Page 16 of Wrecked on the Mountain (Stone River Mountain #2)

Chapter Nine

Brooke

I wake up to the sound of someone singing "Anti-Hero" by Taylor Swift.

Badly.

And enthusiastically.

For a moment, I'm completely disoriented. This isn't my cabin. The couch I'm curled up on is butter-soft leather, there's a wool blanket draped over me that smells like the forest, and whoever's murdering Taylor Swift in the kitchen sounds suspiciously like...

Jamie.

Oh my God.

Jamie Striker, gruff mountain rescue coordinator and certified lumberjack fantasy, is singing Taylor Swift while making breakfast.

I sit up slowly, trying not to make noise, and take in my surroundings.

Jamie's living room in daylight is even more gorgeous than it was last night.

Huge windows frame a view of snow-covered mountains that belongs on a postcard, and everything about this space screams expensive comfort.

It's the kind of place where you could spend a weekend wrapped in cashmere throws and never want to leave.

On the coffee table in front of me sits a full mug of what must be the hot chocolate Jamie made last night, stone cold now. Beside it, an empty mug with traces of chocolate at the bottom.

He stayed up. Probably watching me sleep like some kind of protective mountain guardian.

" I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror, " comes Jamie's voice from the kitchen, and I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud.

Piper would have a fit if she heard this. She's Tay-Tay's biggest fan.

Me? Not so much.

Even less now.

The man is completely tone-deaf and doesn't care even a little bit.

I stretch, working out the kinks from sleeping on a couch for the first time since, well… I don't know when. I rub my eyes and glance toward the windows. The sun is hitting the fresh snow outside, making everything glisten like a winter wonderland, and—

Oh shit.

The sun.

The risen sun.

The sunrise we were supposed to watch together at his special spot!

"FUCK!" I bolt upright, the blanket falling to the floor as I scramble off the couch like the leather is on fire. "Jamie! WE MISSED IT! We missed—"

A tremendous crash comes from the kitchen, followed by a string of profanity that would make a sailor proud.

"MOTHERFUCKING SON OF A—"

The sound of metal hitting the floor followed by Jamie's roar of pain cuts through my panic spiral like a chainsaw.

I'm off the couch and running toward the kitchen before my brain fully processes what's happening.

When I round the corner, Jamie is clutching his left hand against his chest, the cast iron skillet lying upside down on the floor in a puddle of hot oil, and bacon scattered everywhere like some kind of breakfast crime scene.

"Oh my God, Jamie!" I rush to his side, my medical training kicking in immediately. "Under the water. Now."

Jamie moves to the sink, running cold water over his hand while bacon grease spreads across the floor in a puddle of culinary chaos.

I dodge the oil and meet him at the sink. "Let me see."

"It's fine," he grumbles, but he doesn't pull away when I gently take his hand to examine the burn. "Just startled me when you started swearing like a fucking trucker."

The burn is on the back of his hand, angry red but not severe. Second-degree at worst. I turn on the cold water and guide his hand under the stream, using my other hand to check for blistering.

"Sorry," I say, focusing on his injury. "I just realized we missed the sunrise and I panicked."

I look up to meet his eyes, and he's watching me with that soft expression that makes my heart do stupid things. Even with bacon grease on his thermal shirt and his hair sticking up from sleep, he's devastatingly handsome.

"Sorry for what?" Jamie asks, his voice rough around the edges. "Cursing like a trooper or missing an early wake-up call?"

I glance up at him, and he's watching me with that infuriating smirk that makes my pulse do stupid things.

"Both?"

He huffs a soft laugh, the kind that rumbles in his chest and slides under my skin. "I came out first thing and you were dead to the world. I didn’t have the heart to wake you."

"You should’ve. I said I’d go with you."

He shrugs, his eyes dropping to where my fingers are still wrapped around his hand. "You looked peaceful. Didn’t seem right to drag you out of a warm blanket just so we could go freeze our asses off on a cliffside."

I glance away, trying to hide the way my heart is now launching itself against my ribcage. "Still. I wanted to go."

"I know," he says quietly. "There’ll be a sunrise tomorrow. And the next day."

I smile because it's like he’s already hoping I’ll still be here for the next one.

Maybe even the one after that. That's the kind of belief that makes my tummy all warm and gooey inside, much like it did when I was at the festival yesterday, chatting with the locals and enjoying being part of their way of life.

"And for the record," he adds, blue eyes gleaming with mischief. "You snore."

My head snaps up. "I do not."

"You absolutely do," he says, looking smug as hell. "Little snuffly thing, like a sleepy bear cub."

"I—what? No I don't!"

"It was adorable," he teases, leaning closer towards me. "Every time you exhaled, your nose twitched. At one point, you kind of... whined?"

"I did not whine!"

"You did." He grins. "I thought about recording it, but figured that’d get me punched."

"You should get punched."

I try to sound outraged, but he's still standing close, too close , and I’m suddenly aware of the heat radiating off his body, the steady trickle of water over his hand, and the way his eyes flick down to my mouth when I lick my lips without thinking.

I keep his hand under the cold water while I examine the burn more carefully. "This isn't too bad. You'll want to keep it clean and maybe use some aloe if you have it."

"Dr. Shields," Jamie says quietly, and something in his tone makes me look up. "Thank you."

"For what? I'm the one who caused this."

"For taking care of me." His free hand comes up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing across my skin. "And for last night. For yesterday. Hell, for everything since you got here."

My heart starts pounding as he leans closer, close enough that I can see the gold flecks in his blue eyes.

And just like that, I’m back in the warming tent yesterday. His mouth on mine, his hands in my hair, the quiet desperation in the way he kissed me like he couldn’t stop himself.

That kiss had cracked something open in me.

Not just pure sexual desire… though God , there is plenty of that when it comes to Jamie Striker. But it turning into something softer. Scarier.

And now… he’s looking at me like that again.

Like I'm not just a passing moment in his life.

Like I’m something he doesn’t want to let go of.

"I think I should be the one thanking you. I had a wonderful birthday," I whisper. "All because of you."

"Happy birthday, sweetheart," he murmurs, and then, like he can read my every thought, he does the one thing I need right now.

He kisses me.

This kiss is different from yesterday. More intentional . Like he’s savoring every second, like he knows exactly how to unravel me with nothing but his mouth.

His lips brush against mine with a teasing gentleness at first, coaxing rather than demanding, but there's heat simmering just beneath it. A restrained hunger. The kind that makes my breath catch and my thighs press together instinctively.

I reach up, threading my fingers through his hair, and he groans, low and guttural, the sound vibrating against my mouth.

One hand slides to the small of my back, pulling me flush against him, and suddenly I can feel everything .

The hard planes of his chest. The tension in every tight muscle in his arms. The way his body reacts to mine without hesitation.

The sink is still running beside us, cold water splashing into the basin in a steady stream that swirls and goes down the drain.

His hand—the one I just treated—is still damp, and when he cups the back of my neck, the contrast between the coolness of his fingers and the heat burning across my skin makes me shiver.

My shirt sticks where his wet palm meets my back, but I don't care.

I want more. I want all of it.

He tilts his head and deepens the kiss, tongue sliding along mine in a slow, deliberate stroke that makes my entire body throb with awareness. There’s nothing polite about it now. This is a promise.

A warning.

That when we finally give in… it’s going to wreck us both.

Jamie makes a low, desperate sound and starts to move, pressing me back against the edge of the counter, his hips brushing mine, one hand slipping beneath the hem of my shirt, trailing heat across bare skin—

"Dispatch to Striker—do you copy?"

The radio crackles to life on the counter and we both freeze.

Jamie's forehead drops to mine, and we’re both breathing hard, like we just ran full tilt through a blizzard.

"Motherf—" Jamie mutters, but cuts himself off, jaw clenched tight as the radio squawks again.

" Mountain Rescue, we have a situation. Vehicle accident, medical assistance required. Repeat, medical assistance required. "

Jamie pulls back, reaching for the radio with his uninjured hand. "Yeah. This is Striker."

" We need you and the medical team mobilized now. "

I watch Jamie's entire demeanor shift into professional mode, and it's incredibly attractive. Gone is the man singing Taylor Swift and making breakfast. Gone is the man who just kissed me like I'm not the only one feeling… whatever this is.

This is Jamie Striker, Mountain Rescue Coordinator, and he's all business.

"Copy that. En route in fifteen." He clips the radio to his belt and looks at me. "Duty calls."

"Right," I say, suddenly remembering that I'm still in yesterday's clothes and probably look like I've been sleeping on a couch. "I should get ready for—"

"Brooke. Wait." Jamie's hand catches my wrist as I start to move away. "You ready to be a real doctor today?"