Page 6 of Claimed By 3 Mountain Men

The look in his eyes makes me catch my breath.

Fuck me.

I want him to.

God.

What is wrong with me?

“Do you like it?” he asks, leaning in a little too close. The scent of him wafts my way, it’s like he bottled up the natural forest and doused himself in it.

I nod with my mouth hanging open like some dumbstruck idiot. This is why you’ve never had a boyfriend, Mac. You have no game and are incapable of talking to the opposite sex.

“Good,” he chuckles, low and deep in his chest as he leans back. “My apologies. I didn’t catch your name.”

“Mac.”

“That’s an interesting name. Not what I expected.”

“Well, it’s short for Makawee. But Mac is what most people call me. My family’s Cheyenne.”

“Makawee,” he whispers, his voice slow and even. “I love it.”

“Really? Most people think it’s weird…”

“You don’t seem like the type to care much about what most people think,” he says, sipping his wine.

I blush for the one hundredth time, and his lips tip up in a smirk.

“So, Mac? What are you doing in the middle of nowhere?”

“Research. I’m a biologist. Nothing too exciting.”

“Try me.”

“No, really. It's boring. I study animals, flora and fauna, and I collect samples. Sometimes I stare at them under a microscope for hours on end. Real exciting stuff.”

He grins at me, “I think you’re selling yourself short there.”

My cheeks burn even hotter as I start to tell him about my research, my post doc project, and everything else that usually makes men’s eyes glaze over. But not Blue-Eyes. His focus is trained on me with genuine interest.

The rest of the flight flies by and before I know it, we’re starting our descent into a small airport.

“Welcome to Silver Ridge Please make sure your seat belts are fastened and all baggage is stowed away,” the pilot’s voice says over the intercom.

As the plane touches down, I can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment that our conversation is coming to an end. I know nothing about him, yet he knows all about me.

We disembark together, and he helps me with my carry-on, his touch warm and reassuring.

“So, where are you staying?” he asks as we walk through the small, quaint airport.

“I’ve got a room booked at the Silver Ridge Inn for the night, but I’ll spend most of my time at camp.”

“Well, since you’re new to town, it’d be my pleasure to show you around.”

“Really?”

Good. Nice going, Mac. I must sound like a dazed idiot.

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