Mountain Wild. Stacey Kayne

never felt before.

      She was sure she’d opened her mouth to tell him to stop, but had only managed a strangled moan as he had flooded her body with sensations she’d never experienced in her life.

      “Don’t go,” he whispered against her ear, the vibrations rekindling the wild tingles in all the places he’d touched. His arm tightened over her ribs.

      Suddenly she was frightfully aware of her exposed damp skin, the warmth of his thigh wedged between hers, the very male portion of him pressed firmly against her hip.

       Damnation!

      She shoved his arm away and scrambled for the end of the bed. She stumbled over the trunk and fell to the cold floor. She sprang up, tugging her wool nightshirt closed as she bumped against her table, wobbling the lit oil lamp. Light shifted over shadows and the naked man sprawled in her bed.

      She inched toward the stove, grabbed her now dry clothes then backed toward the door. How long had she slept?

      Too long, she reminded herself, still trembling from Garret’s touch. She wasn’t about to look away from the man before her to search for signs of daylight seeping around the door. She shoved her feet into her warm buckskin pants and jerked them up. The shift of fabric against her damp flesh made her shudder. What had he done to her? She tugged on her buckskin tunic over the wool shirt. Her shaky fingers cinched the ties.

      Ira had warned her about the violent intentions of randy men. He claimed she was his woman to those they encountered to keep her safe from such advances, but she hadn’t always traveled with Ira. She’d been chased more than once by men with such intentions to hold her down and hurt her—they’d never caught her.

      Keeping her gaze on Garret, she slid her foot into a tall moccasin. She should have left him in the snow! Shot him, and then left him in the snow!

      After lacing both boots she stuffed the bottom of her shirt into her pants. His coloring had returned. The light hair on his legs stood out against the darker skin beneath. Her gaze trailed across his bare backside.

      The heated swirls he’d conjured rose up, stealing her breath.

      She strapped her arms around her trembling middle and realized her belt and knife were missing.

      Her gaze landed on her belt hanging from the bedpost.

      Why hadn’t she reached for her blade?

      Boots stood up in the corner and stretched. The black shaggy dog trotted toward her and bumped her leg. Keeping her gaze on Garret, she reached down to pat the dog’s head.

      “What’s the matter with him?” she whispered. How could he still be sleeping when her pulse hammered erratically from the things he’d done to her?

      He hadn’t actually hurt her. He’d kissed her, in ways she’d never imagined a man would kiss a woman. Her teeth clamped down on her trembling lower lip. The memory of his mouth on her breast, his tongue moving against hers added to the violent stir of her pulse. His touch had been tender, his kisses…overwhelming. She recalled the time Morgan and his bride had invaded her old cabin some years back. She hadn’t meant to watch them; she’d been mesmerized by their gentle embraces and tender kisses as Morgan had convinced Cora to marry him.

      No wonder they seemed to enjoy themselves. Kissing Garret so intimately…She drew a deep, ragged breath and had to wonder if a man would have courted her with such tenderness, had she been allowed to grow into the proper lady her father always believed she’d become.

      Bitter sentiment squelched the thought.

      She wasn’t some gentile lady full of ignorant fanciful notions. She didn’t entertain suitors. At twenty-seven she was well into spinsterhood and had put such notions behind her. Garret Daines had no call to touch her in such a manner!

      He continued to lie there, his back rising slightly with his deep, even breaths. Could a man put his mouth on her one moment and be unconscious the next?

      She moved toward the bed. His dog stayed beside her.

      “Garret?”

      He didn’t stir. Her stomach dipped at the sight of his sleeping face and flushed lips. Far too handsome. She stepped closer. Heat radiated off his body. She touched his shoulder. His skin fairly scalded her hand. He moaned at her touch.

       He’s raging with fever.

      “Garret?”

      When he didn’t respond, she reached over him, grabbed her belt and quickly strapped it around her waist. She picked up one of the blankets he’d knocked to the floor and draped it over the firm slope of his bare backside. Fever or not, her sensibilities could only handle so much.

      “Thaw him out to cool him off,” she muttered on her way to the door. Outside she was stunned to discover nighttime encroaching on a stormy gray sky. She’d slept nearly the whole day.

      A short while later she was packing snow into the embroidered hand towels she’d intended to sell. Garret moaned in his sleep as she placed them over his superheated body but didn’t fully rouse. The snow melted quickly against his shoulders and the back of his neck. As she swabbed his flushed skin with the cool cloth a troubling thought increased the unease welling inside her.

      He’d been out of his mind with fever, and she’d nearly succumbed to his hallucinations. He’d called her beautiful and she’d lost her mind right along with him.

      Thank goodness he’d passed out. She could just imagine his reaction when he awoke to discover it was Mad Mag he’d been kissing in that bed.

      Her hands paused on his back, the thought of facing his scorn twisting her stomach into a painful knot. She hadn’t just allowed him to kiss her, she’d reveled in the bursts of pleasing sensation, the shocking intimacy of his deep kiss.

      Shame washed through her. Good God. What would he think of her?

      Same as everyone else, she supposed. Tears stung her eyes, a reaction that stunned her.

      This time she’d finally earned the moniker Mad Mag.

       Chapter Four

      Garret woke to the aroma of stewed meat and the telltale bubbling of something simmering on the stove. He blinked several times, and still he stared up at a high stone ceiling. His gaze swept over rock walls, a black stove to his right…none of it the slightest bit familiar.

      His stomach growled, the tantalizing scent drawing his gaze back to the bubbling kettle. Licking his dry lips he glanced at the wood front of what appeared to be someone’s home. A lamp to his right and another beyond the foot of the bed created soft circles of light, brightening the dank surroundings.

       Where the hell am I?

      He pushed up onto his elbows and had to stifle a groan. His body ached as though he hadn’t moved in ages. Pain pulsed through his skull, radiating from the left side. He reached up and touched a tender spot above his forehead and discovered a small lump and what felt like a gash beneath his hair. The movement wafted him with a clean, sweet scent. He paused and sniffed his arm.

       “Wildflowers?”

      Sapphire eyes and black hair against delicate ivory skin surfaced in his mind.

      The woman. She’d stayed nearby, stroking his skin, encouraging him to drink.

       Rest, Garret. You have a fever.

      The soft, husky voice tantalized his memory with the alluring scent of her skin, her silky softness beneath his lips.

      “A dream,” he muttered. The only safe place to love a woman.

      He pushed the wool blanket aside and froze, surprise prickling through him. He wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing. His gaze skated around the room, searching every shadowed corner. He was alone. In the corner