Page 25 of Wrecked on the Mountain (Stone River Mountain #2)

Chapter Fourteen

Jamie

Only this time there's something warm and soft pressed against my side that makes my entire world feel different.

Brooke.

She's curled into me, one hand splayed across my bare chest, her face peaceful in sleep. There's no tension in her shoulders, no lines of pain around her eyes.

She's completely, utterly... peaceful.

Hopefully the migraine's gone.

I'm pretty sure it is because her breathing is deep and even, not the shallow, careful breaths she was taking last night. Her color's better too—that pale, pinched look has been replaced by the soft flush of a good night's sleep.

Jesus. She's beautiful.

I've seen her in a lot of different states over the past week. Flustered and aroused when I caught her staring through the fence. Defiant and challenging when she thought I was being an ass. Professional and competent at work. Completely undone and desperate when I had her bent over my desk.

But this? This quiet, trusting vulnerability as I hold her in her sleep? This might be my favorite version of Dr. Brooke Shields.

Last night was something else.

We demolished half those snacks during some ridiculous romantic comedy about a woman who inherits a bakery. Brooke made sarcastic commentary about the male love interest's "unrealistic emotional intelligence" while stealing all my caramel popcorn, swiping the best pieces of course.

I pretended not to notice, but each time her hand brushed mine in the bowl, I felt that little jolt of electricity that's got me right where I am right now.

She fell asleep during the third act, right when the guy was making his grand gesture speech. Her head dropped onto my shoulder, and she made this tiny contented sound that did things to my chest I wasn't prepared for.

I stayed awake as the credits rolled on the screen, just watching her breathe, wondering how the hell I got so lucky that the woman next door would be this amazing.

When the screen eventually went dark, I carried her to bed, tucked her in fully clothed, and settled beside her. I sat and watched her for a little longer than I'll ever admit to, but after I eventually nestled in beside her… It was the best nights sleep I've had in years.

Now, I stretch from the early morning rise and ease out of bed carefully, trying not to wake her.

I pad to her kitchen in just my boxer briefs and the first hint of sunlight streams through the tall windows, adding to the warmth of her home. The smell of the mountains drifts in through a crack in the window, and a fresh sprinkle of snow rests on the small front garden.

I love that clean, sharp scent that means Stone River is waking up for a new day. But inside the cabin, it's all Brooke. That perfume she wears, the faint scent of her shampoo still lingering in the air.

Fuck. I'm in deeper than I thought.

I start the coffee maker and lean against the marble counter, trying to process the fact that I spent the night at Brooke's place and it felt... right.

Like I haven't just spent the last seven years of my life building Mountain Rescue into something I'm proud of. Seven years of 3 AM callouts, brutal rescues, and the occasional heartbreak when we couldn't save someone.

Seven years of the guys calling me "Lone Wolf Striker" whenever I turned down their attempts to set me up with someone.

Knox has been telling me for years that I need to get laid. He's gone as far as to offer casual hook ups with his cousin, telling me that I'm turning into one of those weird mountain hermits who talks to squirrels.

I'd just roll my eyes and change the subject. Let them think what they wanted.

Because I wasn't interested in trying again. What was the point? I'd given her everything, thinking she was it for me. Rebecca had my heart, my ring, and my plans for the future.

Then she took off like Stone River was some kind of punishment instead of the most beautiful place on earth.

After that, it was easier to focus on the job. On making Mountain Rescue the best damn operation in three states. On taking care of my team, my community.

On not needing anyone.

But now...

The coffee maker beeps, jolting me from my thoughts. I grab two mugs from Brooke's cabinet, a plain white one for me, and a purple one I know she will love.

Love .

Is that what this is? This feeling that's been growing since the moment she stared at me over that fence?

It can't be. It's too fast. Too intense. Too... terrifying.

But there's no other word for the way I cringe when I think about her going back to Chicago. No other explanation for why I want to make her breakfast and show her every beautiful hidden corner of Stone River Mountain.

And that's exactly it.

There is nothing, nothing that can explain how excited I am to take her to meet my family tonight.

The coffee finishes brewing, and I pour the two mugs full, adding cream to hers because I've been watching how she takes it all week. Her coffee, I mean. Everything about her preferences is getting filed away in my brain like critical intel.

She's temporary, Beau's voice echoes in my head. Just passing through.

But last night, when she told me she was scared because she wanted to stay... that didn't sound temporary. That sounded like a woman who was falling as hard as I am.

And I'm not done making her fall for me yet.

I carry both mugs back to the bedroom, and the sight that greets me makes me stop in the doorway.

Brooke's awake, sitting up against a pile of expensive-looking pillows, her hair a mess of auburn tendrils catching the morning sunlight peeping through the windows.

She's wearing my shirt from yesterday and I'm pretty sure she didn't have that on when I left to make these coffees. It's so big on her it's sliding off one shoulder, giving me a perfect view of that deliciously smooth skin and the ever-tempting curve of her collarbone.

"Morning," she says, her voice still raspy with sleep, and the sound goes straight to my cock.

"Morning, sweetheart." I cross to the bed, holding out her mug. "How's your head?"

The sight of her in my clothes does something primal to my chest. Mine. She looks small and rumpled and absolutely perfect, like she belongs in that bed. Like she belongs with me.

"Much better," she says, accepting the coffee with a smile. "Thank you. For last night."

She takes a sip from the mug, and I watch her face light up as she tastes it. The sun catches the gold flecks in her brown eyes, and for a moment I forget how to breathe.

"How do you know exactly how I like my coffee, mister?"

"I pay attention," I say, settling on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips under my weight, and she shifts closer, looking up at me with doe eyes.

That's when they do this slow, deliberate sweep down my bare chest, lingering on my abs before traveling back up to meet my gaze. The look in her eyes has shifted from sleepy gratitude to something much more. Something… hungrier.

"Jamie," she says softly, setting her mug on the nightstand.

"Yeah?"

"Come here."

It's not a request. It's a command, delivered in that same confident tone she uses when she's being a doctor. And fuck me, it's the sexiest thing I've ever heard.

I set my own mug down and move closer, letting her guide me until I'm standing at the side of the bed, her sitting up so she's at eye level with my chest.

"I want to thank you properly," she murmurs, her hands coming up to rest on my abs. "For yesterday."

Her palms are warm, soft, and when she starts tracing the ridges of muscle with her fingertips, I have to bite back a groan.

"Brooke," I start, but she's not listening.

Her touch grows bolder, more deliberate, mapping every line and curve of my abs like she's memorizing me. When she leans forward and presses her lips to my sternum, right over my heart, I lose the ability to form coherent thoughts.

"Mmmmm… You took such good care of me," she whispers against my skin. "Let me take care of you."

Fuck . Her tongue darts out, tracing a line down my chest, tasting salt and skin and making me instantly harder than I've ever been in my life.

My hands find her hair without conscious thought, fisting in the silky strands as she continues her slow exploration. Every kiss, every lick, every gentle scrape of teeth sends shockwaves straight to my cock.

"Brooke," I groan, and she looks up at me with eyes that are dark with want.

"I love the way you say my name," she murmurs, her hands sliding lower, fingers tracing the V that disappears into my boxer briefs. "Say it again."

"Brooke." Her name comes out rough, desperate.

She smiles a wicked, confident smile that's nothing like the nervous woman who couldn't split firewood two weeks ago.

Her hand continues diving into my boxers, and she tugs at the waistband.

"These need to go," she says, grabbing my dick with a firm squeeze. "Quickly."

Jesus Christ.

I hook my thumbs in the elastic and push them down, freeing my aching cock. Brooke's eyes widen as looks down at her hand wrapped around me, and the hunger in her expression makes me feel like a fucking god.

"You're..." she starts, then trails off, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.

"I'm what?" I ask, my voice barely recognizable.

"Perfect," she breathes, and then her hand is moving up and down my shaft.

I swear to fucking God, I see stars.

Brooke's hand moves along my shaft with slow, deliberate strokes, her thumb occasionally brushing over the sensitive tip. The confident way she handles me is fucking mesmerizing.

"You like that?" she murmurs, looking up through her lashes with a smile that's too fucking sexy.

I can only grunt in response, my hips involuntarily jerking forward into her grip. Her hand is soft but her grip is firm, like she knows exactly how much pressure to apply. Surgeon's hands.

"I'll take that as a yes," she says with a husky laugh.