Chapter 4
Kim
The hike back to Neil's cabin was challenging with the precious cargo. He carried the box of papers like it contained the crown jewels. Every few minutes, he'd check to make sure I was keeping up, his protectiveness extending to both me and the historical treasure we'd found.
By the time we reached his workshop, the afternoon sun was slanting through the trees, and my legs were trembling from exhaustion and excitement.
We spent the rest of the afternoon in his workshop, a space that took my breath away almost as much as Neil himself did.
The attached barn had been converted into a craftsman's paradise.
Hand tools were arranged with careful order.
Lumber was sorted by species and grain. He had several work orders and works in progress that showed he made a good living making furniture for people all over the United States.
"How long have you been doing this?"
"I started working with wood when I was sixteen. The group home I was in had offered a shop class on the weekends. I kept going after I aged out." Neil moved to set up his camera on a tripod. "Turns out I had a talent for making things with my hands."
We both wore cotton gloves that I had in my pack, and we carefully positioned each document for photography, working in a rhythm that felt surprisingly natural.
"You have artist's hands," I said without thinking, then blushed furiously at my own boldness.
Neil looked up from the camera, something dark and interested flickering in his green eyes. "Artist's hands?"
"The way you handle things. Wood, tools, these documents. Like you understand them on some deeper level." I gestured helplessly, trying to explain something I barely understood myself. "It's the same way I handle rare books—like they're alive, like they have stories to tell."
"Maybe they do,” he said. "Everything has stories, if you know how to listen."
The conversation felt like it was about something more than woodworking or historical documents. Standing there in his workshop, surrounded by the evidence of his skill and passion, I felt a connection I'd never experienced with anyone.
"What's your story?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.
"Not much to tell. I was a foster kid who learned to build things because it was the only way to feel in control of anything." Neil adjusted the camera for the next document, but his attention was clearly on me. "What about you? How does a brilliant historian end up lost in my woods?"
"I'm not brilliant," I said.
"You are." He said it like it was simple fact, not opinion. "You have intelligence and passion."
No one had ever described me like that. Thorough, maybe. Competent. Not in the least bit interesting. I liked that he thought I was smart and passionate.
"I loved history as a kid. As an adult, I saw alarming patterns of history repeating itself and I wanted to learn all I could to try to avoid that fate," I said.
“Like I said, intelligence and passion.”
“But in an academic sense. The people who hid these documents and the members of the Underground Railroad were the ones with real intelligence and passion.
And bravery both the escaped slaves and the people who helped them.
They all risked so much. The slaves, their very lives and the ordinary people—farmers, business owners, families—who stood up for human rights because it was the right thing to do. "
"Exactly. They're heroes whose names we'll never know, whose courage we can only glimpse through the records they left behind." Neil was standing close enough now that I could smell the cedar scent that seemed to be part of his skin. "You're giving them voice. Making sure their stories survive."
"That's what I hope to do." My voice came out breathier than intended, and I saw his eyes drop to my mouth before returning to meet my gaze.
"Kim." The way he said my name made everything else fade away—the workshop, the documents, the outside world. There was only Neil, his eyes dark with an intensity that made my knees weak.
"I've been wanting to do this since I found you on that log," he said, voice rough with barely controlled desire. His large hands came up to frame my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones with surprising gentleness. "Tell me to stop if you don't want this."
"Don't stop," I whispered, already rising on my toes to meet him.
The first brush of his lips against mine was gentle, testing, but when I gripped his flannel shirt and pulled him closer, something primal unleashed in him.
He growled—actually growled—against my mouth and lifted me effortlessly onto his workbench, stepping between my legs. One hand tangled in my hair while the other splayed possessively across my lower back, pulling me tight against his chest.
"Fuck, you taste sweet," he muttered against my lips before claiming my mouth again, this time with no hesitation.
His kiss was thorough, devastating, promising everything I'd been too afraid to want.
His beard scraped deliciously against my skin as he angled his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue stroking against mine in a way that made me moan.
"That sound," he groaned, breaking away to trail hot kisses down my throat. "I want to hear you make that sound again. I want to hear all the sounds you make."
His teeth grazed the sensitive spot where my neck met my shoulder, and I gasped, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. The position pressed me against the hard evidence of his arousal, and we both froze for a moment at the contact.
"Kim." My name was a prayer and a possession on his lips. His forehead rested against mine, both of us breathing hard. "You have no idea what you do to me. One day in my cabin and I'm ready to keep you here forever."
The intensity of his words, the barely leashed hunger in his eyes, should have terrified me. Instead, it made me feel powerful. Desired. Claimed.
"This is crazy," I whispered, but I didn't pull away. Couldn't pull away. "We just met yesterday."
"Doesn't matter." His hands tightened on my waist, thumbs stroking the strip of skin where my shirt had ridden up. "Knew you were mine the moment I saw you crying on that log. My lost little librarian, needing protection. Needing me."
The possessive words sent heat straight through me. This was nothing like the careful, intellectual attractions I'd felt before. This was raw, primal, overwhelming.
"I should..." I started, but lost my train of thought when he sucked gently on my bottom lip.
"You should stay right here," he finished for me, pulling back just enough to look into my eyes. "Let me kiss you until you forget all the reasons this might be too fast. Let me show you how good this could be."
"The documents," I managed weakly, grasping for any lifeline of sanity.
"Will still be there in an hour." His grin was pure masculine satisfaction as he felt me shiver in response. "Or two. Or three."
"Neil..."
"Say yes, Kim. Say you want this too."
Looking into his eyes, feeling surrounded by his strength and heat, smelling the cedar and wilderness scent of him, I could only whisper one word:
"Yes."
His mouth claimed mine again with devastating thoroughness, and any thought of resistance melted away. This kiss was different from the first—deeper, hungrier, full of promise and possession. Neil's hands roamed my back, each touch leaving trails of fire through my thin shirt.
"I’ve been thinking about this," he murmured against my lips, voice rough as gravel. "About how you'd feel in my arms. How you'd taste. It drove me crazy last night, knowing you were in my bed wearing nothing but my shirt."
"Neil..." His name came out as a whimper when his lips found that sensitive spot below my ear again.
"I love how you say my name." His teeth grazed my earlobe, making me gasp. "I want to hear you scream it."
The crude promise should have shocked me. Instead, it made me wet. This wasn't the careful, polite academic world I knew. This was raw, primal, and everything I'd never known I needed.
His large hands spanned my waist, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin just above my jeans. "Gorgeous," he growled, and the size difference that had intimidated me yesterday now made me feel desired. “I want to fuck you silly.”
The hot promise in those words drove me insane. I grabbed his flannel and pulled him back down, initiating the kiss this time. He made a sound of pure masculine approval that vibrated through his chest.
"There's my brave girl," he praised when we broke apart for air. "Knew you had fire under all that sweetness."
His hands slid under my shirt, callused palms against soft skin, and I arched into his touch with a moan that would have embarrassed me if I could think clearly.
But thinking was impossible with Neil's hands on me, his mouth trailing hot kisses down my throat, his solid body pressed between my thighs.
"I want you," he said simply, honestly, his forehead resting against mine. "Want you in my bed, in my life, in every way a man can want a woman. And I know it's fast, know it's crazy, but I don't give a fuck. When you know, you know."
"I don't do this," I whispered, even as my hands tangled in his auburn hair. "I don't kiss strangers, don't fall into bed with men I just met, don't—"
"Good." The satisfaction in his voice was unmistakable. "It means this matters."
“It’s a little more than that.” I looked into his eyes. “I’m ... I’ve never ...” I took a deep breath. “I’m a virgin.”
His hands tightened on my waist. "When I make you mine completely, I'll be the only one who's ever had you like that." His thumb stroked my cheek with unexpected tenderness. "You've been saving yourself, haven't you? My perfect, untouched librarian."
I should have been mortified. Instead, the possession in his voice made me shiver with anticipation.
"Yes," I admitted quietly.
"Fuck." He crushed me against his chest, his arms banding around me like steel.
"You're going to be the death of me, you know that?
Every protective instinct I have is screaming at me to slow down, be careful with you.
But every other part of me wants to carry you to my bed right now and show you everything you've been missing. "
"What if..." I swallowed hard, gathering courage. "What if I don't want you to be careful?"
He pulled back to stare at me, his breathing harsh. "Kim. You can't say things like that when I'm trying to be a gentleman."
"Maybe I don't want a gentleman." The words tumbled out before I could stop them. "Maybe I want the mountain man who picked me up like I weighed nothing. Who looks at me like he wants to devour me. Who says I'm his even though we just met."
"Careful what you wish for.” His voice had dropped to a dangerous rumble that made my toes curl. "Because once I make you mine, there's no going back. I don't share, I don't do casual, and I sure as fuck don't let go of what belongs to me."
"Make my wishes come true.”
He studied my face for a long moment, and I could see him wrestling with himself—desire warring with protectiveness, need fighting against restraint.
"If we don't stop now," he warned, his hands flexing on my waist, "I'm going to carry you into that cabin and spend the rest of the day showing you exactly what it means to belong to me.
And baby, once I get you in my bed properly, once I taste every inch of you, once I claim you completely—you're not leaving this mountain.
Not in three days, not in a week. You'll be too busy being mine. "
The promise in his words made my entire body flush with heat.
This was it—the moment where I could step back, return to my safe academic world where everything was controlled and predictable.
Or I could leap into the unknown with this mountain man who'd rescued me from the wilderness and made me feel more alive in twenty-four hours than I had in twenty-four years.
"Neil," I said, my decision made. "Take me to bed."