Mount Me: A Mountain Man Romance

by Hazel Parker

  Once those were clean, he stood with the now soiled washcloth. “Anything else you want me to look at?”

  She turned inward and stared at him with assessing eyes. She was probably gauging the likelihood that he’d rip off her clothes and check any place he wanted.

  “No,” she spoke slowly. “I’m good.”

  Trevor shrugged, not sure how to take her, and went back to the bathroom to put away his things. When he returned, she was sitting in the same position, looking around with a frown. He tried to see things from her perspective.

  The cabin was small—that much could not be denied. But how big of a house did a man and a dog need? He had no plans to add another to their company. Three was definitely a crowd as far as he was concerned.

  At least the place was clean. For a man, that was saying something. The lack of decoration was deliberate. Trevor believed it highlighted the finish of the cabin, which was made by hand and from the trees surrounding it. The cherry wood gleamed from the polish and, despite the cabin standing strong for years and lacking most up-to-date appliances, it was beautiful.

  An open kitchen with built-in cabinets connected to a dining room where a round wooden table and two chairs sat. Across from that was the living room where Alissa perched on the couch, a.k.a. Chuck’s bed. Down the hall were his bedroom and a full bathroom.

  It wasn’t much, but it was home.

  “Do you live here all alone?”

  “No. I have Chuck.”

  “So you’re alone,” she said, disregarding his dog altogether.

  “Don’t count Chuck out. He’s family to me. Besides, you’d be caught in the storm right now if it weren’t for him.”

  “The dog found me?”

  “Yes,” he said, walking to the kitchen to take the squealing kettle from the stove. “He must have spotted you while he was running around and he somehow managed to guide me to you. Which makes you one lucky girl. Your parents are probably worried.”

  Her face paled.

  “Is everything all right?” He turned to grab a teacup. “Here. Let me make you some tea.”

  She took her tea with a spoonful of honey and a splash of milk and made a contented sound as she wrapped her hands around the warm cup. A smile brightened her face after a sip. “Thank you. This is wonderful.”

  Trevor leaned against the counter, not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable by sitting beside her in the only other seat. She seemed to be relaxing under the tea’s magic, her muscles growing less tense until she was laid back against the couch. Her lips were no longer blue. In fact, they’d turned the palest of pink. Without worrying if she was dead or being annoyed by her criticism, he could see her raw beauty. Her damp clothes held to her form, outlining the shape of her curvy body. High, perky breasts. Shapely hips.

  He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to will away the erection that was now pushing against his zipper. Jesus. He shouldn’t be eyeing her like a piece of meat. She was hurt, damn it, and he had better self-control than that. His only excuse was that it had been too long since he’d been inside a woman.

  “So how do you know my name?” she said, interrupting his thoughts again, only this time, he was grateful.

  “Missing person flyer.” Arousal had deepened his voice to a rasp, and he had to clear his throat before he added, “Your face is all over town.”

  “Well, doesn’t that make meeting me all the more fun?”

  He chuckled and she lifted her glass, as a toast to his good fortune he assumed.

  “Are you always that lucky or were you wishing to find an unconscious woman before a storm?”

  Her teasing was too much, and he laughed out loud. He would have felt bad, but she was laughing with him. It was refreshing for a woman to poke fun at herself. It was even more refreshing to laugh.

  He sobered at that revelation. He’d almost forgotten how to laugh.

  “Um. If you want, I can run you a bath.”

  “Oh, that sounds wonderful. No offense, but can you get that thing running?” She nodded to the fireplace. “As you can see, I’m cold.”

  Damn right, he could see. Her nipples had hardened and were close to drilling holes through her thin shirt.

  He shuffled down the hall to run her water and visions of her submerged in the tub assaulted him. Her naked body. Him bending her over the ceramic as he plowed into her from behind. Her riding him while he was submerged, water splashing around them as they climaxed together.

  Fuck. His hard-on was back, hard as ever and twitching to feel her cunt.

  “Does it get really hot?” her voice said behind him.

  They were so close to where he wanted to own her and it tested his resolve.

  “What?” His voice was deep and strangled.

  “The water. Does it get really hot?”

  “Oh. Yeah. I figured you wouldn’t want it too hot. Test it and let me know.”

  She came forward, bending beside him, and dipped her hand in the water. She was positioned exactly how he’d imagined and it was pure torture.

  He gripped the side of the tub until his knuckles turned white, willing his hands to keep to themselves.

  “Oh, that’s perfect. Not too hot. Not too cold. Thank you.”

  He nodded and stood mechanically, ready to put as much distance between him and this siren of a woman in this small bathroom.

  “Wait.”

  He halted in the hallway. “Do you need something else?”

  “Yes. Towel. Soap. And, um, maybe a robe?”

  “Towel,” he said, opening up the bottom cabinet to show her the four he owned, then he pointed to the bar on the side of the tub. “Soap.”

  He walked across to his room and returned with a clean shirt from his dresser.

  “I don’t own a robe.” After he showered, he walked around naked until he was ready to put on clothes. “This shirt all right?”

  “Thank you,” she said, taking it from him and laying it across the top of the counter.

  “Anything else?” he asked, standing at the door, ready to bolt.

  She was shuffling back and forth on her feet, looking nervous. “Um, yeah. I might need some help with my top and getting it over my head.”

  She bit her lower lip, staring at him apprehensively before sighing in resignation.

  No fucking way. This seemed too good to be true. Like he was in some cheesy porno and she just breathily asked if he could remove her clothes. She definitely had some bruising on her arm. Only an ass would refuse to lend her a hand.

  He nodded. “Sure.”

  She turned so her back was to him and stood, waiting.

  “Hold your good arm up, we will get one out at a time.”

  He already knew she didn’t have a bra on, which was why his voice had once again turned hoarse. He watched her arms pebble with goosebumps and, for a moment, entertained the idea that she wasn’t just cold but was as affected by his presence as he was by hers.

  Then he mentally shook that thought away. She probably went for suits or cardigan-wearing dudes. He had no basis for the assumption, of course, but he doubted she’d be interested in a man who’d chosen to live the rest of his miserable life alone in the mountains.

  He pulled the hem of her shirt so she could slide her good arm through and then brought it over her head, allowing it to pass from her bruised arm quickly before plopping into a wet heap on the floor.

  “I’ll leave you to it,” he growled and rushed out.

  Chapter 3

  Alissa Fontanne lay in the warm water, looking through the glass-like surface to her bruised legs and arms. This was not, at all, how she’d expected her day to begin. Or end. She felt confused about the time and day. She also had no idea where this cabin was on the map, given that her phone died on the first day of her hike and she obviously had lost it on her tumble. But, for the moment, she felt safe, which was strange because she had no idea who the man on the other side of the door was.

  The storm pounded against the cabin roof a
s if demanding to be acknowledged. Alissa shivered, imagining how bad it would have been for her if Trevor—or Chuck—hadn’t found her. Here, in this bathroom, the sounds weren’t ominous. They were actually comforting and almost lulled her to sleep.

  She pulled herself out of the tub. The water falling from her body loudly interrupted the tranquil vibe that had been set. She unplugged the stopper to drain the water.

  The bath had felt amazing. Unfortunately, it had also alerted her to all the aches and bruises she had. She watched the water swirl down the drain and grimaced at the filth. Well, she had been laying on the ground. She was understandably grimy, and her hair was matted. Which was why she needed running water.

  She turned on the shower and started the process of picking twigs and leaves from her hair. The shampoo was a generic male brand and she sniffed it before resigning herself to use it. This wasn’t the Hilton. She’d rather smell like a man but have clean hair than risk looking like a homeless woman in men’s clothing.

  It was tempting to yank on the knots in her hair as her patience was thin and the longer she stood, the more fatigued she felt, but she wasn’t willing to pull out every hair on her head. Mustering the patience of a monk, she undid the damage of days uncombed and unwashed until her brown tresses were hanging down her back.

  Finally, she stepped out of the tub, wrapping the towel around her body before sitting down on the seat of the toilet. That was a lot of work.

  A knock on the door startled her.

  “Alissa? Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” She huffed out a breath. “Do you need to get in here?”

  “No.” His muffled words became clearer as if he was standing right up against the door. “You’ve been in there a long time now. I was just making sure you hadn’t fainted or anything.”

  “Oh. Well. I’m all right.”

  The lie had been a knee-jerk response, and she frowned. She was far from okay, which was made abundantly clear by her decision to go hiking in the woods by herself.

  “Okay then. I brought you some sweats and socks too. It’s gotten colder and I figured you could use as much warmth as possible.”

  That was incredibly thoughtful of him. And strange. Why was he being so nice to her? She tried to imagine him back home and snorted. Nice people didn’t exist where she lived.

  “Thanks. You can leave them by the door.”

  She pulled the shirt over her head, wincing at the ache in her shoulder, and wondered if she’d fractured something during her fall. Her Eat, Pray, Love attempt seemed to have been the worst idea she’d ever had—both mentally and physically.

  The shirt hung past her knees and she felt dwarfed by the sheer difference in size between her and her rescuer. Trev, he’d said to call him. She stayed seated on the tub, feeling faint, and realized she shouldn’t have been so brash.

  “Trev?” Her voice was so light she knew he wouldn’t hear her if he were in the kitchen.

  “Yes?” came the quick reply.

  He was clearly right on the other side of the door and she couldn’t bring herself to care that he didn’t follow her instructions to leave the clothes right there.

  “I need help.”

  The knob turned but abruptly stopped. “May I come in?”

  “Please,” she said, looking herself over to make sure she was decent.

  She sat like a tiny doll, her arms resting on her thighs, her towel on the floor by her feet and the shirt hanging like a dress above her knees. Her feet skimmed the tile and altogether her limbs looked like they were too heavy for her body, like she was struggling against gravity.

  He took in the scene without judgment and again crouched to his knees. He started with the sweats, which were huge. Luckily they had a drawstring.

  He scrunched one pant leg and pulled the entire thing over her foot. He repeated the process with the other foot and then helped her stand. She held onto his shoulders, looking away to avoid the intimacy of his proximity. He brought the sweats up to her waist without lifting the shirt to protect her modesty. She appreciated it. Soon, he was tightening the drawstring and helping her to sit back down. He put her dainty, pink-toed foot on his thigh as he pulled a wool sock over it and repeated the motion with her other foot.

  She stood in front of him with downcast eyes, which was how she noticed the boner he was trying to hide. A thrill of heat shot through her body, but it was immediately followed by guilt. She shouldn’t be turned on. She wasn’t even supposed to be here.

  “I made you some soup,” he said, lifting her into his arms, for which she was grateful because she was feeling weaker.

  She sighed with contentment and closed her eyes. “What kind?”

  “Chicken soup. I hope you like it.”

  The next thing she knew, a hand was nudging her shoulder, shaking her awake.

  “Hey, you can sleep after you eat a little something.”

  She mumbled like a child but nodded without opening her eyes.

  He sat her down on the couch and walked away. It wasn’t long before he returned with a small bowl and crackers. “Open up.”

  She opened her mouth and he spoon fed her some soup that exploded with flavor, meat, and veggies. “Yum.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  Her head lolled onto his shoulder. “I want to go to sleep.”

  “Just a few more bites,” he said, cajoling the spoon past her lips.

  She swallowed and yawned.

  He set the bowl and spoon down on the coffee table and finally allowed her to go to sleep. “Good night, Alissa.”

  “Good night.”

  In moments, she zonked out.

  She slept on and off for two days. There was no other explanation for the sleep-athon besides extreme exhaustion. In between her bouts of unconsciousness, Trevor fed her and helped her move around when she had energy, which wasn’t too often. He told her she probably had a concussion, dehydration, and some slight hypothermia, which made sense given how cold the nights were when she was awake.

  Slowly, her memories were starting to come to her. She’d set off into the woods by herself, running from something she wasn’t sure she could truly get away from. She had hoped she’d find peace like Elizabeth Gilbert had in Eat, Pray, Love. She had convinced herself she could get back to the trail easil, even without a guide. But she’d also forgone her good sense apparently because it had only taken a few minutes before she’d realized she was hopelessly lost. She’d wandered around the woods, looking for a way out, hoping to recognize a landmark that would point her in the right direction, but nothing stood out. She’d found shelter where she could at night and drank out of streams. She’d listened to the wilderness around her—the rustling of leaves, the sound of scurrying animals as she neared, the howls of coyotes—and prayed to be rescued. That was the last thing she remembered before tripping over something and falling forward head-first.

  Alissa’s mind swam with fast-fading dreams. She was reluctant to banish them, but they were already disappearing. Her eyes opened slowly and landed on Trevor.

  He peered into a book with an intense look, wearing square, black-rimmed glasses, quite like Clark Kent. Her feet rested on his lap, which, for some reason, made her smile goofily. And she then realized her prayer had actually been answered. And not only was her savior kind, he was also a drop-dead gorgeous hunk of a man. She licked her lips and looked at him, more brazen than usual because he was distracted by his book.

  He fit the build of Superman, and she noticed for the first time the way his lips pouted as he turned a page in his book. His hair was black with a sheen and combed back like he’d just climbed out of the shower. His five o’clock shadow was more stubble and she wondered how it would feel rubbing against her skin.

  He set his book down, his eyes homing in on hers, burning her with his gaze as if he could hear her thoughts. She dropped her eyes. Could he tell from her blushing skin just how tempted she was to touch him?

  Under Trevor’s care, she was sta
rting to feel a hundred times better and knowing he cared for her without touching her or asking for anything in exchange made her want to throw herself at him even more.

  Suddenly she was acutely aware of the fact that she was wearing his sweats and his t-shirt. Knowing these clothes had been on his body, she couldn’t help the mental image of his large form wrapping around hers. God, she was so turned on that there was no way he could miss the way her nipples were pushing against the shirt. Was he as tempted by her as she was by him?

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  He’d moved her feet so he could get to the kitchen.

  Alissa rubbed her eyes, self-conscious of how she looked after god knows how long she’d been asleep. She wiped her cheeks, subtly checking for dried saliva. “Much better. Thank you so much. I would think you’d been a nurse in a former life. Although living out here all alone still makes me wonder if I shouldn’t discount the possibility that you’re a serial killer.”

  He laughed so hard he bent over and shook his head. “Would it make you feel better if I promised I wasn’t?”

  “Oddly enough, yes it would. Though a serial killer wouldn’t exactly admit he was one, now would he?”

  “Maybe not to the police, but we’re amongst friends, so no. I promise. I’m not a serial killer.”

  “So we’re friends, huh?” she said, suddenly longing more than anything for it to be true.

  She needed a friend. Even if she wouldn’t admit it aloud, she could admit it to herself.

  “Yeah, Alissa. I wouldn’t be taking care of you if we weren’t.”

  “And the storm raging outside has nothing to do with us being stuck together?”

  He glanced out the kitchen window where it was still dark and the view was obscured by the torrent of rainfall.

  “I mean, I didn’t have a choice but to take care of you. Yes. But I care about you too.” He ran his fingers through his hair and, for a moment, he looked vulnerable. “Even though I shouldn’t, I do.”

  And that was the crux of the whole thing because she was starting to care too, even though she shouldn’t. Trevor was doing something to her, and she didn’t know if she was strong enough to fight it.