Chapter 2
WYATT
I'm staring at my bedroom door like a goddamn stalker. Standing here in the dark hallway while she sleeps on the other side. My knuckles hover inches from the wood, but I can't bring myself to knock. What the hell would I even say?
Hey, I know you just met me and I'm a stranger who lives like a hermit in the mountains, but I haven't been able to stop thinking about kissing you since I found you lost in the woods.
Jesus. I drop my hand and back away. The floor creaks under my weight, and I freeze, listening for any sound that might indicate I've woken her. Nothing. Just the gentle crackling of the dying fire and my own ragged breathing.
I need to get a grip. This isn't me. I don't do this—standing outside doors, fantasizing about women I barely know. I don't do any of this.
But ever since I found her earlier, slumped by the tree, something's been different. I remember the moment I first saw her through the trees. The flash of blonde hair catching sunlight. The sound of her frustrated cursing that carried through the still mountain air.
I should have announced myself from a distance. That would have been the right thing to do. But I stood there, watching her for longer than I care to admit, taking in the curve of her hips, the determined set of her jaw as she consulted her useless phone.
When I finally approached and she turned, those green eyes wide with fear then relief, my stomach did a weird little flip, an explosion of sensations unexpectedly tearing through me. And then she smiled—a brief, brilliant thing before she remembered to be afraid again.
I'd been half-hard the entire walk back to the cabin, had to readjust myself when she wasn't looking. Pathetic. Five years without meaningful human contact and I'm acting like a teenager because a pretty woman smiled at me.
To be fair to her, she's not just pretty. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.
Sleep. Give her space. Be a gentleman.
But I don't sleep. Not really. Just lie there on my couch that's way too small and uncomfortable for me, thinking about her in my bed, wrapped in my quilts, wearing my clothes.
Ah, fuck.
I stalk to the bathroom and shut the door with more force than necessary. The small space feels even smaller tonight, closing in around me as I brace my hands against the sink and stare at my reflection in the mirror.
My cock strains against my sweatpants, has been in this state on and off since she walked into my life. I shove my pants and boxers down and take myself in hand, knowing this is the only way I'll get any sleep tonight.
I close my eyes and let the fantasy take over. Emma, pushing open the bedroom door, finding me on the couch. Those eyes darkening as she takes me in. Dropping to her knees, looking up at me as she takes me in her mouth.
"Fuck," I hiss, stroking harder, faster.
I imagine her soft curves pressed against me, how small she'd feel in my hands. The sounds she might make if I touched her just right and explored every inch with my hands and mouth and tongue. The way her blonde hair would look spread across my pillow.
It doesn't take long. The release hits me like a punch to the gut, and I muffle a groan against my forearm as I spill my load. The relief is immediate but short-lived, replaced almost instantly by a hollow feeling in my chest.
Shit. I have never felt as pathetic as I do now. All because of a slip of a girl who I have no business staring at.
I clean up, avoiding my reflection, and return to the couch. Sleep comes eventually, but it's fitful and unsatisfying.
Morning brings a commotion that pulls me from unconsciousness. I'm on my feet before I'm fully awake, instinct driving me toward the sound coming from the kitchen.
What I find stops me cold.
Emma stands at my counter, hair sleep-tousled, wearing nothing but my flannel shirt that falls to mid-thigh and a pair of my boxers underneath. She's humming softly, moving around my kitchen like she belongs there.
But that's not what has me frozen in place. It's Cain and Abel, my perpetually battling cats, two strays that followed me all over town three years ago, sitting side by side on the counter watching her every move. Peaceful. Almost attentive.
"What the hell?" I say, my head still foggy with sleep. "They never do that."
Emma turns, surprise lighting up her face before a smile breaks through. "Do what?"
"Exist in the same space without trying to kill each other."
"Oh." She glances at the cats and reaches out to scratch Abel behind the ears. He leans into her touch, purring so loudly I can hear it from across the room. "They've been perfect gentlemen."
"Perfect and gentlemen are two words I would never use to describe them." I scrub a hand across my face. "Meet Cain and Abel. The one you're touching is Abel."
"Well, hello, Abel. Cain. I think they were just waiting for a woman's touch." She winks at me, and my throat goes dry.
What the fuck? I cannot deal with this without caffeine.
I move to the coffeepot, needing distance and something to do with my hands since my self-control is fraying thread by fucking thread. "Sleep okay?"
"Best night's sleep I've had in years, actually.
" She hoists herself onto the counter between the cats, her bare legs dangling.
The sight of her pale thighs against the dark wood of my kitchen counter sends heat straight to my groin.
It's so fucking early for this. "How about you?
That couch can't have been comfortable."
I shrug. "I've slept on worse."
We fall into a surprisingly comfortable silence as I make coffee. My feelings tangle in aching knots, and I'm so busy unspooling all my filthy thoughts. When I hand her a mug, our fingers brush, and I have to force myself not to snatch my hand back like I've been burned.
"I should take you back to town today," I say after she's had a few sips. "If you want."
Her face falls. "Oh. Right. I guess I should..." She trails off, looking down into her mug. Then, with a determined lift of her chin, she smiles. "Actually, I don't want to go back yet. If that's okay. I mean, unless you're eager to have your house back to yourself."
Relief floods through me, followed immediately by concern about my own reaction. Yep, something definitely weird is happening to me.
"It's fine," I say, too quickly. "No rush."
Her smile is worth whatever internal battle I'm fighting. "Could you show me some of your favorite spots? I'd love to get some shots while I'm here."
I should say no. I should drive her back to town and return to my solitude. Stay as far away from her as I can.
Instead, I find myself nodding. "Sure. After breakfast."
I lead Emma along a narrow path only I know. She follows close behind, stopping frequently to frame shots with her camera. The oversized clothes she's wearing—my clothes—make her look even smaller, and I should not feel smug since it's nothing more than necessity.
She pauses to capture the way sunlight streams through a gap in the canopy. "This is incredible. How did you even find this place?"
"Got lost. Decided I liked it."
She laughs, the sound echoing through the trees. "That's the most on-brand response I could have expected."
I find myself wanting to hear that laugh again. It's a dangerous wanting. I've lived the past few years being content with what I have, but with her, the need to make her mine is overriding every other rational thought.
We reach a small clearing that opens to a view of the valley below. It's one of my favorite spots, though I've never shown it to anyone before.
"Oh my God." She freezes, camera halfway to her face. "Wyatt. Look."
At the far edge of the clearing, partially hidden by shadow, stands a magnificent elk. He hasn't noticed us yet, grazing peacefully in the morning light.
Emma raises her camera with painstaking slowness, her breath held. I watch her more than the elk—the intense focus in her eyes, the slight trembling of her hands with excitement.
Click! The elk lifts its head, sensing our presence.
Click! For a moment, it stares directly at us, majestic and wild, before turning and disappearing into the trees.
"Did you see that?" Emma whirls toward me, face alight with joy. "He looked right at us! And I got the shot. I actually got it!"
She pulls up the image on her camera's display and gasps. Even from where I stand, I can see it's perfect—the elk in profile, head raised, sunlight gilding its antlers.
"Wyatt! Look!" She bounds toward me, practically vibrating with excitement. Before I can react, she launches herself into my arms, camera clutched in one hand while the other arm wraps around my neck.
I catch her automatically, hands spanning her waist. She's so light, so warm against me. And it feels so natural to hold her like this. So much so that I don't want to let her go.
"It's beautiful." Emma pulls back a little, her face inches from mine. "Thank you for bringing me here."
Something passes her features as she realizes how close we are. So close I can feel her bare breasts brushing against my chest. Her eyes drop to my mouth, then back up, arm tightening around my neck.
I should set her down. Step back. Be reasonable. Stop acting like a caveman.
Instead, I bury all the warnings going off in my head and kiss her. For a moment, I’m sure she'll pull away and be furious.
But…
She makes a small sound against my mouth, surprise melting instantly into hunger as she kisses me back. Fuck me. Emma is kissing me back. My hands move from her waist to her ass, lifting her higher against me as I back her toward the nearest tree.
"Is this okay?" I ask between kisses, pressing her against the rough bark.
"God, yes." She wraps her legs around my waist, her hips moving on instinct. "I've been thinking about this since I saw you."
Her confession snaps the last thread of my restraint. I kiss down her neck, reveling in the small gasps and moans she makes. My hands push beneath the flannel shirt, finding nothing but warm, soft skin underneath.
"I want to taste you," I growl against her collarbone. "Can I?"
Her eyes widen, pupils blown with desire. "Here?"
"Right here. Now."
She nods frantically. "Please."
I set her down long enough to drop to my knees before her. She watches me with parted lips as I hook my fingers into the waistband of the boxers she's wearing and pull them down her legs. She steps out of them, trembling slightly.
I lift one of her legs over my shoulder, opening her to me. The sight of her, wet and ready, nearly makes me come. I look up at her, waiting for final confirmation.
"Please," she whispers again, one hand bracing against the tree trunk, the other tangling in my hair.
I don't make her ask a third time. I lean forward and drag my tongue along her slit, groaning at the first contact. Her back arches, a broken cry escapes her lips as her fingers tighten in my hair.
Shit. She tastes so fucking good.
I lose myself in her—the taste of her, the sounds she makes, the way her thighs tremble on either side of my head, especially when I roll the flat of my tongue over her, side to side.
When I slip a finger, then a second inside her while my tongue circles her clit, she cries out my name, her other leg coming up to drape over my shoulder.
With another growl, I hold her securely with my free arm around her waist, her weight nothing against my strength. She's completely off the ground now, balanced between the tree at her back and my shoulders beneath her thighs, my mouth and fingers working faster bringing her closer to the edge.
"Wyatt…" She lets out a low, long moan, her head falling back against the tree. "I'm going to—"
She comes with a sharp cry that echoes through the clearing, her body shuddering against my mouth. I work her through it, only pulling away when she tugs gently at my hair.
I ease her legs down and stand. She reaches for the button of my jeans, but I catch her wrist.
"Not yet," I say, surprising myself. "Later. When we're back at the cabin."
A slow, wicked smile spreads across her face. "Promise?"
I nod, throat too tight for words.
As I help her back into the borrowed boxers, as I watch her tuck her camera carefully away, as I lead her back along the path toward home with her small hand tucked in mine, one thought repeats in my mind:
I am so fucked.