“What are you doing?” Her voice is light as her lips peel back into a thin smile. Buttercup jumps at my feet, yapping and nipping at my shirt.
“What do you think? I'm carrying you there. Walking on your foot will only make it worse.”
Her fingers lock behind my neck as she shifts her body in my arms, snuggling closer to my chest. “What did you say your name was again?”
“I didn't, but my name's Branson.”
“I'm—”
“Melody.”
“How do. . .” Her voice trails off as she looks up at me.
“I just remember you.”
“But you know my name.”
“I pay attention to details.” Smiling, she arches a brow curiously. Taking a firm step forward, I start carefully walking to the meadow. “We got to move. The sun is almost down.”
Her body in my arms feels so amazing. I'm tempted to pull her in tighter, to hold her closer. I like the way she feels here like this.
But I have to ignore the feelings. They have no place here. I'm not whisking her away for my own pleasure. I'm helping her so she doesn't get hurt anymore than she already is.
This about keeping her safe. Nothing more.
No matter how badly my body is trying to tell me otherwise.
3
Melody
Branson James. . .
A man with face I could stare at for hours. His sexy brown eyes draw me in, high cheek bones with light stubble make my thighs tremble.
The muscles in his arms bulge like stone, carrying me like I weigh nothing at all. His chest is firm, and his jaw is cut with sharp lines and angles. I can smell a faint scent of cologne, sandalwood and mint. He exudes power, and even Buttercup, who is fiercely protective of me, follows at Branson’s heels, accepting his authority.
I've seen him around town, and once at the motel talking to my boss. Of course there are rumors floating around town about him. Nothing crazy, and I don't know for sure if any of them a true. People talk, people lie, and sometimes there's a little truth mixed in.
The one thing I know for sure is he that creates the most beautiful art. It's displayed throughout the town; at the diner, in the donut shop, there are even a couple of pieces at the motel, including a large one placed in the courtyard, visible through the window that I stare out of hours every day.
A shiver rattles through me, causing my teeth chatter. It's summer, but my wet clothes are like ice against my skin. And to make matters worse, my ankle is throbbing, and my head is fucking killing me.
This isn't how I planned my weekend away.
But with Branson holding me close, he creates a heated cocoon, and I feel so much better. He's so warm. I can feel his body heat as it spreads through me, turning my icy skin into hot flesh.
“Here we are.” His voice is as rich as cognac, smooth and tantalizing.
Lifting my head, the raging waters have been replaced with a lush green blanket. It's beautiful, and I'm instantly calmer.
This is why I'm here. This is what I need. The serenity and beauty are enough to fill me with a rush of happiness.
Taking a few more steps, Branson lowers me gently to a large boulder in the meadow. “Here, just sit and relax. I'll set up my tent and get a fire going.”
The second his arms leave my body, I feel cold again. I miss them. I miss the way they felt around me, I miss how strong and powerful they felt against me. I want them around me again. I feel like I need them around me again.
Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought.
I can't think like this, especially about the man who rescued me. He's my savior, not my sex god.
But he is so damn sexy.
Running my fingers down my throat, I inhale a slow breath and let it out. “Let me help, I'm sure I can do something.” Looking around, I push myself up to half-standing, but instantly I wince in pain.
“Not with that ankle,” he says firmly. “Don't worry about it. I don't want you overexerting yourself. You need to stay off that foot.”
I sit back down. Branson’s right. If I want to be able to hike out of here, I better not push my luck. Buttercup wanders over to me, whining softly and placing his head on my lap. He looks up at me with his big puppy dog eyes. “It's all right, I'm fine. Don't worry, everything is going to be okay.” Scratching his head, he settles in comfortably.
He's so comfortable around Branson, and I'm surprised by how relaxed I am too. Even though I know a little about him doesn't change the fact he's still a stranger. A sexy, hot, Adonis of a stranger.
Dropping a pile of wood onto the ground, he picks through it, making a small stack of thin sticks. He digs around in his pack and pulls out a flint. Striking it a few times, a small flicker of light bursts underneath.