Page 5 of Whispers on the Mountain

Augustus Damiani glares at me and it's even better than I imagined it would be.

My insides turn to jelly and leak into my panties.

What are the odds that he'd be willing to help me out with the v-card problem? Because now that I've had a chance to meet him in real life like this? I'm even more convinced he's my number one pick.

I have to stop thinking about that. I have to stop thinking about him doing that. It's making me delirious and I'm likely to end up doing something so embarrassing-- like literally throwing myself at him.

I've been crushing on guys since I was eleven but this is the first time I've met a guy that made me understand what it means to feel your clit throb just by being close to him. I think I'm sweating; I feel hot. And kinda itchy.

It's probably just the warm afternoon sun. I'm being ridiculous. But I do have to get Hayle's shirt off of me, pronto.

"Do you mind?" I hand the basket over to August, and strip the old flannel off like it's a wool blanket. "Thanks, it was too hot for the shirt," I force an innocent smile, hoping he's not onto me as I reach to take my basket of plants back from him.

He doesn't hand it over. That discerning glare that has me in knots deepens and he watches me fold the old shirt over my arm with a frown like it insulted his mother.

"Nice flannel," he says in a tone that makes it clear he doesn't mean it.

"Huh? Oh...uh. It's my brother's," I stare at the blue and tan plaid laid over my arm in confusion, then up at August's dreamy dark eyes as I watch them soften as those sinful lips slide back into a smile.

"I can take the basket back," I offer again, holding my hand out for it and making the huge mistake of brushing against him.

"Whoa, you okay?"

Augustus Damiani is holding my hand.

I am both very much okay and not at all okay. I think I literally swooned when I felt those rock-hard abs against the back of my hand as he pulled my flower basket farther from me. Now he's got a firm grip on my hand and I'm sure he thinks he's holding me up but honestly, he's keeping me from floating away.

"Zephyr?"

This is a new tone for that silky, dark chocolate voice of his. A new look in those hauntingly deep brown eyes.

"Baby, you don't have any water in your basket. When was the last time you drank water?"

He sounds worried. Is he feeling protective? He called me baby.

"I have a bottle in my car for when I get back." I point in the general direction of where I left my car parked down by the lake.

"Come on, let's go take care of you."

August's arm wraps around me and I shamelessly take full advantage of the opportunity to lean into his body as he steers me up the private road that leads to into the Turtle Dam ghost town.

There are so many rumors going around the Ridge about this man, I can't keep track of them all, but one thing everyone agrees on it that he's hiding from something-- and that he's dangerous.

Gran told me he's a mafia hit man. That he's hiding out up here while he waits for heat to die down before he can go back to the city.

Then, when I was refilling the bouquets that Alice McAllister sells for me at her store, Alice said Gran has it all wrong and that August is hiding from the crime family he betrayed and that he's in the witness relocation program.

Terra said that Hawk ran a background check on August when he showed up in town and that he really is just an electrical engineer, working for the power plant. No exciting criminal ties but a couple of fancy degrees from a college back east.

Whatever the truth about Augustus Damiani is, I am one hundred percent into these daddy vibes he's putting off as he walks me into a big house at one end of the small village that's now nothing but abandoned houses and empty stores.

"Sit," he orders, pulling a chair away from a heavy, wooden table that sits between the kitchen and the living room.

"Drink."

A glass of cool water from a filtered pitcher in the fridge gets set in front of me.

I'm not even thirsty-- August stands across the kitchen from me and leans back against the counter, crossing his arms and then his ankles as he levels a stern gaze at me and waits for me to down the water-- well, not thirsty for water, that is.

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