Page 22 of Snowed In with her Mountain Men

CAMRYN

The knock at my bedroom was soft, but insistent. Deep in my writer’s trance, I called out numbly. I was only barely aware of the door opening and closing. Even as two warm, calloused hands slid over my bare shoulders, I was still typing away.

“You want me to come back?”

I raised a momentary finger and kept typing my thoughts, letting them flow from my brain through my keyboard and onto my glowing monitor.

If I stopped, I knew I would lose them. The last two paragraphs were perfectly formed, perfectly shaped and worded exactly the way I wanted them, in my mind’s eye.

But they were still ethereal, still fleeting. Still prone to escape. That is, until…

“Got it.”

I sighed, and pushed the keyboard away, happy to have finished the chapter. The hands on my shoulders began massaging, and a groan escaped my lips. My tired eyes fluttered involuntarily closed.

“Wow, that’s pretty good,” I heard him say.

I blinked, and my words were still there. Oakley was reading them! I grabbed the mouse and closed the word processing software immediately.

“What?” he asked, trying to sound wounded. “I can’t read it?”

“Of course you can read it,” I smiled up at him. “As soon as it’s done.”

The fingers were kneading now, plying my tensed-up muscles. I allowed it to go on for a while, letting him loosen me up. Enjoying the wonderful sensation of being pampered by these boys, in yet another way.

“If you want to work some more, I could come back,” Oakley offered.

“No, no,” I sighed. “I’m done working for tonight. In fact…”

I spun the chair around to face him, even though it meant taking his hands from my shoulders.

Oakley was still warm from the shower, his hair slicked back, the area around his goatee cleanly shaven.

He also smelled absolutely delicious. Without thinking, I slid my hands beneath his plain white T-shirt and spread my palms over his rock-hard abdominals.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I had to fight off the overwhelming urge to bite him.

“At least tell me about your character,” he pressed. “Anna? Was that her name?”

“You mean the protagonist? Yes.”

He nodded down at me. “What’s she like?”

I thought for a moment. “Well, she’s strong. Sassy. She takes no shit, and she fights hard.”

“My kind of girl,” Oakley smiled.

“Sometimes she gets into too many fights, and maybe she’s a little angrier than she needs to be.” I bit my lip thoughtfully. “But then again, she sees life as something that’s given her an extra few helpings of shit to deal with. At way too young an age.”

He leaned closer to me, letting his hands sift through my hair. Gently, tilting my chin upward, he looked into my eyes.

“Sounds like someone I might know.”

Oakley reached for the hem of his shirt, and pulled it up to give me better access. My hands, wandering happily, had minds of their own. I wanted to lay down on that beautiful stomach, and go to sleep on it. I wanted to feel those muscles, all warm and taut, rolling in waves beneath my face.

“Who gave you this?” he murmured.

One of his hands was on my wrist now. His fingers traced my bracelet, an intricate weave of silver rings in a beautiful, byzantine pattern.

“My father,” I purred. “He made it, actually.”

“He made this?”

“Yes.”

Oakley continued tracing the bracelet, and nodded admiringly. “I watched you pick it up,” he went on, “back at the cabin. I figured it must be special to you.”

“It is,” I nodded. “My father was a Renaissance man. He had about a million hobbies. After my mother died, he had time for almost none of them.” I paused, to look down at the bracelet.

“But jewelry making… he kept that up. He sold most of his pieces, to make a few bucks on the side. But more than anything, he loved designing stuff for me.”

Oakley dropped to one knee, bringing his face level with mine. His expression was softer now. His brown eyes were full of compassion, and he swept my hair back over one ear.

“I’m sorry about your mom,” he acknowledged. “And your dad.”

I sighed, and then nodded. It was all I could do.

“If you want to stay here in your room tonight, I get it,” he whispered. “Don’t worry about what I wrote on the stupid chart.”

“The chart’s not stupid,” I smiled back at him. “Don’t disrespect the chart.”

He laughed, softly. “Alright.”

“But I do want to stay here, in my room tonight. I want to get a feel for this place, especially if I’m going to be writing here.”

His eyes dropped in momentary disappointment. “O—Okay.”

“And I want you to stay with me.”

Leaning in, I kissed his handsome face. I did it softly, tenderly, letting my lips just barely graze his ridiculously high cheekbones. When I went for his lips, he was already responding. Our kissing grew in speed and intensity until we were holding each other, right on the floor, tongues dancing.

“Should I get my pillow?” he exhaled, when I finally let him breathe again. “And my pajamas?”

I didn’t know if he was joking or being serious. But there was one thing I did know.

“You’ll be sharing my pillow,” I smiled, kissing those perfect lips again. In the middle of the kiss I reached down, letting my hand glide tantalizingly downward from those scrumptious abdominals.

“And you sure as hell don’t need any pajamas.”