Page 9 of How to Wed a Mountain Man

“How many are you thinking?”

She laughs softly. “Why, is that going to be a dealbreaker?”

“It might be if you tell me you want ten of ’em.”

Another laugh, a little louder this time. “No, I was picturing two or three at most.”

“Okay.”

“What do you mean, okay? You’re suddenly okay with it?”

“I’m open to it,” I say, catching her eyes in the moonlit dark. “I’m feeling more open by the second.”

A smile slowly blooms across her pretty lips. “So…when are we going to get married? Are you going to make us wait until your next scheduled trip into town?”

I laugh under my breath. “We can talk about it in the morning.”

She sighs. “I don’t know how I’m going to get back to sleep.”

Something in her voice undoes me completely. I can’t stand it any longer. The wanting burns through every scrap of self-control I’ve got left, leaving me raw with need.

In the darkness, I find her lips with mine, and everything else falls away.

6

PAIGE

I’d made up my mind about Hawk when he’d shown me around his workshop. Even with the uncertainty about children hanging over us, I knew he was the man for me. And our dinner tonight only reinforced those feelings. We have something real, Hawk and I. We’ve just had to push through some awkwardness to get there.

Now, in the darkness of the bedroom, there's nothing awkward between us at all. Hawk’s lips part against mine and I sink into his kiss, losing myself in the heat and strength of it. His tongue slides against mine, tasting and exploring, claiming my mouth with the command of a man who knows what he wants.

Everything about his kiss turns me on. My nipples pebble, my inner thighs go warm. My pussy aches with desperate need. My mind has turned to fuzz except for a single thought, and that thought is about how badly I want him. All of him.

I press myself against the huge man I’m sharing a bed with, and his hard-on throbs between us like it’s about to explode. Hawk groans against my mouth, and when I slide a hand between us to touch him, he curses, an expletive that gives me a little thrill,knowing that a simple touch from me can make him feel that good.

I wrap my hand around his cock, amazed at how thick he is. One long stroke up and down draws another curse from his lips.

“Paige…” he groans. “Honey…”

And then Hawk’s hand is sliding down my stomach, slipping into my panties. His fingers find my clit wet and warm. I inhale a sharp breath as he starts to stroke the swollen nub, his pace matching mine as I move my hand up and down his cock.

We breathe harder. We thread our legs together. We increase our pace, stroking, stroking, stroking…

“Fuck.” Hawk’s jaw tightens, his fingers stuttering on my clit. And then, with a hard jerk of his hips against my hand, he comes. Warm, sticky cum splashes everywhere—on his stomach, on my hand, on the sheets. One huge spurt, and then another. It’s so hot that it tips me over the edge, too. My thighs clamp around Hawk’s hand as he struggles to keep rubbing me, a high moan falling from my lips as I come.

I feel like I’m in a drunken daze as we both catch our breath, the warmth of the room and the orgasm he just gave me tugging me back into sleep. I’m only vaguely aware of Hawk sliding out of bed to clean himself up, and then of him sliding back into bed and pulling me into his arms. The kiss he presses to my forehead feels like the sweetest, softest thing. I tilt my chin up, wanting one of those kisses on my lips, too.

But I fall asleep before his lips can reach mine.

The next morning, I wake later than usual. Flashes of last night flicker through my mind, and I reflexively reach out for Hawk. But my hands only find empty bedsheets, and when I blink awake, I confirm, disappointingly, that I’m alone.

A knot forms in my stomach. Shit. What if Hawk regrets what happened between us? What if letting his guard down, letting me in, was too much for him? I push myself up, trying to shake off the worry, and pad out to the kitchen in search of him.

The cabin is eerily quiet. No coffee brewing, no dishes in the sink, no sign that Hawk’s been through here at all this morning. The kitchen looks exactly as we left it after dinner last night. My chest tightens as I scan the entryway—his boots are gone.

I move to the window, scanning the yard toward his workshop. A thin curl of smoke rises from the wood stove’s chimney, and light glows in the windows. He’s out there, just like every other morning.

But something about this feels different. Wrong.

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