Brown eyes open. Lock on mine. I bottom out inside her and the sound she makes is something between a prayer and a curse. Tight. Hot. Perfect.
"You feel incredible." My forehead drops to hers. Pulling back, I thrust deep. Slow. Building a rhythm that has her nails digging into my back. "Fucking incredible, Carmen."
"Harder."
Harder. My hips snap forward. Her breasts bounce with each thrust. Reaching between us, I press my thumb to her clit, circling in time with my strokes. She wraps her legs higher around my waist, changing the angle, pulling me deeper.
"Come for me again." Rough. Demanding. My thumb pressing her clit while I drive into her. "Right now, Carmen. Let me feel it."
She shatters. Her pussy clenches around my cock so hard my vision blurs. The orgasm rolls through her in waves, pulling me over the edge with her. My hips stutter, bury deep, and I come with her name on my lips.
For a long time after, neither of us moves. My face is pressed into her neck. Her fingers trace lazy patterns on my back. Rain hammering the roof above us. The woodstove cracking in the other room.
"Stay tonight." My mouth moves against her collarbone. "Not in cabin six. Here."
"Owen."
"Stay."
Her hand cups the back of my head. Fingers threading through my hair. Holding me against her. "Okay."
Later. Coffee reheated. Her in my thermal, legs bare, sitting cross-legged on my couch reading a book she found on my shelf. My mother's book. Something she picked up without asking, opened to the middle, started reading without ceremony.
The phone buzzes on the counter.
Mabel:
How's the rain treating you up there? Roads are washed out til morning.
That poor girl in cabin six must be cold. Hope someone's looking after her.
Tossing the phone face-down, I look at Carmen on my couch. She glances up from the book. "Who was that?"
"Nobody."
She smiles. Real. Slow. Sunrise after a long shift.
The developer called again yesterday. Left a voicemail with a number higher than the last one. Enough to solve everything.
Watching her turn the page in my mother's book, bare legs tucked beneath her, wearing my shirt in my house while the rain washes the mountain clean outside, I delete the voicemail without listening to it.
Chapter Five
CARMEN
Waking up in Owen McCall's bed with his arm around my waist has become the most dangerous part of my morning routine.
His hand rests flat against my stomach. Heavy, warm, possessive even in sleep. Every morning for the past week, this. His chest against my back, his breath in my hair, his fingers spread over my skin. My body curves into his without permission, fitting against him so naturally that the separation anxiety starts before my eyes are fully open.
Three weeks. That's how long I've been in Bear Creek Valley. Three weeks since a mail-order mix-up delivered me to a mountain man who feeds me soup and kisses me slow and wraps around me at night.
Two weeks left on the deal.
Rolling out of bed without waking him takes practice. His arm tightens when I move, a low grumble in his chest. Then he settles. Buries his face in the pillow where my hair was.
Coffee first. Always coffee. Then the porch, the blanket, the quiet.
But this morning the kitchen counter has papers on it. Spread out where Owen usually sets my mug. Printed emails. A letterhead from Weston Development Group. Numbers with a lot of zeros.
