5. Brooke
Five
Brooke
H unter is one sexy make-do doctor, that’s for sure. Being taken care of by him is like living in one of my old teenage daydreams. It actually makes me jealous of all those people he’s saved in the mountains, swooping in like a hero when there’s a rockfall or an unexpected storm or whatever.
Hunter’s hands are strong and capable, moving my body easily to apply first aid and wrap me in bandages. His words are soothing too, low and rumbly and laced with that old humor that I’ve missed so much. Everything about him sets me at ease. He’s pure competence, and that means I’m safe to completely relax.
This close, with Hunter leaning over me on the deck, it’s impossible not to stare at his handsome tanned face, or the fine lines at the corners of his eyes from always squinting into the sun, or the pale old scars on the backs of his knuckles. He’s big and broad and he smells so freaking good that I could wail.
“I have to admit,” I say, “you do look the part.”
Hunter dabs at one of my scraped palms with an antiseptic wipe. It stings but it’s easy to ignore, especially with the way he cradles my hand like something precious.
“Hm?” He doesn’t look up, too absorbed in his work. “What part?”
“The brooding mountain man.”
Hunter snorts and I laugh too, swinging my free foot beneath the sofa. Those blisters are already cleaned and bandaged, and the fresh air feels good on my toes.
“If you want to go all out, you should let that beard go wild. Grow it all the way down to your knees.”
“Smart. Then I’ll have something to sit on when the ground is cold.”
“Exactly.”
Needless to say, I do not really want that. Not when Hunter’s dark beard is already the perfect scruffy length: just long enough that it would be fun to scritch my nails through. A sudden thought nudges my brain and makes me blush pink: what would that beard feel like against my neck? My nipples? My inner thighs?
“Doing okay?” When I snap back to the present, Hunter’s piercing blue eyes are fixed on me, narrowed in concern. His hands are still around mine. “You were out in the sun a lot today. Should we go into the shade?”
Yeah, no, this isn’t sun-stroke. This is a badly timed hormonal reawakening.
“I’m fine.”
He glances around the deck. “At least drink some water—”
“Hunter?” When he meets my gaze, electricity sizzles through my veins. I fight not to blush even harder, keeping my expression faux-stern. “I’m fine. Don’t fuss.”
The afternoon sun is golden, catching on a few bronze strands in his dark hair. Hunter’s smile is crooked. “I’ll always fuss over you, Brookeworm. You’re my best friend’s little sister. It’s the law.”
It’s such a weird sensation: my stomach sinks, even as my heart clenches with longing. Because I do want that, I want Hunter fussing over me for every minute of every day… but not because I’m Jake’s little sister. Because I’m me.
“I’m not a kid anymore.” My voice sounds all throaty and weird. Choked with emotion.
First aid supplies are scattered around us on the deck, forgotten, while Hunter holds my hand and stares me down. His chest rises and falls beneath his flannel shirt.
“I know that, Brooke.”
“Do you?”
“Obviously.”
And now he sounds pissed, like I’m missing something obvious, but all I know is this man was a constant part of my life for years , an essential part of my foundations, and now he’s virtually a stranger to me.
I don’t know what Hunter does up here in his cabin all alone. Don’t know what he cooks himself for dinner, or what books he reads at night, and whether he brings other women here from town, romancing them on this very deck.
I don’t know what he and Jake do when they hang out, or the things they talk about together, and I don’t know why Hunter moved up to this cabin three years ago. Don’t know about his best days and worst days on the job in Mountain Rescue. Don’t know anything.
I grit my jaw and glare right back.
“Prove it.”
Just like that, all the bravado drains from Hunter’s face. His eyes flick to the side, like he’s checking his escape routes. “Uh. What?”
“If you know I’m not a kid anymore, if you know that I’m a grown woman, then fine. Prove it.”
We’re still so close, Hunter kneeling over me on the wicker sofa. My pulse races, but I raise my chin in challenge.
And this is it. Hunter knows exactly what I’m daring him to do. It’s written in the tense lines of our bodies, both trembling from the effort of holding back. It’s in the blush staining my cheeks and the heavy breaths dragging from his lungs and the way everything else seems to recede—the birdsong, the whispering breeze, the plunk and splash of little fish in the lake—all of it fading until there’s nothing but the two of us, alone at long last. After years .
I’ve wanted this for so long.
Wanted him for so long.
And now my brother’s best friend is close enough that I could lean forward and lick the salt from his neck. Could taste that delicious musk on his skin.
Hunter looks tempted, too. Those icy blue eyes keep dropping down, roaming over my cheeks, my parted lips, my throat… even lower. I press my thighs together against a hot bloom of arousal.
“Jake wouldn’t like it,” Hunter says slowly. It’s not really directed at me. More like he’s bargaining with himself, making a last ditch attempt for self control.
Well, screw that.
“Jake’s not here. And it’s not his call anyway—that’s my whole freaking point. I’m a grown woman.”
Hunter nods slowly, staring openly at my mouth now, and yeah. This is happening, even though we’re both still kinda mad. Everything inside me coils tight with anticipation, and the wicker creaks as I lean forward, impatient for his kiss.
“I shouldn’t,” Hunter mutters, still grappling with himself. But he wants me, he definitely does, because his gaze on my mouth is ravenous. Like he’s a starving man and I’m a ten course meal.
It’s so powerful, being looked at like that. I’m giddy with it, tingling from my head to my toes.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake.”
For the second time today, my hand fists in Hunter’s shirt—but this time I yank on it and drag him closer. He lets out a soft grunt but leans down without a fight, pressing his hands into the sofa cushions on either side of my hips. Bracketing me in with those strong, tanned arms. The tip of his nose rubs against mine.
“Are you sure?” Hunter asks, and he sounds pained. Like he’s the one who tumbled down a mountainside today.
“Hunter, I swear to god—”
His warm mouth seals against mine, firm and urgent. The air rushes from my lungs, and I tilt my head, kissing him back, dying with how good this feels. How right.
Finally.
Hunter kisses me like he needs me more than air.
And yes, his beard is soft.