One Night with her Bachelor (4 page)

Molly’s painfully awkward
seduction technique was one of the most erotic things Gabriel had ever seen.

The other was the sight of her ass swaying as she kneeled on all fours and painted his porch. He couldn’t remember seeing her in jeans before. Hell, he’d probably never seen her in pants of any description. For as long as he could remember, she’d worn dresses and skirts that made her look like every day was Sunday, and she was off to worship with the god-fearing folks who’d scorned him, Camila, and their mother.

Her jeans weren’t skintight. They didn’t cling to every curve. In fact, they looked a little baggy, like she’d borrowed them or lost weight since the last time she’d worn them. But when she crawled around in front of him—her body swaying rhythmically as she applied varnish to wood in long, seductive strokes—her ass pressed against the denim in a way that made his dick do the same to his pants.

Little Molly Dekker all grown up and looking for action. His day had gone from routine to confusing to promising in the space of twenty minutes.

Not that he could follow through on his flirtations. Scott had been the first convenient excuse his brain had settled on so he wouldn’t have to admit the truth. No way would he be getting naked today—or any day in the near future.

But that still left a lot of possibilities.

They worked alongside each other for a couple of hours. At one point Molly asked if he could turn on some music, and he shook his head. “I have a little electricity from my wind turbine, but I reserve it for essentials. I’m afraid I don’t have a sound system.”

She looked shocked. “What about a battery-operated radio?”

“Yeah, I have one of those. Hold on.” He went inside and fetched his radio from his workshop at the back of the house. When he turned it on for her, she stared at it in confusion.

“Is that talk radio?”

He laughed. “What kind of reception do you think I get out here? Right now we’re eavesdropping on the forest rangers talking over their radios.” He could hear his half brother Austin signing on for duty. “I mostly have it so I can listen to weather reports.”

And because the voices kept him company without him having to actually speak to anyone. Win-win.

She scrunched up her face, looking so cute he had to fight the urge to kiss her. “I could play music through my phone.”

“You won’t get reception here. You left civilization behind a couple miles back.”

Her jaw softened. “What happens if you get hurt or need help with something?”

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.

Her hips jerked, and they moaned against each other’s mouths.

“Gabriel,” she whispered.

“Mmm.” He couldn’t speak. He’d thought they would connect, but he hadn’t expected the connection to feel like he’d touched a live wire.

She ran her fingers over his chest, each touch leaving a wake of lusty shivers running through his body. She scraped her fingernails into his temples and kissed him so hard, so deep, so long he forgot to breathe. Who needed breath anyway? He could share hers and die a happy man.

When she finally pulled back, she hit him with a look he’d never seen on her before. Intent and bold, it was the sexiest damn look he’d ever received.

“I knew it,” she said. “I knew it would be good.”

She was a smart woman. He’d never even speculated about it. How had he spent all that time around Scott and never once noticed his little sister for anything other than the unnerving way she’d stared at him? How could he have failed to notice the way her body had developed or the fact she was actually pretty cute? Maybe it was the age difference between them. Five years felt like a lifetime when he was younger. It felt like a blink now.

She traced his face with her fingertip, and he shivered. “What do we do now?”

“What do you want to do?” he asked. He had suggestions. Plenty. But this was her plan, her idea. She got to call the shots right now, unless she wanted him to.

Please ask me to.
Now that he’d had a taste of what it would be like, he wanted to get to the really good stuff.

Her lips curled into a sultry smile. “Kiss me again.”

“Your wish…” He slid his hands into her hair as his mouth slanted over hers. Her arms looped around his shoulders, her breasts pressing against his chest. How long had it been since he’d been this close to someone? The last woman who’d touched him had been a hospital nurse removing the bandages from his leg for the last time. Molly’s sweet touch erased all the fear and fury he’d felt that other time.

She jerked her face away, her nails digging into his shoulders like talons. Her face blanched, and she stared at the radio.

“What—”

“Shh!” She slapped her hand over his mouth and leaned closer to the radio. “They just said Josh’s name, I’m sure of it.”

“…Both males are ten years old and camping with their scout troop at the Westridge campground. Last seen heading northwest on the Paradise Valley trail about an hour ago.”

Her whole body went as rigid as death.

“Are you sure you heard—”

She scrambled off his workbench, nearly knocking him over as she sprinted from the room. His balance wasn’t as good as it used to be—one more thing he was still getting used to. But he grabbed hold of the radio and took off after her.

‡

W
hen Gabriel caught
up with her, she was on her knees in the kitchen ripping her backpack open. She fumbled with the zipper on an inside compartment. “My phone. I have to find my phone.”

“You won’t get a signal here.”

“I have to find my phone!”

She was panicked, and his bad leg stopped him from kneeling next to her to calm her down. All he could do was stand over her. He put the radio on the kitchen table and cranked up the volume. Taking her hands away from her backpack, he unzipped the pocket she’d been too shaky to undo, and he handed her the phone. She swiped at the screen.

“SAR has been notified. We’re setting up an operation center at the campground…”

Shit. Since the search-and-rescue team was all voluntary, it could take an hour for them to gather at the campground and start assessing the situation. The local SAR team was good—he’d listened in on plenty of their success stories over the radio these past few months. Chances were Josh was just hiding somewhere, scared he would get in trouble if he went back to his camp.

But if he needed help, then he needed it
now.

“Please, please,
please
not Josh.
Please
.”

He laid his hand on her head, desperate to calm her down. “Molly, come here.”

She shook him off and rolled to her feet. “I need to get a signal.”

He bit back his reply. She wouldn’t be able to process information right now, so reminding her that she wouldn’t find a signal for miles was pointless. He followed her out of the house and onto the porch. Her attention was so far gone he called her name three times before she spun on him and screamed, “I have to find my son!”

He clasped her shoulders. “Then listen to me. Your phone is useless right now, and I’m not letting you wander into the forest looking for a signal. I have a dirt bike and can take you to the campground.”

Her fear was palpable. “Yes. Now. We need to go now.”

“I’ll be right back.” He went back into the cabin, something scratching at him. Instinct, maybe. Or habit, after a decade of heading out with all his gear. He still kept emergency equipment in a rucksack significantly lighter than the one he’d carried for combat search and rescue in Afghanistan. No body armor. No night vision goggles or portable Jaws of Life. No M4—though he did carry a sidearm. Just a bunch of rope, canvas, knives, some basic medications, and hiking and climbing equipment. He grabbed the bag.