Master of the Mountain

* * * * *

Logan opened the lodge door to go inside and paused when Thor whined behind him. Had a mouse or rat holed up under the porch? “What is it, boy?”

When the dog nosed the porch swing, Logan walked over. “Well, hell.” Rebecca lay on the cushions, curled into a ball and shivering. Before making his rounds, he'd watched her down a fair amount of wine. Was she drunk?

He touched her neck and winced. Too cold. Worry turned his mouth down. “You, woman, are a pain in the ass,” he muttered and scooped her up.

As he carried her over to the door leading upstairs, he saw at a glance why she hadn't come inside. Busy people, these swingers. He noted with appreciation the brunette's legs-up position. And the blonde's bare pussy wasn't bad either.

After he punched in the code on the keypad, he climbed the stairs to his quarters and opened the door without dropping the city girl. He deserved a prize, but the half-conscious woman wasn't going to be handing them out. Not tonight.

He flipped on a light, made his way past his living room, his small kitchen, and into the bedroom. As he laid her on the bed, he grinned. Looked like he got to strip her after all.

Her shirt pulled over her head easily enough. With reluctance, he left her lacy blue bra on. Nice underwear, but he ached to fill his hands with her full breasts. He didn't. How about that? Chivalry wasn't completely dead.

Getting off her wet shirt revived her enough that she batted at his hands when he pulled her jeans off, but the alcohol and cold had left her only half-conscious. Not good. Her soggy jeans landed with a splat on the hardwood floor. Logan groaned as the dim light from the living room turned her pale thighs into an erotic dream against his dark red quilt. Dammit, he'd really like to wrap those legs around his waist and… Don't go there. He ran his fingers over the shadowy ridges of old scars on her calf, then pulled the quilt out from under her and tucked her in.

He eyed her. Hot drink first.

She roused to take some hot chocolate, although she wasn't especially polite. City girl had a mouth on her when riled. Setting the cup on the nightstand, Logan stripped and joined her. Rolling her onto her side, he pulled her back against his chest and molded her frozen little body against his. Skin to skin warmed a person quickly. God, she was soft.

She gave a low, husky sigh.

Christ help him, he bet she'd sound like that when a man entered her. Her soft ass nestled against his groin and against a cock so hard, even her chilled skin couldn't cool him off. Unable to resist, he pressed his lips against the curve of her shoulder. She smelled of only soap and woman. Considering her classy city clothing, he'd expected a fancy perfume.

And what was Miss Modesty doing with this troupe of swingers? The little rebel just didn't add up, and he wanted a few answers. Later. For now, he buried his face in her silky hair and cupped his hand over her breast. A man was entitled to some small pleasures when saving a woman's life, especially since her presence in his bed meant he'd have to stay awake. God help them both if he should fall asleep.

* * * * *

In the middle of the night, Rebecca woke draped over Matt, toasty warm and thoroughly confused. When had she returned to the cabin? She distinctly remembered freezing her butt off on the porch swing. Had he come back for her and put her into bed? Surely she hadn't had that much to drink.

She moved slightly and stiffened. Her cheek rested in the hollow of a man's shoulder, a very muscular shoulder. Her arm lay across a chest much broader than Matt's, and her fingers touched crisp hair. Matt's chest was bare as a teenage boy's.

No expensive cologne either, just the clean scent of soap and pine and…definitely man. A hard arm curved around her back, and the hand gripping her shoulder had callused fingers.

This isn't Matthew.

Had she gotten so drunk she'd gone to bed with one of the swingers? No, she couldn't have. She hadn't been that brainless since her college days when she discovered sex.

“You awake, sugar?”

Her mouth dropped open. The deep, raspy voice could belong to only one man. “Mr. Hunt.”

The laugh rumbled through his chest like a minor earthquake. “Considering your position, perhaps you'd better call me Logan.”

Her leg was tucked between his thighs, her knee pressing against his groin, and her thigh touching… Oh my, his chest wasn't the only body part bigger than Matt's, and he was fully aroused. A wave of heat washed through her, surely caused by embarrassment and not excitement. “How did I…? We didn't…”

Another rumbling laugh. “No, we didn't. I found you on the porch swing, and you were well on your way to hypothermia. I brought you up here and got in to warm you up.” His hand stroked her upper arm, the touch firm. “But if you'd like to warm up even more, I'm willing.”

“No, thanks.” She tried to push away from him.

The arm around her back tightened, holding her in place. “Uh-uh. Your body temperature is still low, and I'm not going to have all my careful work ruined by you stomping back outside.”

“I'll go back to my cabin and…” And what? God knew who might be in there now. The memory of Matt and Ashley curled inside her like a rotting worm. With a sigh, she gave up. “Never mind. I'll stay here.”

“Good choice. Nothing's going to happen to you now; I prefer to bed women in full possession of their wits.” She felt his lips touch the top of her head. “But in the morning, you might be in trouble.”

Memo to self: remember to get up and out before dawn. The tenseness eased out of her muscles when he didn't try anything. She still had on her underwear, so he really hadn't taken advantage. When his hand stroked up and down her arm, more comforting than carnal, she let herself drift.

Logan waited until her breathing slowed, her muscles went lax, and she hovered on the edge of sleep. Time for interrogation, vanilla-style. Yeah, rope would be a hell of a lot more fun. “Why are you with the swingers?”

Drowsily, she rubbed her cheek against his chest, hardening him to discomfort. “Matt wanted me to come. Thought it would make our sex life…” Her words trailed off into a yawn.

The idea of her boyfriend being inadequate to her needs made Logan grin. “It doesn't bother you he's with other women?”

The whimper she gave broke his heart. Yes, it bothered her. Her fingers toyed with the hair on his chest and then went still. Her brain had disengaged again.

“He's a jerk?”

“He's perfect. Just…I…no swinger.” Her hand languidly stroked the muscles on his shoulder. “…doesn't like my body.”

“Mmmph.” Logan had to grit his teeth to keep from rolling over and driving into the body Matt didn't like. If anything could snap his control, it would be a soft, round woman pressed against him. “Not everybody likes skinny women, Becca.”

“Daddy did.”

Logan frowned. Sometimes the present-day culture didn't make much sense, especially in its inability to appreciate lush women. This little one should have been born a few decades ago, when she could have given Marilyn Monroe some competition.

Her breathing slowed even further, her hand going limp on his shoulder, which was a pity. He'd been wondering how he could entice those sleepy fingers to explore farther down. With his free hand, he ran his knuckles over her soft cheek.

Matt was an idiot.