Page 8 of Chased By the Mountain Man

She smiles, those pouty lips curving upward in a way that makes my heart thump.

“It’s okay,” she says brightly. “I’ve just got a lot of nervous energy right now, so I’d feel better if I was doing something.”

I nod. “You really want to grate the cheese?”

“You bet.”

I grab the grater and hand it to her. “Go nuts.”

“Thanks.” She grins and starts grating enthusiastically while I drain the spaghetti and stir it in with the meatballs and sauce.

“It’s my grandma’s meatball recipe,” I say as I plate up our dinner. “She’s a damn good cook.”

“Seems like you inherited her talent,” Jasmine says. “It smells gorgeous.”

I carry our plates to the table while Jasmine brings in the grated cheese, and we sit across from each other, tucking into our food. I take a bite before I’m immediately distracted by Jasmine’s knee bumping against mine beneath the table. I suck in a breath, nearly choking on my spaghetti, but luckily she doesn’t notice.

“Wow,” she says, lifting her fingers to her mouth and giving an exaggerated chef’s kiss, “these are the best meatballs I’ve ever tasted.” She beams at me. “Tell the chef I’m very impressed.”

My lips twitch. She’s so fucking cute. Despite the shitty day she’s had, she’s still smiling, her face lit up like sunshine.

“The chef did okay,” I tell her. “But personally I think the grated cheese is the star of the show.”

“Oh, absolutely!” Jasmine exclaims with a laugh. “Whoever grated this cheese deserves some kind of cheese-grating award.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of a Nobel prize.”

“I like your thinking.” She lifts her fork to her mouth like it’s a microphone. “Congratulations Jasmine Phillips, winner of the Nobel cheese-grating prize!”

“Cheers to that.”

Jasmine spears a meatball onto her fork and holds it in front of her. I do the same and we bump them together like they’re champagne glasses.

“Cheers!” she says, before taking a bite out of her meatball, her green eyes glittering.

I feel like there’s something bright and golden running through my veins, and every time Jasmine flashes that pretty pink smile in my direction, it only gets stronger. It’s like I’m drunk on this sweet girl, my heart soaring higher with every laugh, every smile, every look. Now and then her leg brushes against mine beneath the table, and even the tiniest nudge is enough to make my cock harden. I can’t help it. She’s so beautiful, so deliciously curvy, that I’m amazed I haven’t come in my pants like a damn teenager just from looking at her.

“Can I ask you something?” Jasmine asks once we’ve finished the spaghetti and made a start on our cheesecake.

We’ve kept things light all through our meal, but something in her tone tells me she’s about to ask something more personal. Instantly, I’m wary. I never open up about shit to anybody, and as the saying goes, old habits die hard.

“Yes,” I say, trying not to let my apprehension show. It’s not Jasmine’s fault I’m such a grumpy, secretive guy.

“You know the medals on the mantel?” she asks tentatively. “Are they yours?”

“Yes.”

“So you’re in the military?”

“I was. Not anymore.”

Something anxious is clawing at my chest. I don’t like where this is heading. Jasmine’s eyes flicker to my scar, a quick blink-and-you’ll-miss-it glance. But I don’t want to talk about that. I don’t want to make her feel sorry for me or let her see what a fucking mess I am. I don’t want her to know about all the ugliness inside me, the bad memories that I spend my days fighting down. If Jasmine’s a ray of sunshine, then I’m a gray cloud, and the last thing I want is to darken her light with all the shit I’m carrying around inside me.

Jasmine seems to sense she’s hit a nerve, and she immediately changes the subject, asking about life on Snowfall Ridge and what it’s like living up so high. I’m grateful that she didn’t push for more answers, and not for the first time, I’m struck by the urge to pull her into my arms and hold her tight. I want those gorgeous curves pressed against me, her head on my chest as I lean down and smell her chocolate brown hair. I want to lose myself in this beautiful girl and let the whole world melt away.

“What about you?” I ask once I’ve told her a little about Snowfall Ridge. “What do you do at the bank?”

“Data entry.” She makes a face. “It’s as boring as it sounds.”

---