Page 11 of Mated to the Mountain Bear (Bear Protector #1)

ZARA

I barely slept.

Every time I closed my eyes, I could feel Ben’s wrist under my fingers again. Could hear my sleep-thick voice begging him to stay. See the flash of something raw and hungry in his eyes before he shut it down.

He thought I wanted him.

The worst part? For a moment, I think I did.

Weak morning light creeps through the thin curtains, painting the wooden walls gold. I’ve been staring at the ceiling for hours, replaying that moment in my head. The way he froze when I grabbed him. The warmth of his skin, and those chocolate brown eyes so close to mine. His lips…

But he pulled away when he realised it wasn’t him I was thinking of.

I need to do something. The embarrassment is eating me alive and lying here won’t help.

The cabin is quiet when I slip out of Ben’s room. I pause in the hallway, listening, but it’s perfectly quiet. And the living room is empty, with Ben’s pillow and blanket neatly folded on one end of the couch. He’s already up and gone, doing his morning check of the property.

In the kitchen, I survey the space. The lack of any distraction allows my thoughts to run wild. Was he going to stay? Would he have climbed into the bed beside me because I asked, or because he wanted to?

Groaning in anguish at the potentially awkward situation that’s all of my own making, I rest my palms on the countertop and hang my head between my arms. We’re stuck up here, alone together, but I had to make it weird.

Maybe I can make breakfast? A peace offering. An apology without having to actually explain that, for one confused moment, I forgot where I was, and who I was with.

But I didn’t hate the idea of him staying. Quite the opposite, actually.

Deciding I’d rather take my own eyeballs out with a spoon than have that excruciating conversation, I start the coffee first, moving gingerly. My sore foot is getting better, but it’s not completely healed yet.

The machine gurgles to life, filling the kitchen with its rich aroma. While it brews, I search through his small refrigerator. Eggs. Bacon. Bread for toast. Simple enough.

The cast iron pan is heavy when I lift it onto the stove. Everything in this kitchen speaks of durability, of a man who buys things once and expects them to last. No fancy gadgets other than the coffee machine.

I crack eggs into a bowl, whisking them carefully. The bacon goes into the hot pan with a satisfying sizzle. As I cook, I try to focus on the simple task, but my mind keeps wandering.

Is he avoiding me after last night? Maybe, but I’m the one who should be embarrassed.

The morning sun streams through the windows, catching the dust motes dancing in the air as I plate the eggs and arrange the bacon in neat lines, then cut the toast into triangles.

I even add a sprig of herbs from the windowsill garden as garnish.

If I can’t explain myself with words, maybe I can show him I’m trying.

Beau said he was a loner, but he’s coping admirably well with having his space invaded.

The front door opens, and my heart jumps.

Ben steps inside, pausing when he sees me at the stove.

He’s been outside long enough for the morning cold to cling to him.

His dark hair is slightly mussed from the wind.

A dark henley doesn’t seem enough to keep him warm in the crisp morning air, but I’m not complaining.

The fitted shirt shows off his broad pecs and bulging biceps to perfection.

“Morning,” I offer tentatively. “I made breakfast.”

He stands there for a moment, taking in the scene. The set table. The waiting plates. Me, hovering nervously by the stove in yesterday’s clothes. His clothes. There’s no smile. No sign that he’s pleased by what I’ve done. For a second, I think he’s going to turn around and leave.

“I cleaned while cooking,” I continue, noticing his survey of the space. The familiar urge to fill silence with words takes over. “Your cabinets were pretty dusty, so I washed everything. Then I reorganized to be more efficient. The mugs are closer to the coffee maker now, and...”

He moves past me, searching for something, opening one cabinet, then another. His jaw tightens with each wrong guess.

“What are you looking for?” I ask, voice smaller now. This was a terrible idea.

“My mug.”

“Oh, they’re all over here now.” I open a cabinet near the sink. “I grouped them with the other dishes since...”

He finds it, the one that’s clearly special, shoved in with the regular mugs.

It says Always be yourself. Unless you can be a bear. Then always be a bear. There’s a picture of a grizzly on it.

Obviously it’s extremely valuable.

When I roll my eyes, the muscle in his jaw ticks as he pours coffee with controlled movements.

“I can put it all back,” I offer. “Sorry, I was just trying to help. I couldn’t sleep anymore, and I needed something to do to keep my mind busy.”

He turns to really look at me then. I must look pathetic, standing here in his kitchen, with flour on my shirt and shadows under my eyes that probably match his. He looks me up and down as my belly grumbles, empty after skipping dinner last night.

“It’s fine.” He forces the words out, like that cost him a lot to say. I give him a grateful smile. He hates it, but he’s being nice. I at least appreciate the gesture.

Without asking what I want, he makes me a plate and adds extra eggs.

“Thank you,” I murmur, sinking into a chair.

We eat in silence. My ribs protest when I shift, but sitting still feels impossible when nervous energy courses through me like electricity.

“I really was trying to help,” I say finally, pushing eggs around my plate. “I’m used to being busy…”

“This is good.” His full lips pull into a smile, and it’s the first time I’ve seen his face light up like that. And it’s breathtaking.

My crush ratchets up another level at the sight of the big man enjoying my food so much.

“But you don’t need to earn your keep.” He leans back in his chair and lifts his mug of coffee to his lips. “Rest. Get some fresh air and be out in nature. You might enjoy it more than you think.”

The view outside is spectacular. There’s no denying it. And every time I look out over the vast expanse of mountains and trees, a sense of calm washes over me.

But it’s always quickly followed by a nagging feeling that I should be doing something else. And guilt. That I’m having a wilderness mini break, while Amber is god knows where.

“I need to be useful while I’m here. I tried to do some laundry, but there’s no hot water… I had to boil a pot to clean…”

While I’m here.

Something about those words sends the shutters down over Ben’s eyes, and his relaxed demeanour immediately vanishes again. He’s probably hoping Beau’s truck will appear over the brow of the hill any second to end this torture.

“Are your feet still bothering you?” he asks, the topic change is jarring but welcome.

I glance down, surprised.

“They’re almost better.” I stretch out my arms, then raise one leg, showing him the faint lines that are all that’s left of the scratches.

“Good.”

More silence. I finish my breakfast while trying not to stare at him. There’s something solid about him, permanent in a way that nothing in my life has been lately.

“You’ve got...” He gestures at my face. “There.”

I frown and lick my lips, trying to find whatever he’s pointing at, but I’m too distracted by the veins bulging on his thick arms to follow what he’s talking about.

“Where?”

He points again, but when I swipe at the wrong side of my face, he reaches out. His thumb brushes my cheek, warm and slightly rough. He shows me the honey glistening, holding it between us like evidence, while his dark eyes burn with the same hunger I saw last night.

We both stare at each other, caught in a trance, as his gaze flits over my face before landing on my mouth.

“Actually, there’s more…” His voice is husky, sending a shiver straight to my core.

And when he glides his thumb gently over the corner of my mouth this time, without thinking, I lean forward and wrap my lips around it, sucking the honey off. The taste is sweet on my tongue, but it’s the salt of his skin underneath that really makes my stomach clench.

Ben growls, a sound from deep within, and we both freeze. His eyes darken, pupils dilating as he stares at me.

I’m holding his hand, my lips wrapped around his thumb like some kind of provocative promise I didn’t mean to make.

“I was just showing you...” he mumbles, his voice dropping to a low rumble that vibrates through me, which isn’t helping the dampness that’s spreading between my thighs.

Reality crashes back, and I release his thumb with a wet pop that seems obscenely loud in his quiet kitchen.

“I thought you were offering it to me.” Heat floods my face as I bury it in my hands. What is wrong with me?

“Oh god. Oh god.” I push to my feet, needing distance between us before I do something even more mortifying. I pace to the sink, then back, then away again. “You, eh, you go and do whatever manly fixing of things you need to do. I’ll tidy up.”

He stands too, and suddenly, the kitchen feels impossibly small with both of us in it.

“Zara…” As he moves closer, I spin to face him, my heart pounding, with no idea what’s going to happen next.

But just when I think he’s going to reassure me I haven’t made a complete fool of myself, his nose twitches. He slams his eyes shut as he takes a deep breath, no doubt, looking for patience. When he opens them again, the light makes them look bright gold instead of their usual chocolate brown.

“You cooked. I’ll do the dishes...” he attempts to edge past me to the sink, jaw tight.

But I whirl around, reaching for the plates at the same time he does. My hand, aiming for dishes, finds something else entirely. Something hard and substantial beneath worn denim that twitches under my accidental touch.

My other hand knocks the plate he’s holding, sending eggs and grease cascading down his shirt.