Double Dirty Mountain Men(2)

"I need this," she murmurs, trying to fend my hands off.

"No, you need warmth," I say, pushing her hands aside. I'm a little too rough, but there's no time for fucking around.

"Coats are warm," she protests softly.

I yank the buttons of her coat off and pull her forward, tugging it over her arms. It's old and ratty, just a thin, cheap coat, probably from Wal-Mart or something.

Holding it, I'm amazed she's not dead.

"Coats are only warm if you've got body heat," I remind her.

And then I grab her around the waist and pull her around, so her back is flush against my chest, pull my thick coat around both of us, and wrap my arms around her.

She's freezing, still shaking, so cold she's like an ice cube against me. None of us speak for the ride back to our forest service cabin, but after a few minutes, Rose gradually seems to come back to life, at least a little. She stops shaking, and her skin isn't icy any longer, just cool.

Behind her, I'm hard as a fucking rock. I have both my arms wrapped around her narrow waist, her small-but-full breasts pushing against me with every single breath.

She's got strawberry blonde hair, and even though it smells a little bit like coffee, it also smells like citrus and flowers.

As we get close, Rose takes a deep breath, her chest rising against my arm, and she wriggles just a little, her ass pressing against my nearly-painful erection. I grit my teeth, trying to will myself soft, but there's no way it's going to work.

Then she turns her head, pressing her cheek against my chest. I barely know her name, but a completely insane protective urge falls over me in that instant, like I'd do anything to keep this girl safe.





Chapter Three





Knox




I brake so hard that the truck slides a little as I pull up next to the cabin. The heat is on full blast, and I'm starting to sweat in my layers of winter gear and thick coat, but I couldn't care less.

In the back seat, Rose is practically blue, though the color's starting to come back into her face. Thanks to Logan taking off most of his clothes and holding her tight in his arms, her face now pressed against his chest.

I glare into the rearview mirror.

Of course I'm worried about her. Of course I want her to get warm. She was probably a few minutes from going into hypothermic shock — it's a fucking miracle we stumbled across her when we did.

But that doesn't mean I want it to be Logan she's leaning against like that, his arms around her. Rose is fucking stunning, the kind of beautiful that makes your mouth go dry and your dick stand up instantly.

The kind of girl I want.

As I turn off the ignition, a quick memory flashes across my brain, suggesting itself to me.

Logan and I have shared before. Only once, and the girl didn't work out, but watching her nearly overwhelmed by taking on the two of us at once was fucking incredible.

For an instant, as I get out of the truck, I glance into the backseat. Rose's eyes are half open, sky-blue and watching me.

And I wonder what she would look like overcome with pleasure, sandwiched between Logan and me. I go rock hard instantly at the thought of those eyes, hazed over with pleasure, her head thrown back.

Then I shake my head, trying to chase the thought out, and open the back door.

"Come on," Logan is saying softly to Rose. She sits up straight, his coat enormous wrapped around her small frame, and then scoots over toward me.

I don't even ask if she can walk, I just scoop her into my arms and then kick the door shut, heading for our cabin. She's light, soft, and supple, and she snakes one arm around my neck, holding on.

I grit my teeth and thank every fucking saint on the planet that we saw something moving strangely out on the trail and didn't just ignore it. Even though Rose has barely said a word yet, the presence of someone so small, delicate, and helpless sparks a deep protective need inside me.

The cabin isn't big or glamorous, but it's our home for the winter, and it does pretty nicely for us. I put Rose down in front of the radiator and crank it all the way to high as Logan comes in the door, stomping his boots free of snow on the mat.

"Give me your hands," I tell Rose.

She obeys, looking up at me with those crystal-blue eyes. Her hands are still freezing, the fingers slightly blue, and I turn them over carefully in my own, searching for signs of frostbite.

She wasn't even wearing gloves, I think. What the hell was she doing?

Even though she's stopped acting like a zombie, she's still moving slowly, like she's half-asleep. I've seen it before in people close to hypothermia — hell, I've felt it myself. As soon as she warms up she'll snap out of it.

"Her clothes are still damp," Logan says.

He's standing by the front door, just watching Rose and I, the lines of his jaw set hard.

"Go find her something dry," I say, as he pulls his boots off, then walks in his thick wool socks toward the bedroom we share.

We have separate beds, of course. We only share a bedroom because the cabin's not very big.

I look down at Rose, who's blinking now, like she's coming out of a daze, her wide blue eyes looking around, taking in the cabin's rustic wood walls, the furniture from the 1970s, the raw wood furnishings. Most of what's here is either forty years old or has been made by forest service rangers who stayed in the cabin at some point, so it's mish-mash of things.

"Rose," I say, and she looks up at me.

Something tightens in my chest.

"We need to get you out of those clothes," I say. "They're still damp from the snow, so you're losing body heat by wearing them."

"Right," she says, her voice still soft but less soft, like she's finally getting some spirit back. "Is it okay if I borrow something? I don't really have a change of clothes on me."

I almost smile. Logan comes back into the main room of the cabin, carrying a pile of garments that all look like they're plaid flannel, along with a fur blanket draped over one shoulder.

"I think this will all be way too big," he says, setting the pile on a chair. "But it's what we've got."

Then he pauses, and we look at each other. I stand a little straighter, and so does he.

"Why don't you make a fire?" I suggest, my voice coming out lower and more dangerous than it usually does.

His gaze flicks to her. After a moment, he smiles.

"Sure thing," Logan says.





Chapter Four





Rose




I feel like I'm coming back to life, standing here in the warmth. I was so cold that, for a little while there, I swear it made me dumb — even when these two men miraculously showed up out of nowhere, all I could think was oh.

The man standing in front of me takes a shirt from the top of the pile and holds it up, looking from me to the shirt and back. I feel dwarfed standing next to him, because he's easily six feet tall.

Then I look him over for a moment, really seeing him for the first time, and wow. He's got dark hair and piercing blue eyes, a square jaw with a dusting of stubble, and even though he's wearing a few layers right now, I can tell he's completely ripped.

I swallow and look away, glancing toward the other man, the one with lighter hair and green eyes the color of moss, and I let my eyes roam over him for a minute.

And I realize that he's also insanely hot, his muscles bulging through the sweater and jacket he's wearing.

Am I hallucinating? I wonder. Maybe I'm still back in the truck and my brain has made up this nice story about being saved by two sexy woodsmen.

"Can you get your own shirt off?" the man in front of me asks, his voice a quiet rumble.

I swallow and nod, embarrassed because I think he's offering to do it for me if I can't. If I weren't still freezing cold I'd blush, but that might take an act of God right now.

I'm about to turn around to take my shirt off, but then I notice the way he's looking at me, something hungry and wild glinting in his eyes.

No one's ever looked at me that way. Or, I should say: no one who wasn't a pervert twice my age has ever looked at me that way. Definitely not anyone like this man.

Maybe it's because I almost just died and I'm feeling brave, but I slowly grab the hem of my Sally's American Diner t-shirt in both hands, my fingers still cold and stiff, and lift it over my head.

But I'm still so cold that it's hard to move, and suddenly, I'm stuck, my head inside the shirt. I wriggle a little, incredibly aware of what a dork I look like, stuck inside this shirt.

Then warm fingers brush over my body, pulling at the hem, and lifting my shirt over my head. He tosses the shirt onto a chair and hands me the new one, but he's not looking at my eyes. He's staring at my half-naked body in a way that makes something warm and heated squirm through me, and I lower my eyes.

There's a huge lump in his pants. Huge. For a moment, I just stare at it, because I didn't know penises came that big.

Not that I'm very experienced. Not that I have any experience at all, honestly, unless you count the time that Chad Taylor got a boner during the slow dance at my junior prom. I don't.

But the way he's looking at me combined with that thing not to mention my near-death experience is making me a little crazy. A little more daring than I usually am.

I reach behind myself and unhook my bra. It's wet too, after all, and there's no sense in wearing wet undergarments, right?

The cabin is dead quiet, and as I slip the straps over my shoulders, I realize that the other man, the one building the fire, is watching me too. For a moment, I panic, wondering what the hell I'm doing, but then my bra's off and I'm tossing it after my shirt.

My nipples are hard as rocks — I'm literally freezing, after all — made harder by the attention they're blatantly getting right now, and in an embarrassed rush I grab the shirt and pull it on. It's about five sizes too big and goes almost down to my knees, but I button it slowly, my fingers still not fully cooperating.