Alone with the Mountain Man (Rosewood Ridge Fire #4)

Chapter 3

3

AURORA

T he firefighter wasn’t half bad at basketball. He held his own against me, but I was only slightly better than half bad.

“Let’s play a game,” he said.

I stopped dribbling, trying to catch my breath and hoping I wasn’t sweating too much. He’d taken off his suspenders and tossed them to the ground, so now he only wore the fire department trousers and T-shirt.

I knew I was showing way too much skin in my tank top and leggings, but no way could I have kept wearing that costume. Not only did it get in the way, it was almost suffocating after just a few minutes of activity.

“What kind of game?” I asked.

I assumed he’d say knock out or around the world. I’d played those plenty of times with friends. But instead, he said two words that dropped my jaw.

“Strip basketball,” he said. “Every time you miss a basket, you have to take off a piece of clothing.”

Suddenly, I didn’t have to struggle to catch my breath. I couldn’t breathe at all. Had he just suggested…?

“We’d be naked after only a few minutes,” I said.

He shrugged. “ You’d be naked. I have full confidence I can make most of the baskets.”

That was a challenge. He must have sensed just how competitive I was. This was definitely the best way to get me naked.

But that thought gave me pause. Did he want to see me naked? I’d never been naked in front of a man.

A better question was, did I want to see him naked? And the answer was a disturbingly resounding yes.

We’d already proven I could hold my own on the court. He had to know he’d get naked too.

I should say no. I should grab my witch costume and rush home and… What? Sit there alone, wondering what might have happened if only I’d had the courage?

“You go first,” I said, tossing the ball to him.

He caught it and continued to stare at me. “You’re in?”

He seemed surprised. Did he not think I was adventurous enough to go along with his idea? Or maybe he didn’t think I could kick his butt at basketball. Either way, I was ready to show him just how much he’d underestimated me.

I stepped out of the way and held perfectly still as he dribbled a few times, aimed, and shot. Swoosh .

It made it in.

My wince was a reflex. I had to focus.

He tossed the ball back to me, and I chewed on my lip as I tried to transport myself back to my early teenage years. Back then, making this basket would be second nature. I could have done it in my sleep, I’d practiced so many times.

I shut him out and dribbled, then made my way to the imaginary three-point line. I positioned the ball at my shoulder and tossed it. I was definitely overthinking it, though, because the ball hit the backboard and bounced directly to the ground.

Crap. I’d missed.

But as I looked over at him, his eyes were practically glistening with mischief. Yeah, he liked the fact that I was about to take off my shirt. Or maybe I should remove my leggings.

I looked down. My shoes. I was wearing ballet flats. They weren’t much help on the court, anyway. They counted as an article of clothing, right?

I kicked off my left shoe, grabbed the ball, and tossed it to him. “Your turn.”

He caught the ball but didn’t take his eyes off my one bare foot. “Shoes don’t count.”

“They don’t? Because I’m guessing you have shoes and socks on. That counts for four.”

In fact, all told, he definitely wore more articles of clothing than I did, if socks and shoes counted. I wish I’d thought this through before speaking. But what was done was done.

I shrugged it off and kept playing, doing my best to beat him. But my best wasn’t enough. Or maybe he was playing harder than he had before. Whatever the case, he only missed one shot by the time I’d missed three more.

And that left me standing there in my bra and panties.

“Are you cold?” he asked. “We can stop if you want.”

He was a true gentleman, doing his best to keep his eyes on my face, not my body. But I had a feeling in his peripheral vision he was checking me out.

“The game is keeping me warm enough,” I said.

It actually felt pretty good, and not just the light fall chill on my hot skin. There was something liberating about being outside in my underwear. I could only imagine how it would feel to be completely naked.

“Oops,” he said on the next basket. “Missed.”

I would have sworn he’d done it on purpose, that shot was so bad. He kicked off his other shoe, then removed both socks.

“Just to speed things up,” he said.

“Are we playing until you’re naked or I’m naked?” I asked.

I hadn’t even thought to demand the rules of the game before starting. Normally, I would.

“Once you’re naked, I doubt I’ll be able to concentrate on the game,” he said. “But we can play until my clothes are off too, if you want. In fact, I’ll shortcut things even more.”

He jerked off his shirt, tossing it to the ground. My mouth fell open. I should say something here, tell him to put his shirt back on. I didn’t want an advantage. I wanted to pick up my game and show him I could come back from my horrible performance.

But the competitive part of me was losing out to the part of me that wanted to look at that bare chest, those defined biceps. The guy was all muscle, and it was doing things to me. Things that were sure to throw off my game, despite my efforts.

I made the next basket. Then he made another. Finally, I missed one and had to take off my bra. I tossed the ball to him and reached behind me, trying not to think too much.

“Fuck,” he said.

He’d stopped everything and was staring down at the ground. My heart sank. He was disappointed in what he saw. Maybe he thought my breasts were too big. I had a brief insecure moment where I was back in high school, being bullied for developing faster than my classmates.

But I quickly got my thoughts in check. I was a beautiful woman who didn’t base her perception of herself on how others saw me.

“Are you going to shoot?” I asked, putting a hand on each hip.

When he looked up, there was no doubt in my mind. He liked what he saw. He’d looked away to gather his concentration.

Sure, I didn’t base my self-worth on what other people thought, but the way he looked at me now sent a thrill through me. I’d never imagined how nice it would feel to have a man like this one want me.

When he shot this time, he missed his mark by so much, I wondered if he’d done it on purpose. The ball was dribbling its way back to me as he unfastened his pants and lowered them.

My eyes widened as I stared at the gigantic bulge behind those navy blue cotton briefs. He was hard. Noticeably hard.

He couldn’t see how wet I was, which gave me an advantage. But if he touched me, moving his fingers between my legs and inside me, he’d know instantly just what he was doing to me.

A sound escaped my lips. It was almost like a groan, but higher pitched. And that was when I realized I was staring directly at his crotch.

I deliberately forced my gaze to his face and saw the corner of his mouth tugging upward slightly. He found this amusing. Or maybe he just got the same thrill I did over this attraction that was flying between the two of us.

“Your turn,” he said.

The ball was on the ground between us. He hadn’t even tossed it to me, as we’d been doing. That meant I had to step closer to him to retrieve it. Very close. I felt the heat coming off his body, along with the strong urge to touch him. It was like some force was pulling me toward him, and it was a force that I had to battle.

Somehow, I managed to grab the ball and step back, all too aware of how my breasts jiggled with each movement. I took a deep breath and turned back to the basket. This was it. The last shot, and I’d be completely naked. And this game would be over.

I didn’t want it to be over. I wanted to see him fully naked. So I put all my effort into making the shot, and when it went through the hoop, I let out a jubilant yes, then stepped back, bouncing the ball to him.

“Your turn,” I said.

I held my breath, hoping he wouldn’t make it in. I wanted to see what that underwear was hiding.