Delivering His Gifts (Mountain Men of Liberty #10)- K.C. Crowne Page 0,93

scolded myself again. I would not give in to my primal urge.

The blouse she wore gaped dangerously low. The top two buttons had snapped, and the swell of one breast showed, leaving just enough to the imagination.

My cock punched against my jeans - cursing me for trying so hard to tame the beast inside. I wanted her, that much was excessively clear. I hadn’t responded like this to a woman in a long time, but my cock had a mind of its own, straining upward, needing a release.

I’d seen a few women when stopping by the local town for supplies over the years, but no one like her. Had I been the same man I once was, this internal struggle probably wouldn’t have even existed. I would have waited for her to awaken, seduced her, and fucked her brains out. But now, I didn’t want the complications a woman added to my life.

I had to contain myself. I huffed with frustration and turned away to focus on something else. My shoulder was throbbing. I cursed and tried to look at the back of my shoulder. Blood had fused my shirt against my skin, and I grunted when I tried to pull it off, feeling the fabric pulling at the wound. I walked to the bathroom, intending to take care of the large gash and forget about the stunning woman laying on my bed.

I needed to take care of myself. I needed to keep my head straight. I glanced through the door to the bed where I could see most of her body and part of her face. Her clothes were dirty and torn. Not ideal for the bruises all over her body.

If I could keep my shit together, I would have to undress her. Get rid of the clothing that hung on her body like she was doing it a damn favor - at least she was by my assessment of her luscious curves.

Even in her unconscious state, everything about her was beautiful, pure. Angelic.

What the fuck had she been doing on the mountainside? And so early? Her truck – I assumed it was hers – was probably fucked beyond recognition. We would deal with that later. One thing at a time.

I finally got my shirt off my back. It was ripped where the branch had dug into my skin, and the wound looked nasty, the skin jagged and ripped. I splashed cold water on it and hissed at the pain.

I couldn’t do much else to the wound because of its placement, so I focused on the unexpected guest in my bedroom. I needed to make sure there was hot water when she woke up. I had running water but not much heat, so I walked to the stove and put on a kettle.

When my damsel in distress awoke, I could offer her something warm to drink to help soothe her fears. The fears that would surely come after realizing she was alone in a cabin with a colossal Russian, inked up with mob tattoos.

Yep, the chamomile tea would help smooth things over.

.

Angela

Oh my God, everything hurts, I thought as I shifted. I needed something for the throbbing pain.

The first thing I became aware of, before I even opened my eyes, was a pounding headache in my left temple. I felt like I’d been run over by a truck. I blinked my eyes open, piercing light in the room forcing me to close my eyes again for a moment. I groaned and opened them and finally saw the room I was in. The place looked like something out of a hunting magazine.

A real cabin, with walls made of logs, a sleeper-style bed, a crude wardrobe against the wall, and a bearskin rug on the floor. Cozy. I half expected the stuffed head of a deer or antlers above the bed. Luckily, however, there was only a naked lightbulb.

I sat up and groaned, but my eyes remained opened. Where the hell am I?

When I looked down, I realized I wasn’t wearing my clothes but was in an oversized men’s t-shirt. And no bottoms other than my panties. I still wore my socks, but that seemed like an afterthought. My skin was scraped and bruised in several places. I pressed my fingers to a bruise, blossoming on my forearm, and winced when it hurt. I had a few bandages on my legs and right shoulder. What the hell happened to me?

“Hello?” I called out but got no answer. I climbed off the