by Em Petrova
She didn’t say anything for a long minute. “I like adventure.”
He nodded. Every day of her life was a new discovery, a new camera angle. His had become about routine—and survival. Not only outmaneuvering a brown bear or managing not to starve up here, but to live alone without the comforts humans claimed they needed to live.
No, he didn’t require a soft, sweet-smelling woman in his bed or roasted rabbit that was making his mouth water. All he needed was a hunting knife and a wide-open space where nobody was trying to kill or maim him—or kill or maim anybody he cared about either.
He rubbed at his beard.
“You probably have some wood lice in that thing,” she mumbled.
He arched a brow, a laugh poised on the edge of his lips. He held it back, though. She couldn’t start thinking he was getting soft just because she’d walked onto his homestead.
He pretended to scratch deeper and then pulled an imaginary bug out. Her jaw dropped as he feigned examining it closer before popping it into his mouth. He chewed and she leaped up.
“You’re disgusting!”
He chuckled, kicking back to rest on his elbows and cross his legs, feet stretched toward the fire. This was as relaxed as he’d felt in too long to remember.
“You were pretending,” she said, dropping back to the stool. When he’d crafted the furniture, he’d never guessed her sweet little ass would be gracing it. He would have carved it to fit her better and be more comfortable if he’d known.
He laughed again. It sounded like a duck choking on crackers and felt odder.
“You don’t talk much, do you?” Her eyes couldn’t get bluer or her hair redder. The landscape seemed painted with hues to suit her—pale blue sky, dark evergreens and some pale clouds wafting through the atmosphere.
“No one to talk to. I like it that way.”
“Hmph. You could at least get a dog.”
A weird cramping feeling hit his stomach. “Had one a few weeks back.”
Her face fell. “Oh my God. It died? I’m so sorry, Stone.”
He shook his head. “It just showed up here and I took care of it. Then after about a week, it disappeared again.” He realized he sounded as if he’d been imagining the whole Freckles the dog thing. A crazy mountain man would.
He sat up and rested his elbows on his drawn-up knees.
She muttered, “That’s odd. Maybe the dog belongs to the family down the mountain.”
“May—” He broke off. “What family? On this mountain?”
She nodded. “Don’t you know about them? Roshannon said they’ve been here for at least four months now.”
He jerked. “Roshannon? I should have known that’s how you found me. That asshole doesn’t know what’s right and wrong to say.”
“Don’t go blaming him for telling me how to find you. Besides, I’m good at persuading people.” She flashed a grin before sobering. “Seriously, you didn’t know you have neighbors?”
Now he felt stupid. And more isolated than ever. He got out to hunt, but he wandered the same paths daily, took the same routes. If someone had squatted somewhere down the mountain, he wouldn’t have known it. And now it made perfect sense that the puppy hadn’t just wandered here. It belonged to another family.
“Big Horns and the base of the range are too small for people to just start moving in all over the place,” he grumbled.
She totally ignored his statement, which only made him feel meaner. She turned the rabbit over the flames. “This is about done roasting. What else do we have to go with it?”
He got up and stomped into the cabin. When he came out with a small sack of potatoes and a pot that he’d last seen with scorched food in the bottom, she came forward to take the things from him.
He wasn’t sure he liked her doing for him.
“Can I borrow your knife? Wait, no. It isn’t clean.” She went to her pack and took out a pocket knife. He watched her work, slicing potatoes and arranging them in a pan with a bit of the little fat dripping off the rabbit.
“What I wouldn’t give for some mushrooms and peppers to go with this. You don’t have any, do you?” Her blue eyes made his balls ache. So did her plump lips. And if he remembered correctly, her throat had been an object of his desire, a sumptuous curve inviting his lips. But she wore a scarf knotted around it.
She took his silence for a negative response and set the pot on the edge of the fire where it wouldn’t burn but would cook evenly. His error with the last meat he’d cooked.
When he glanced from the flames to her face, he caught her looking at him. A warmth seeped through him again. Without looking away, she turned the spit. Cooking him the first meal he’d shared with a human in more than a year.
Chapter Three
If Livvy didn’t know Ryan better, she’d think him one of those crazy men who went into the bush and ended up eating his best friend or wife. The hungry way he watched her… well, maybe it didn’t have anything to do with an empty stomach.
After their meal, he’d insisted on getting her enough hot water to wash herself up. As he stomped around the corner of the cabin out of sight, he muttered something about her privacy. So she stripped down and gave herself a cursory sponge bath with a rough washcloth from her pack.
By the time she finished, her skin burned from the falling temps. She threw on her clothes again and rounded the cabin, running smack into a wall of muscle. She bounced back and he caught her before she hit the ground.
Tipping her face up to him, she said, “What are you doing standing there?”
His eyes shone with that indifferent expression he’d worn when she first showed up. He didn’t release her upper arms, though, and that made the tingles start.
The sensation was a phenomenon she’d first experienced back in Afghanistan and now they came on fast and furious. Rippling up and down her spine, making her nipples peak, before running down to her belly and lower so her pussy squeezed.
“Ryan?” she prompted.
He let her go. “Daylight’s fadin’. Can’t let you out here alone with the bears.”
She glanced around. “Bears?”
“Yeah. Why do you think my door’s so heavy? Or my animals so protected? I only let them out during days when I’m around to guard them.” He dropped his glance to her breasts, and she swore his beard moved up and down on his neck as if he was forcing himself to swallow.
“Thank you for guarding me then. I didn’t realize it was so dangerous.” Her words came out too breathlessly. His closeness was throwing her off-balance. She wanted to throw herself at his hard chest again even if it meant concussing herself.
“Welcome.” He started to turn away.
“Why don’t I return the favor and watch your back while you wash up?” Watch your backside.
God, now she was a perv. Hoping to steal a peek of Stone while he was unawares. Like some Peeping Livvy.
It would make for some fabulous photos though.
She blinked rapidly to dispel the thought, and Ryan was looking at her like she was an idiot.
“I’ll wash in the spring. I don’t need hot water—I only did that for you.”
A warm river of emotion bubbled somewhere around her heart and trickled down through her body. Could they just quit this cat and mouse and enjoy each other the way she wanted and strongly suspected he was fighting too?
But first…
“Before you wash up then, get me a pair of scissors and I’ll cut your hair and trim your beard.”
He went still, even his eyes unmoving.
Oh God, now she’d insulted him. He liked looking like a wild man.
“Why the hell would I want to trim my hair and beard?”
“Here we go again,” she mumbled at his surly tone.
He stared at her. “I’m not up here to impress anyone.”
She read that as not even you and shrugged. “You don’t have to go along. It’s just a suggestion.”
For a long second, they faced each other dow
n. The mountain air had worked its way to all her damp places—the back of her neck, her temples—and was rapidly chilling her. If she didn’t get to the fire soon, she’d start shivering.
She started past him.
He raised a hand to scratch at his beard, stopping her. “It is too long. But I don’t own scissors.”
“That’s okay. I have a pair of emergency ones in my pack.” She continued by him, mostly to hide her smile. Livvy 1, Mountain Man 0.
A few minutes later, she’d donned a thick sweatshirt and had her small pair of scissors in hand. Circling Ryan, who sat on the stool by the fire, she assessed the situation. Where to attack first when the scissors seemed they’d break in two the minute she tried to cut away some of those tangles?
“I’m clean. You don’t have to be afraid of touching me.” His voice was edged.
Now she’d offended him, but she was good at soothing angry beasts. Most people didn’t like a photographer and she’d been screamed at, sworn at and worse in her time. She could deal with one surly former Marine.
She moved to stand between his thighs, as thick as tree trunks, and met his gaze. “Don’t flatter yourself that you can scare me away with your rumbles and grumbles, Stone.”
She swore she saw his mouth twist in the mess of his beard but couldn’t tell for sure.
Lifting the scissors, she said, “Now sit still.”
She went for the beard first. Not that it didn’t suit some man out there in the universe, but she’d seen Ryan Stone’s rugged beauty and hiding that jaw line of his was a damn crime.
She grabbed the mass and snipped a good four inches off it. Then she handed it to him and he groaned.
“It’s like you’re taking a scalp.”
“That’s just the beginning.” She grinned and stepped around to his nape and made the same cut. She dropped the strands over his shoulder and he let out a heavy sigh. Ignoring all his monster-y sounds, she continued to trim his hair into a neater shape.
“Not too short. My military days are over.”
“Not too short,” she agreed, placing a hand on his shoulder in comfort at the ragged throatiness of his voice. A tone that said more than the man ever would—that the things he’d seen, done or both in war had driven him from civilization and forced him to seek solitude.
But he’d let her in.
Who was she kidding? She’d forced her way in. But he could have easily picked her up and thrown her off his land too. Of course, he’d know she’d only set up camp next door and continue to bug him if he didn’t let her in.
Humming softly, she let out an exclamation.
“What is it?” he asked at once.
“Why, look at this! You don’t have just one ear but two!”
He grunted, and she trimmed around the lobe, keeping the hair longer per his request.
As she worked around to the front, she found standing in front of his knees made reaching his head difficult. She nudged his knee with her own. “Can I just…?”
His gaze steadied on her face, but he didn’t protest when she took her place between his big, warm thighs. The feeling of being hemmed in by the man started her shivering again, and she had to really focus on not cutting off too much hair or slipping and slicing his skin.
“You’re cold,” he rasped.
“No, I’m perfectly warm by the fire.” And you.
“You’re trembling.”
She avoided his gaze as she examined her handiwork. She was no world-class stylist, but she wasn’t too shabby either. And neither was he. While the overly-long hair didn’t suit him, the new length did.
When he lifted his hands, she waited for him to plaster them over his beard to keep her from cutting it, like a little kid. Instead, his palms hovered somewhere around her hips.
Her breaths came faster as she aimed the scissors for his jaw line again.
Two warm hands settled on her hips. She stopped dead, unable to think, move or breathe. Swallowing hard, she gazed at his lips, a dark slash hiding under his beard in the fading light.
Ryan closed his fingers on her, swaying her closer. Before she came in contact with his strong body—or that bulge she hoped was in his jeans—he released her.
“Why are you shaking, Livvy?”
“Shut up, Ryan.”
“Why do you call me Ryan at times and Stone others?”
She thought about it. “I didn’t realize I did that. I guess it’s from trying to keep a professional distance from you back in Afghanistan.”
He grunted again but didn’t ask more.
Curiosity got the better of her. If he wasn’t military-issue anymore and wanted to keep his beard, did that mean…?
“So… if you’ve turned your back on your training, does that go for your country too?”
He jolted on the stool, his thigh bumping hers and sending brand-new heat through her.
“Never that.” His voice was gruff.
Pleased with his answer, she continued trimming. He sat still while she sheared off his beard, shaping it to curve with his jaw but not taking away all of it.
By the time she finished, her knees felt like jelly. She lowered the scissors and examined his face.
Okay, she couldn’t stop looking at him. The man beneath the mask of hair and beard had emerged as the gorgeous hunk she’d known.
“Well?” he said quietly after she’d stared at him far too long.
She nodded. “Better.”
A twist of a smile sent her heart fluttering into her throat. “That’s all I get? Better?”
“Not ready for the Red Carpet, but definitely more man than animal.”
He released a sound like a harsh laugh. She started to move out from between his knees, but he lifted his hands again and clamped them on her hips. Lightly at first and then squeezing harder, sending waves of need radiating toward her center. Her pussy throbbed and her panties were instantly damp.
He dragged in a deep breath like he was inhaling her scent. She let the scissors drop amidst the hair lying at their feet. As she threaded her fingers into his long, soft locks, he groaned and tipped forward. Letting his forehead rest between her breasts for the briefest of moments. But long enough for her to feel the intense heat of his breath warming her.
“Ryan…”
He moved his hands upward, roaming just over the outer curves of her breasts. “You tempt a beast, Livvy. It’s been too long since I’ve had a woman.”
“I-is that some sort of warning?” Her words tumbled out.
“No. It’s some sort of promise.” He stood and cupped her face in the same motion. Towering over her, his shoulders were like a shelter against the cooling mountain air.
He reached for the knot of her scarf.
She stilled, breathing quicker. He hadn’t seen yet. Hadn’t—
He stripped away the cloth and ducked his lips to her throat. When his mouth met the twisted line of her scar, he jerked his head up. Turning her to the firelight, he locked his gaze on her neck.
“Jesus Christ. Fucking hell.”
She stroked her fingers over his jaw. “It’s just a scar, Ryan.”
He shook his head hard. “Fuck, how can you look at me that way when I let this happen to you?”
She moved her hand to her scar. “It’s not that bad. I’ve seen so much worse during my career. I feel lucky there was a military doctor with the ability to stitch me up.”
“You deserved a fucking plastic surgeon.”
“Outward appearance means nothing. We’re both scarred.”
“I’m just a broken Marine, no good to anyone. And I didn’t save you after all.” He started pulling away, already a hundred miles from her.
Grabbing at him, she forced him into a half turn but he wouldn’t look at her. She hadn’t given much thought to her ugly scar until this minute. Was she too disgusting for him?
“Ryan, you did save me. I’m standing right here in front of you. Neither of us are whole, not the way we once were—”
�
�Stop, Livvy. Don’t even say it. Just…” He waved to the cabin. “You take the bed. I’ll sleep in front of the fire. Don’t worry—you’ll be safe inside.”
She heard, Safe from me.
Heart slamming hard, she stared at him for a long moment. Unable to speak around the knot of tears in her throat, she skirted around him and went to the cabin, grabbing her scarf and her pack as she went.
She paused before closing the cabin door, shaking now from anger and hurt and not the desire and longing from before. She glared at his back. “You can go to hell, Ryan Stone.”
* * * * *
What did it mean if she used both his names?
With his momma, it had meant he wasn’t only in trouble but was about to have a come-to-Jesus moment.
What the fuck did it matter when Livvy was in his cabin, weeping? Each quiet hiccupping noise she made sounded all the way through the rough wood and burrowed into his soul.
He was a barbarian. Not only was she crying now but that neck injury had to have cost her some tears.
He jammed his fingers through his hair, shocked to find it much shorter. Up here he didn’t own a mirror, but he could imagine how he looked. Hell, it shouldn’t matter. Except it had pleased Livvy to trim his hair and beard. His rough demeanor was exactly why he’d fled civilization and now he’d made her cry.
He couldn’t take back his harsh words about her scar. Too late he realized he’d hurt her feelings. She covered the scar with a scarf—did that mean she was self-conscious about it? Or had she donned it to spare him from seeing it on their first day together?
Hell, even in the dim light of the fire it looked bad. Twisted and puckered. A good plastic surgeon could have done much better, maybe still could. He hated knowing that he hadn’t kept her as safe as he’d thought.
He had to say something to her to make it right.
He got up and brushed some of the hair off his thighs. His hands still tingled with the warmth of Livvy’s body, and other parts weren’t letting him forget either. His damned jeans fit way too tight.
The cabin was only a few steps away. He paused at the door to listen but didn’t hear her anymore. Maybe she’d fallen asleep. She’d had a hell of a day. First that long hike up the mountain, cleaning his entire cabin and doing his laundry and then cooking for him and cutting his hair.