Page 50 of Mountain Hero

“Yes.” I try to focus on his eyes and not the searing sensation of his hand on my leg. I try to concentrate on responding and not imagining his hand creeping upwards, moving to the apex of my thighs, stroking over my jeans, where a damp heat is building, before unbuttoning my jeans and slipping inside. “You’re right. It’s not the right place.”

His eyes are molten silver and twilight, his pupils dilating as he slowly inches his hand up my thigh. Then he stops. The muscles in his neck are strained. A muscle twitches in his jaw. “Would you like me to touch you here later? And maybe… more?”

Oh. Even his voice turns me on. “That would—” His finger grazes the fabric between my legs and I can’t contain the little gasp that slips out. “Yes. I would really like that.”

As I gaze at Enzo, everything else slips away. A bus-full of customers could come in and I wouldn’t notice.

With his other hand, he cups my cheek and captures my mouth with his. It’s tender at first, little nips and caresses. His thumb strokes the line of my jaw while he teases my lips open and dips inside.

Every touch is gentle and patient, never demanding or dominant. It’s a slow exploration, giving me every chance to slow things down or stop them.

I love the contradiction of him. His strength and intensity and innate aura of danger, but hidden inside is a sensitive and sweet man who would do anything to keep from hurting me.

We keep kissing, pent-up need rising to the surface. It’s like a balloon filled past capacity, ready to pop.

I didn’t think I could feel like this, especially after everything.

But I do. I want.

I want to close the store and go to the office and clear off the desk and?—

A chiming noise breaks into my fantasy, bringing me rudely back to reality.

It’s the stupid sensor at the front door—which I thought was great when I got here this morning but now want to throw something heavy at it.

Enzo pulls away from me, casting me a quick, regretful look. He brushes his thumb across my lips and says in a tone low enough for only me to hear, “We can continue this later. Okay?”

Slightly breathlessly, I nod at him. “Okay.”

Then Enzo turns his attention to the man standing just inside the store. With a smile, he says, “Max. How are you?”

The man—Max—chuckles before answering. “Not as good as you, I think.”

If Enzo wasn’t sitting beside me, smiling and completely at ease, I might be alarmed by Max’s appearance.

Max is huge. At least a few inches taller than Enzo’s six foot two, and his chest is easily twice as wide as me. Enzo is big and muscly and intimidating, but Max? He looks like he could eat someone my size for breakfast.

It’s not just his size that sets my alarm bells ringing. He’s wearing oil-stained jeans and a worn T-shirt with several small holes in it. His features are all harsh lines and edges, and his eyes are so dark they look like chips of coal.

Yes. I know I’m judging this guy based solely on his appearance. But knowing I shouldn’t doesn’t make the anxious feeling in my stomach go away.

Enzo must sense my discomfort, because he reaches over and catches my hand. He gives it a reassuring squeeze and tugs me a little closer to him, then says, “I’m doing pretty well. Business has been good. How’s everything down at the shop?”

Now at the counter, Max gives Enzo a kind of shoulder-clap greeting and a tiny chin lift. “Can’t complain. Staying busy.” Then he smiles at me, and his entire demeanor changes. His features soften. His eyes warm, changing from coal to chocolate. Even his posture changes, relaxing into something more open and friendly.

“Hi. I’m Max.” Even his tone is gentle. He starts to hold out his hand, but hesitates, like he’s afraid of upsetting me, and now I feel like kind of a jerk.

“Hi.” I shove down my irrational fears and take his hand, giving it a quick shake. “I’m Winter.”

Enzo wraps his arm around me and kisses the top of my head. “Sorry, hun. I should have been quicker on the introductions. This is Max Ellicott. He owns Ellicott’s Engines, the repair shop in town.” To Max, he adds, “And this is Winter Clarke. My girlfriend.”

My heart stutters. He’s never called me his girlfriend before.

“Nice to meet you, Winter.” Max holds my gaze for a second; long enough for me to know he’s nothing like the intimidating figure he presents. His lips quirk. “I went to high school with Enzo. So if you ever want to hear any embarrassing stories about him, let me know. Like this one time, when we were on the way back from a game, and?—”

“Ah, I don’t think we need to talk about that right now,” Enzo interjects, trying to hide a smile.

“Later,” Max agrees amiably. “You want to get together and have some beers, play some pool… you know I’m around.” And then he exchanges a quick look with Enzo that tells me Mrs. Adamson isn’t the only one who knows all about Thomas.

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