Connor approaches with his usual strong-set jaw and hard eyes locked on me. “You’re alive.”
“Apparently.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d ever wake up. You were out cold.”
“For how long?”
He offers a shrug, making his heavily muscled shoulders and bulging biceps look even bigger. With the cut-off shirt exposing his entire chest and rippling abs, the scruff covering his face thickened without shaving for days, and that damn axe so casually draped across his shoulder, he looks every bit the wild mountain man he’s becoming.
That intense gaze of his roams over me, as if he’s taking in every inch and cataloguing me for signs of injury or distress when the only distressing thing is being trapped up here with him against my will…and the thought that I don’t remember removing my boots or getting into that bed yesterday because I didn’t do either.
“Did you…put me in the bed?”
Connor averts his focus to something behind me and clears his throat. “You were passed out at the table when I came in.”
“Oh…”
Shit.
The last thing I ever want to do around this man is appear weak and helpless.
It was bad enough having to hike for so many hours being unable to hide how out of shape I am while he traipsed along without even breathing heavily or needing a break.
“I figured you’d be more comfortable there than slumped over onto that hard piece of wood.”
Damn him.
Connor McBride is not supposed to do something selfless and sweet.
And despite how angry I am at him for this entire situation, the good manners instilled in me prevent me from pretending it didn’t happen.
“Well…” I can’t believe I’m going to say this to Connor McBride. “Thank you.”
He grunts and stalks past me, tipping his head back toward a barely visible trail through the trees he just came down. “That path will take you over to the river. The water’s pristine up here. You can go wash down there.”
I glance down at myself, at my filthy clothes that have been hiked and slept in, and even though I was well aware of how disgusting I was when I woke, the fact that he noticed it too somehow makes it worse. “I could definitely use a bath.”
The corner of his lips twitches into an almost grin—the first sign of any remaining humor Connor has shown in months. “Yes, you could.”
Though the fact that he seems to be relishing my discomfort only confirms he’s a sadistic asshole.
I scowl at him, then march past him over to the shack to grab clean clothes from my bag. He wanders over and stands just outside, waiting for me when I come back out. His eyes follow me as I move toward the trail, as if he’s waiting expectantly for something.
I’m mid-step when I figure it out.
Shit.
I pause for a second and glance back at him. “What about a towel?”
He shrugs. “I air dry.”
A sudden, very vivid image of Connor McBride walking around nude up on this mountain flashes before my eyes, and I squeeze them closed to try to wash it away, but after seeing his exposed chest and stomach, it’s a lot harder than it should be.
When I reopen them again, his hard gaze remains locked on me. “You can take one of my clean shirts to use, if you would like.”
He doesn’t wait for my reply, just disappears into the shack and returns, holding a red and black long-sleeve plaid shirt.
“You’re not…coming to the river with me, are you?”
