Page 6 of Ex-Military Biker’s Bride

I get her to stand up, pulling her against my side and scoop her into my arms. She smells so good that I’m tempted to bury my face in the side of her neck.

I walk slowly down from the outcrop.

“Are we flying out?” she asks.

I shake my head. “We can't. Weather’s too bad and it’s too dark.”

She goes quiet, her arms wrapped around my neck.

I keep us moving. “First light, maybe. If the front's through.”

“So what do we do?”

“Well, there's an old forest service cabin at the far end. It's got a stove and a roof. Or at least it used to.”

Olivia processes it. She doesn't argue or cry, and simply nods her head.

Instead, when we’re nearly at the cabin, she says, “You must be wondering what I was doing up here.”

“Yep.”

“It was the funniest thing. I got turned around on the trail while I was photographing elk.”

There aren't any elk up here.

She's a really good liar.

I open the cabin door. “Sure you were.”

Chapter Three

OLIVIA

Lucky gently puts me down on a bench inside the door of the cabin. The relief at being inside rolls through my body and I can’t move. He moves around the cabin; lighting the stove first, then lighting an oil lamp. He locates a rolled up mattress on the bunk in the corner, and he unrolls it, beating out some of the dust.

“This is the cabin the Forest Service uses. Not Rotmere.” He crouches at the stove and feeds in some logs from the basket next to it. “Looks like nobody’s been up since the fire season.”

“You're good at this.”

“I’ve had a lot of training.” Firelight strokes the side of his face. The scars travel from his dark hair down to his jaw. “Now, we need to get you out of those clothes.”

I suck my breath in. “That's quite an opening. A little forward if you ask me.”

He grins and shakes his head. “You're soaked to the skin and have been for hours.” He adds another log to the fire, then helps me over to the bunk. “Cold, wet clothes aren’t going to help raise your body temperature.”

“You've done this before.”

“Some. I did search and rescue after I left the army, before I did corporate stuff.”

Lucky finds some blankets in a footlocker and shakes a couple of them out, finishing by hanging one over the bunk rail. He finds a towel in his pack, hands it to me, then goes and stands with his back to me, staring deliberately out of the window.

Removing the wet denim with one functioning ankle takes me some time, my hands shaking. Everything comes off except my underwear. I get the towel around me and sit on the edge of the bunk with my hair dripping down my back.

“Done.”

Lucky turns around. His gaze flicks over me once, quick and professional, but there’s something underneath.

“Give me your ankle.”