One Night with her Bachelor(8)

He fought a grin. “I’m trained to deal with trauma. I have emergency supplies, rescue equipment, and medicines I’m probably not supposed to have. I take care of myself.”

“And if you’re hurt too badly to help yourself?”

“I guess I just hope a hiker finds me before the wolves do.” What could he say? Losing his safety net was the trade-off for living off-grid.

She grimaced. “Don’t you ever feel scared?”

“Nope.”

“Lonely?”

All the damn time. “Sometimes, but I don’t mind it.”

He’d grown up having no one but Camila and Scott to lean on. Scott was gone and Camila had mostly lived in California since they were sixteen. His work had dropped him behind enemy lines and had taught him to work as part of a team, but he’d never learned to crave other people’s company—not the way he heard some people talk about their friends and coworkers.

She shook her head as if she couldn’t imagine what his life must be like. Didn’t surprise him. Not many people could. “What do you do for entertainment?”

“Come here. I’ll show you.”

She laid her wet brush on a tray, stood, and wiped her hands against her jeans. He grabbed the radio and carried it in, since he kept it in his workshop anyway. The rangers’ voices kept him company as he did his projects. The workshop had originally been built as a spare bedroom, but no one ever visited so he’d filled it with tools instead of friends. A massive workbench and a wall full of neatly organized tools dominated the space. Piles of wood lay in the corners of the room, waiting for winter to hit so he could devote himself to tasks indoors instead of outdoors. A few of his completed projects stood on a shelf. They’d been just for practice—or so he’d told himself when they’d turned out misshapen. Fortunately Molly probably couldn’t tell at a glance how deformed they were.

“Wow. Did you make all of these?”

“Yep.”

She walked over to his workbench and reached for the cuckoo clock he was making Mila for Christmas. “May I?”

“Sure.”

She picked it up and carefully turned it over in her hands. The clock was shaped like a house—well, a lopsided house—and he’d carved the front to look like the forest she lived in in Southern California. There was supposed to be a lake in the middle, since she lived on a lake, but his rudimentary skills made it look more like a puddle. He’d taught himself how to work with wood, but it was difficult without being able to rely on the internet for help or inspiration. All he had were a pile of his grandfather’s books—which assumed a lot of knowledge probably common among men of the 1940s but not so much among his generation—and the kits he ordered when he went to town. He reached around Molly and fiddled with the door. “There’s a cuckoo in here, but I haven’t been able to get the mechanism right.”

He also couldn’t get the clock to work, but his sister collected bizarre clocks and had at least a dozen so he doubted she’d have to rely on this one to tell the time.

Molly’s breathing had gone shallow, and Gabriel noticed how close she was, close enough that her shoulder brushed against his chest as he tried to open the cuckoo’s door. She’d pulled her dark, curly hair back into a loose ponytail, leaving her neck exposed. Standing here next to her, he could look down and appreciate the curve of her breasts. How had he never noticed those curves before? His fingers twitched to explore her the way she’d explored him earlier.

He let go of the clock, leaving it in her hands, and let his palm slide over her shoulder, down her back until he cupped her waist. He wanted to cup her ass through those ill-fitting jeans, but one step at a time. She was soft and sweet and so very still. He had to be sure he could do this without hurting her and without revealing too much of himself. “Molly. Put the clock down.”

She slid it onto the workbench unsteadily, her lashes blinking and the tip of her tongue darting out to wet her lips. She was nervous. Good. He was nervous as hell.

“I’m thinking we should kiss and see what happens,” he said, his voice quiet. None of this felt real, and he didn’t want to wake himself up if he was dreaming. “Just a kiss to see if we connect. If there’s nothing there, that’s okay. We forget this ever happened.”

Her throat flexed as she swallowed hard. She turned to face him, and he slid his arms around her. So far so good. She was the perfect height, needing him to lean down a little but not so far he wrenched his back. Her arms went around his neck, and she leaned closer, her breasts flattening against his chest. He drew in an unsteady breath at the contact. Her eyes fluttered shut, her head tipped back, and he lowered his lips to hers.

They both stilled at the first touch. Instinct took over, and their lips parted on a simultaneous sigh of relief.

Desire swept through him as her tongue hesitantly touched his. He ran his hands up her back and down again as he tried to get closer and closer. She squirmed against him as if she couldn’t get close enough either. Their clothes stood in the way, but with so much heat between them he worried he’d catch fire if he took off her shirt.

He needed more, though. More kissing and more touching. More looking. He swept his hands down to her ass and lifted her off her feet. He moved so quickly she gasped as he hoisted her onto his workbench. Gently pressing her knees wide open, he stepped against her and tugged her hips to the edge of the bench until the seam of her jeans pressed against his erection.