Page 6 of Wrecked on the Mountain

My entire body flushes with arousal and embarrassment in equal measure. Those eyes aren't just blue—they're the deep blue-gray of a stormy ocean, with gold flecks that seem to burn right through me.

"Enjoying the show?" His deep voice is low, rough, with a gravelly edge that vibrates through me and settles between my legs like a caress.

The sound alone is enough to make me clench my thighs together again, fighting the urge to moan out loud at how stupidly turned on I am by three simple words.

I should probably say something.

Apologize for creeping on my neighbor.

Introduce myself like a normal human being instead of a sexually frustrated voyeur.

Instead, my brain leaves me speechless and trembling with want as I stare at this gorgeous, half-naked man who just caught me eye-fucking him through a fence.

Because holy hell.

If this is what the locals look like in Stone River Mountain, my three-month recovery plan just became infinitely more complicated.

And Piper's joke about sexy mountain men who chop wood shirtless?

Yeah. That woman is clearly psychic, and I owe her a very expensive bottle of wine.

Chapter Two

Jamie

She's still watching me.

I slam the axe down one last time, the log splitting clean in half with a loud crack that echoes across the morning air. My favorite Metallica track pounds from my deck speakers, sweat dripping down my spine… but I'm not done with the show yet.

Not when my audience is this entertaining.

I should probably grab my flannel from the deck railing. Grab it and put it back on now that I've got an audience.

But where's the fun in that?

My new neighbor is staring at me like I'm the main course at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Dr. Brooke Shields. The burned-out trauma surgeon from Chicago who's supposed to be joining our team for three months.My team.

I've seen her file, read her credentials, even stared at her professional headshot longer than I probably should have.

But that polished hospital photo didn't do justice to the woman currently gripping an axe in the yard over from mine. She has dirt smudged across her cheek and her auburn hair is escaping from what I assume used to be a neat ponytail.

I get a glimpse of those yoga pants, and Jesus Christ. They're hugging curves that would make a saint reconsider his vows.

Her mouth's slightly open, eyes locked on my chest like I'm some kind of lumberjack centerfold.

And yeah. I let her look.

She doesn't know who I am yet. Doesn't know that tomorrow morning she'll be walking into Mountain Rescue headquarters, where I'll be the one giving her orientation. Where I'll be her boss for the next three months.

The irony's too good to waste.

She's not what I expected. Honestly thought she'd be colder. More uptight big-city doctor energy. People like her come to Stone River all the time, usually looking for some kind of mountain therapy to put themselves back together before fucking off again.

But standing there in yoga pants and a fitted athletic top that shows off toned arms?

She's cute.