Page 5 of Picked By the Mountain Man (Fall for a Mountain Man #6)
Becca
The vinegar seems to be helping more than I thought it would, but the stench is clinging to my nasal passage, so I’m not sure how much of a help it actually is. After the vinegar rinse, I use the bar of Irish Spring I find in the shower, soaping up and rinsing three times.
Each time I scrub the bar with the washcloth, images of it on Keaton’s naked body race through my mind. The thought has tingles running over my skin.
And that name. Keaton—such a sexy name for a sexy man.
I’m surprised by his willingness to help me and his hospitality, especially given how our first meeting went.
He offered without hesitation, when given the meltdown I was having, I’m surprised he didn’t turn and run farther up the mountain, disappearing into the wilderness.
The wilderness where he looks like he would be right at home.
The mountain man vibe he’s got going on fits him to a T, just like this adorable cabin.
The craftsmanship of the place took me aback.
It has a homey simplicity, but it’s built sturdy with finishes that complement, not compete with the views surrounding us.
Like this shower, which is so spacious it could fit three people, or, you know, overweight me and the ginormous owner.
It has skylights, which, combined with the rainfall showerhead, make it almost seem like you’re outside in the rain.
The water finally starts to cool after I stand in the luxurious space, scrubbing my skin so long it’s turning red.
With a sigh, I turn off the water and step out.
I dry off with the extra-large green fluffy towel, wringing as much water as I can out of my hair with a grimace.
It’s going to be a tangled mess without conditioner, but the luxury of an actual hot shower trumps the inconvenience.
Wrapping the towel around me, I step into the attached bedroom.
I didn’t get a chance to take in the room before as I was so focused on getting into the shower, but the oversized sleigh-framed bed with a plaid burgundy comforter looks like heaven. The mattress I found in the farmhouse is old and lumpy, and sleep has not come easily on the darn thing.
Pulling my thumbnail from my mouth where I was chewing on it, I reach for the clothes on the cloud of a bed, mentally crossing my fingers they’ll fit me. How embarrassing it would be for them not to, but with the weight and belly I’ve gained over the last few years, it is a concern.
The blue shirt falls mid-thigh. It’s looser than I thought and doesn’t show all my lumps. Unfortunately, there’s no hiding the fact I’m not wearing a bra, and there’s not much I can do about it.
When I pull on the gray sweats, my mouth waters with the image of what they might look like on Keaton. I have to roll the waistband several times to keep from tripping over the bottoms, but at least they fit. There’s certainly no worry about them falling off.
I pad down the stairs in bare feet. The scent of chicken and spices reaches my nose even through the lingering skunk smell, and my stomach embarrassingly rumbles just as I enter the kitchen.
“I figured you might be hungry, so I got dinner going.” Keaton glances my way over his shoulder with a smirk, which quickly fades away, leaving him staring at me with his jaw hanging open.
If I’m not mistaken, his eyes darken with appreciation, but that can’t be right.
He must be in shock of how snug his clothes are on me, but his gaze seems to be locked on my chest, which causes my nipples to tighten.
I feel my cheeks heat and quickly cross my arms over my boobs to keep him from seeing.
“Uh, thank you for the clothes, so I don’t have to wear a towel home.”
His eyes jerk back to the stove as he clears his throat, but it’s still rough when I barely hear him mutter, “Isn’t that a damn shame, but they do look good on you.
” Before I can respond, he continues louder.
“Do you like broccoli? I’m making garlic chicken and pasta.
I usually put broccoli in mine but wasn’t sure if you would like it.
It’s one of those vegetables people either love or hate. ”
“Oh, um, I enjoy it, so I must be in the love group,” I reply, but I’m stuck on his first comment, which has my belly doing somersaults. I must’ve heard him wrong. There’s no way he could want to see me in only a towel and thinks I look good in his clothes.
“Perfect. Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes then.”
I watch from the stool at the island as he competently works in the kitchen.
He’s the first man ever to cook for me, and I never realized what a turn-on it would be to see a man do so.
The scent of chicken and garlic is incredible and has the skunk smell almost a distant memory. I can’t wait to try it.
True to his word, ten minutes later he’s setting a plate in front of me before taking a seat next to mine. I quickly shove a bite into my mouth. The flavors explode on my tongue, and I moan in appreciation.
Hearing Keaton’s grunt, I turn to find his eyes fixed on me. They’re darkened, his nostrils flare, and his food sits untouched.
“Um, is everything okay?” I ask, my brows pinched in confusion.