Page 7 of Mountain Impact

As if.

She looked better today than she had in the forest―more like herself, more in control. He knew how important that was to her―just like he knew what she looked like when she lost that control. His cock strained against his technical trousers at the thought and he fought the urge to rearrange himself―because, despite how he behaved himself whenever he was with her, he wasn’t a complete asshole. And because offending her was the last thing he wanted to do.

To prevent her from noticing, he sat down on the chair opposite her desk and leaned back casually, crossing an ankle over his other knee.

“So, what now, do we follow the Critical Incident Stress Management system?”

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. She probably hadn’t imagined he’d remember the conversations they’d had about her work, but Drake remembered most things about their time together.

Isolde faltered for a moment. “I … I’d rather just have a conversation together. I’m not looking for a formal debrief, I just want to know how you’re feeling.”

Drake watched as she sat back behind her desk. Her lower body disappeared, but the view of her breasts straining against that conservative blouse was still pretty fantastic. He forced himself to raise his eyes to her face.

Keep them up there, asshole.

“Okay,” he said gamely.

“How are you feeling, Drake?”

“I feel … I feel like you should clear me so I can get back to work.”

She pursed her lips and he couldn’t help but stare at her mouth. He liked that her lips looked bare.

So fucking kissable.

“Drake?”

He realized he’d missed her last words.

“I said that’s not what you feel. That’s what you want,” she repeated.

Touché.

“Okay. I would like you to clear me, Isolde. Please.”

She clasped her hands in front of her for a moment. “We’re going to have to talk first.”

“Sure,” he said. “How are you feeling, Doc?”

The nickname came naturally to him―it’s what he used to call her. The first time he’d used it, they’d been in bed together.

Her eyes narrowed.

Clearly, she remembers as well.

Did she also remember how just a few weeks later she’d handed in her report to his superiors, stating that Drake was having trouble processing the cable car crash and that, independently of how his leg healed, he was going to need more time before getting back to work?

“Let’s talk about how you’re feeling, Drake. You saved two people yesterday.”

“But I let her die. Isn’t that what you’re thinking?”

Isolde didn’t ask who he was talking about. She knew perfectly well that Drake was talking about the crash that took place six years earlier―a smaller cable car, running along a different peak.

She looked down at the pen and notepad on her desk, but didn’t write anything down.

“You can’t save everyone, Drake.”

“I know that,” he said impatiently.