Page 4 of Whispers on the Mountain

There's not a ring on her finger yet. Whoever the asshole is, he's dragged his heels too long. He should have locked this little mountain sprite down the moment he saw her because now that I've found her, there's no way in hell I'm about to let her get away.

"Nice to meet you, Miss Hart." I find my voice, and my manners, while fighting my way out of those amber-flecked eyes, "Care to share what you're doing up here that couldn't be done three hundred yards farther downhill?"

Gesturing at the basket slung over her arm, I ask the question that's third on the list of things I want to know about her.

The first two being who does that shirt belong to and why was he stupid enough to let you out of his sight, but I like the way her pouty lips look every time she smiles up at me, so I'm not about to remind her of any reason she might have to stop doing it.

She laughs at me, the noise coming out as part squeak and part gasp that has my dick thickening against my thigh despite my best efforts not to imagine all other ways I could make her make that sound.

"Miss Hart--" she scoffs, rolls her eyes, and flutters her lashes at me, "please. Zephyr."

"August--"

"-- Damiani."

I swear to God she sighs on my last name and that's all it takes for my dick to grow uncomfortably hard.

"Have we met?" I genuinely wrack my brain.

I've only gone into Moonshine Ridge a handful of times to supplement my groceries from the little general store there between my monthly trips down to the big stores in Slow River.

How is it possible that I'd have crossed paths with this exquisite creature before and not remembered?

Her fingers fiddle with the sleeve of the over-size flannel where the handle of the basket loops over her arm.

That could be the reason. If I'd met her when she was out with her boyfriend, she might not have registered. Especially if he's big enough to actually fit in that shirt.

I'm not a small man, but I doubt I'd fill that thing out completely.

"Uh, no, not really," she answers on a shy note. I like the bright pink blush that colors her cheeks as well as her cleavage. "But you know, Moonshine Ridge is really small, so..."

Well, at least my dick isn't trying to strangle me anymore. Hearing that she knows me by reputation works faster than a bucket of ice water.

I've heard the whispers making the rounds of the small-town rumor mill down in Moonshine Ridge. I know what they're saying about me; the reason why I'm a recluse, hiding out in an abandoned village an hour from my nearest neighbor.

"And what about the flowers, Zephyr?" Steering the conversation off of me and whatever lies have already poisoned her mind against me, I ask about the basket on her arm again.

Up close, I can see that she's not merely picking wildflowers for a bouquet to brighten someone's kitchen table, she's been carefully digging them up as entire plants.

"I'm harvesting them for my garden," she explains. "Most of these will last into the fall if I transplant them into the greenhouse, but some of them will go in the big garden outside."

Tearing my gaze off her is hard, almost painful, she's like a wildflower herself, one that I'd like to harvest and transplant for myself. Watch her bloom in the privacy of my home and bury my nose in her petals to breathe her sweet fragrance every day.

This side of the hill is bare of trees, all open meadow down to the lake shore. Flowers just like the ones in her basket brighten the land in every direction right to the edge of the water.

"And the reason you needed to harvest plants from this side of the no trespassing signs?"

That blush colors her skin again and she gives me a sweet smile that's laced with naughtiness.

"I was hoping I might run into you," she admits with a quick shrug like it takes effort for her to come off as casual.

Insane thoughts take hold of me: I could steal her off this mountain right now, take her up to the house, burn that shirt, and spend the rest of my life making her forget whatever she left behind.

The way her nipples strain against that yellow fabric as she stares up at me through thick, dusty lashes tells me I have a very good chance at getting away with it too.

3

ZEPHYR

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