The pillow shifts, the weight on my shoulders wraps tighter. Not in a way that makes me want to push it off. This is more of a comfortable, protective manner. I don’t think time is going to help any of this make more sense so I open my eyes.
I’m not sure what’s going on. A firm, tee shirt covered male chest is acting as my pillow. One of my hands rests above the slight rise and fall of his breathing. Moving my head slowly I discover a neatly manscaped beard highlighting a sharp jawline.
Dane. The man who brought me into his cabin. A sharp twinge in my ankle makes me catch my lower lip between my teeth. I don’t want to wake the man who carefully wrapped my injury and put me to bed. Amazed that the full memory and an unusual morning clarity happen so quickly, and without coffee, I relax against his warm body.
He seemed so standoffish I never would have expected him to sleep in the same bed as me. Although, I’m under the comforter and he’s not. Even so, I’m curled pretty intimately against him. His fingers twitch against my shoulder and without thinking I press closer.
Heat blossoms in my core. Even though I barely know anything about him, this is the kind of man I could easily fall for. I haven’t made a good impression, he probably thinks I’m some kind of kook for going out into the forest like I did. I wonder about myself sometimes, too.
Always leaping before looking. While my plans for the future are solid, times like my aborted dance mission only add more checkmarks to the crazy lady tally. Like right now. I really want to press my mouth to that firm jawline and see how much his beard tickles my lips.
Stupid, right? I’ve done stupider things.
Releasing my misgivings, I lift my head enough to place a kiss just to the side of his mouth. His beard is slightly prickly, yet soft enough I want to know what it might feel like against my bare skin. That heat in my core flares. Kissing his jaw again, I relish the feelings, even as I ignore the implications.
A growling rumble sounds from Dane’s chest. “Best not be starting things you don’t want to finish, babe,” he says barely above a whisper.
Starting something? That sounds good to me. What can I say? I leap without looking. “Starting is good,” I whisper back.
He shifts so his body is pressed to my side. Cupping the back of my head, he holds my gaze as he presses his erection against my hip. “You’re sure? You don’t know me.”
I know enough and try to ease his mind. “I’m sure.” I rest my palm against his cheek. “This isn’t gratitude. And I don’t sleep around. I just… you just… feel right.”
He nods then turns his face to kiss my palm. “I don’t expect sex for helping you. I don’t…” He grins and that heat spreads to my nipples. “…sleep around. Half a night and I can’t think of anything but you. Yes, this feels right.”
He dips his head and captures my mouth with a gentle kiss. More exploration than passion at first, but soon we’re both breathless. He unzips my hoodie to expose my boobs to his avid gaze. He licks his lips and I groan my need for him to touch me there.
Lavishing attention on one nipple, he rolls and tweaks the other with his hand. Then he switches his focus, the nipple he’d sucked to a hard peak even more sensitive to his nips and the pressure of his tongue. I fist my hands in his tee and bunch it up his back, trying to figure out how to remove it.
With a deep, rough chuckle, he leans back and rips the cotton from his body. Oh my god, his body. Just the right sprinkling of hair on his chest. I don’t get a long enough look at his defined abs or the happy trail of hair disappearing into his pants.
“Like what you see, babe?”
I’m practically drooling, so… “Yeah, I do.”
“Me, too,” he says and returns to kissing me.
Needing to feel more of him, I spread my thighs in invitation. But as I move, I kick my sprained ankle with my other foot and can’t hold back a yelp of pain. In a quick, graceful move, he rolls to his knees, turns toward my feet, and pulls back the blanket.
“I’m sorry, Deca. I forgot about your ankle.” He carefully touches the most swollen part of the wrap. “We should loosen the wrap for a little bit. How does your foot feel? Numbness? Tingles?”
Tingles, yeah. But not in my foot. With another wince, I attempt rotating my ankle. “You sound like you know what you’re doing.”
“Sports when I was in high school and college. Had my fair share of twists and sprains. In my non-expert opinion, I’d say you probably just twisted your ankle more than deeply sprained it. However,” he says and holds up a finger when I draw a breath to speak. “You still need to stay off of it as much as possible and take it easy until it feels better.”
“I don’t want to inconvenience you. Not when it’s only a few days until Christmas. Is there anyone in the area I could call to get a ride back to my car?”
“There’s transportation in town, but even a four wheel drive would have problems getting up my access road. Don’t worry. I can get you back to the lodge in a day or two.” He sits on the edge of the bed, his interest in me noticeably reduced. Well, hell.
Since the mood has disappeared thanks to my damn ankle, I change the directions of my thoughts. “Is there anything I can do for you while sitting down? You don’t need to hover. I’ll be fine.”
He shrugs one shoulder. “Only if you’re good with accounting. Or looking at long lists of data.”
Numbers are a bane to my existence most of the time, but I’m willing to at least look like I know what I’m doing to actually feel like I’m helping out. Being grounded, so to speak, doesn’t set well with me. “Tell me what you’re looking for and I’ll see if there’s anything I can do.”
There’s doubt in his expression then he shrugs again. “How about some breakfast first?”
He helps me to the bathroom then to the kitchen area. His cabin is a large A-frame with a log walled extension, decorated in a combination of what looks like hand-me-down furniture mixed with new pieces. It works and it’s oddly comfortable. After a simple meal of eggs, sausage, and toast, he settles me in an old, overstuffed chair with my leg propped on a pillow covered low bench.
