Her eyes narrowed, telling him she picked up on the fact that he sent her some kind of unspoken message, but not the specifics. How could she? Reaching for the condom box, she asked, “What are you—?”
“Assuming I can convince her.” He gathered her into his arms, almost too desperate to note she fit as snugly in his embrace this time as when she’d fallen into him outside. Locking eyes with her, he silently begged for help. “What do you say, Isabelle? Can I convince you?”
She studied him, a cute little furrow between her brows. Then, in a flash of understanding, her expression shifted to something far sultrier that he was expecting.
Her lips curved into a teasing smile. “I don’t know. This is so sudden. Maybe start with a kiss?”
Worked for him. The suggestion barely cleared her tempting lips before he took her up on it and covered them with his own.
Chapter Two
Holy bear daddy hotness…
Trace’s beard tickled her skin in a way that set off other tickles in every nerve ending her body possessed. Whoa. Had she ever kissed a man with a beard before? Izzy’s reeling mind came up blank. Nope. Never. And as new experiences went, this one ranked high.
It also ranked high as one of her most bizarre experiences—having a man she’d just met suddenly declare matrimonial intentions—but something in his urgent stare had implored her to play along, and her hormones, fresh off a near-death experience, decided to play. And now, that decision was paying off in spades.
His warm, firm lips stayed sealed to hers for a long, suspended moment, and then—good lord—big, blunt fingertips danced gently across her cheek. The cheek touch, somehow both absent and reverent, melted places inside her entirely separate from her tingling nerve endings. Wanting more, she surged up onto her tiptoes, and nearly groaned when he eased back.
She blinked her eyes open to find his shockingly-blue ones staring down at her with more than that work-with-me-please message. What lurked in their depths now looked a heck of a lot like…lust. Real lust. Not an act.
Before she could get a word out, his lips reclaimed hers, crashing down with hot, hungry urgency. Right. Who needed conversation? Conversation was overrated. Highly overrated, she mentally added when a big hand cupped her ass and pulled her closer. Without hesitation, she let go of everything she’d picked up so she could sink her fingers into his thick, unkempt hair. Heat came off the man in wave after addictive wave, sending a grateful shiver down her body while banishing chills she didn’t even know she had.
From somewhere very far away, a voice said, “Okay then. Good luck with that. We’ll just…go…put the Beaver in the hangar.”
Was there a whoosh of the door? A rush of cold air? She heard nothing except the happy noises coming from her throat, felt nothing but his scorching mouth, the solid strength of him, and…yes. Sweet baby Jesus, yes. Hard, hot, and heavy against her stomach, through God knew how many layers of clothing—a long, unmistakable ridge of bear-daddy dick.
It surged against her, attaining yet more impressive stature, and her inner muscles fluttered like new butterflies preparing to try their wings. Unable to resist, she skimmed her hand over his chest, down his flannel-padded brickwork of abs, and went questing between their bodies as best she could. Almost there. Almost. Her fingers literally itched to trace his dimensions. She stretched, and reached, and…
He released her, instantly, as if he’d been burned.
What the…? She opened her eyes and leveled them on him.
“I’m…Jesus…” He expelled a breath and ran his hand through his hair, pushing it away from his forehead. The sad, tired eyes were back in full force. “Sorry.”
Sorry? Was her mouth hanging open? Possibly. The man just planted on her the best kiss she’d had the thrill of experiencing in, well, her entire life, and then said sorry?
“I’d rather have an explanation than an apology.” Maybe that sounded a little terse, but the “sorry” stung. Especially since he’d spent most of their time together shooting her disapproving looks or ignoring her, but as soon as they arrived, he introduced her to two mouthwatering specimens of local bear daddies as the woman he hoped to marry and pinned her with a look full of dire importance. When she’d cooperated and suggested the kiss, he’d put his hands and mouth on her like he owned her. Kissed her like he couldn’t get enough of her. Generated so much heat between them that they’d both gone up in flames. Which apparently made him “sorry”? Fine. Great. Peachy. She thought back to a pink T-shirt she’d seen in a terminal shop in Anchorage. Alaskan Men: The odds are good, but the goods are odd. This particular example appeared completely on-brand.
“I couldn’t think of another way to explain”—he waved a finger down and up as he pointed at her—“you.”
His expression took on that edge she’d interpreted earlier as disapproval, but now, close up, read wary. “And you thought presenting me as your would-be-fiancée was the best solution?” She shook her head and took the large box of condoms he held. A yellow Post-it note stuck to the top of the box had the word Surprise scrawled on it in Danny’s distinctive flourish.
Ha. Ha. Danny. Good one. He’d love this story.
He’d love even more that his so-called “surprise”—and the dramatic public reveal of it—didn’t come close to qualifying as the biggest one of her arrival in Captivity. The mind-melting kiss from her uneasy and utterly unpredictable bear daddy client claimed that honor.
The bear daddy in question ran a hand over the back of his neck and winced, presenting her with a picture of pure, male awkwardness. “Sorry.” He bent down, started picking up her clothes and tossing them in her trunk. “Let’s get you repacked and loaded into our ground transpo. I’ll try to explain on the drive to Captivity Inn.”
“Fine.” If that sounded abrupt, too damn bad. He had her lady parts all fired up, he’d done it deliberately, and she had a sneaking suspicion she wasn’t going to like whatever explanation he furnished. Determined to reclaim a shred of her pride, she bent to retrieve the clothes she’d dropped. She’d packed lighter items on top, and they’d flown everywhere, but at least they were easy to gather. Bulkier items like jeans, boots, and sweaters remained, like ballast, under the stays in the trunk.
She reached for a handful of tights but got distracted by the sight of him picking up her scattered underthings. The lace and silk looked incredibly delicate in his huge hands. She watched, sort of hypnotized, as he tossed them into her trunk, then bent to scoop up more of her belongings.
This time he hesitated a second before grabbing an item and holding it aloft. Her mini magic wand. Maybe he wasn’t familiar with the brand, but the shape of the thing left little doubt about its purpose. One corner of his mouth tipped up in a faint show of amusement. Nice to know he could muster up a smile, even if it was at her expense. He walked over to her and held out the toy. “I’ll let you pack this.”