # 1: What I find, I keep. And I found you.”
“I was kind of forced on you.”
“No, you weren’t. Do you honestly think I’d have let just anyone invade my life? I would have found you somewhere else to stay.”
“Like Lou’s tire bay?” I shook my head, trying to come to terms with what he had just said. What he had just offered. “This is insane.”
“I know.” His hands tightened on my thighs. “But I don’t care. I want you here. In my house. In my bed. In my life. You can start over. Whatever you want. Just do it here.”
The practical part of my brain—the part that had survived eight years in corporate America on sheer stubbornness—tried to raise its hand. You have no job and no plan.
“I don’t have anything figured out,” I said. “I don’t even know what I’d do here. I don’t think I’m cut out to be a chainsaw artist.”
Something shifted in his expression. “You don’t have to have it figured out. That’s the whole point of starting over. What did you actually want to do? Before the corporate job ate you alive.”
I opened my mouth. Closed it.
The honest answer surprised me. “Write. I always wanted to write. I just talked myself out of it because it wasn’t practical.”
“Lone Mountain’s quiet,” he said simply. “Good place to write.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck pulling his head down. “I think rule fifty is my new favorite.”
“So you’ll stay?”
“I’ll stay.”
The smile that broke across his face was devastating. Then he was kissing me, and I tasted the promise on his lips. “I’m in love with you,” he said quietly. “Just so you know.”
“I’m in love with you too,” I whispered.
“Good.” He kissed me again, softer this time. “Because I wasn’t letting you leave anyway.”
I laughed. “So, the whole rule thing was just a formality?”
“Wanted to give you the illusion of choice.”
“Very generous of you.”
“I’m a generous man.”
“Yes, you are,” I purred, tangling my fingers in his hair. “Very generous.”
Before I knew what was happening, he tossed me over his shoulder in one smooth motion. I laughing. “Bridger. You can’t keep doing this.”
“Why not?” He gave my ass a firm, possessive squeeze that made me gasp as he marched up the stairs. He carried me down the hall and into his bedroom.
Our bedroom.
Because I was staying.
On this mountain. In this house. With this man.
Breaking every rule Momma ever taught me.