“You’re thinking it.”
“I’m thinking you’re going to burn it if you don’t go check on it.”
She gasped in mock outrage and ran back toward the cabin, and I watched her go, shaking my head.
This was my life now. Laughter and pot roast and a woman who loved me despite all my sharp edges. A woman who’d climbed my mountain and decided to stay.
I picked up the axe and got back to work, but I couldn’t stop smiling.
Yeah. This was my life.
And it was pretty damn perfect.
EPILOGUE
Emily
I lay in bed, watching Tucker move around the room in just his boxer briefs, muscles flexing as he checked the locks on the windows—his nightly routine, a habit from his military days that he’d probably never break.
Not that I minded the view.
Six months together, and he still made my mouth go dry.
He caught me staring and raised an eyebrow. “Something on your mind?”
“Maybe,” I bit my lip, feeling absolutely wanted and unashamed to let my husband know that. And what I needed. He’d done that for me—made me feel desired in a way I’d never experienced before. Like my curves were something to worship, not tolerate.
He climbed onto the bed, caging me in with his arms, his body warm and solid above mine. “Good. Because I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
“Oh?” I traced my fingers down his chest, feeling the scars I knew by heart now. Each one a story. Each one a part of him. “What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking about how good you looked in my shirt this morning.” His lips brushed my jaw. “How I wanted to strip it off you and make you late for work.”
Heat flooded through me. “I wasn’t wearing anything under it.”
His eyes darkened. “I know.”
“You knew?” I gasped as his hand slid under my night shirt—one of his t-shirts that I had confiscated. What was the use of being married to a big, mountain man when you couldn’t steal his clothes. “Why didn’t you do something about it?”
“Because you had patients to see.” His thumb brushed the underside of my breast, teasing. “And I’m trying to be responsible.”
“Well, I don’t have patients now.” I arched into his touch. “So stop being responsible and kiss me already.”
He smiled—that rare, beautiful smile that was just for me—and lowered his mouth to mine. The kiss was slow and deep, taking its time.
Six months together and kissing him still felt like the first time on the side of the road. My toes still curled and my heart raced.
His hands roamed, sliding the shirt up and over my head, leaving me bare except for my panties. He pulled back to look at me, and I fought the urge to cover myself. That old instinct to hide.
But the way he looked at me made all those insecurities go quiet in an instant.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, his hands cupping my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples until they peaked. “Every single inch of you.”
He lowered his head, taking one nipple into his mouth. He sucked and licked, lavishing attention until I was squirming beneath him, my hands fisted in his hair.
“Please,” I gasped.
“Please what?” He switched to my other breast, his hand sliding down my stomach to the waistband of my panties. “Tell me what you want.”
