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?