Page 2 of Kissing the Wrong Mountain Man

Neatly-trimmed beard, check.

Brown hair, check.

Veryattractive, check, check, check.

"Why are the good ones always either taken or gay?" I mutter to myself as I put my glass down and make my way over to him.

The nerves jangling in my belly travel up to my chest, and I take a few discreet deep breaths. I'm a confident, intelligent, successful woman, but walking up to a man I've never met and greeting him like he's my boyfriend is a first.

Sabra's words from our phone call this morning echo in my head.

You can literally walk right up to him and hug him or even plant one on his lips. He is fine with it. Really.

Kissing a stranger? No way. Completely out of the question.

But I do need to make it look realistic, like we are actually a couple, so okay, maybe a hug. I hug readers at book signings all the time. This is just like that. Except this is one seriously gorgeous reader.

I get closer, and my heart starts hammering like rain on a tin roof. I chide myself for being ridiculous. The man is gay. This is a stunt. None of this is real. Pregnancy hormones must be messing with me.

I look to my right and lock eyes with Owen. His lips curl into a sneer when he sees me, and he says something to one of our friends. I know it's about me because when she turns around to look at me, she gives a weakwe just got busted talking about youwave.

My nerves vanish, replaced by blood-boiling anger. I'd heard Owen was badmouthing me to our friends, going around saying I got pregnant deliberately to force him into marrying me. Well, I'll show him.

I'll show them all.

I march right up to Magnus. He's leaning against the bar but straightens when he sees me coming in hot, and oh boy, if I thought he was attractive from across the room, up close, the man is nothing short of stunning.

The crisp, white shirt he's wearing brings out his olive complexion, and even his neatly trimmed beard can't hide the fact his face bone structure is practically architectural. His eyes are a rich shade of warm chocolatey brown withlonglashes. As a romance author, let me tell you, I'm an absolute goner for a man with long lashes.

"Hi," I say, staring up into those big, brown eyes.

"Hello." His voice is a deep, rich baritone, and it sends a shiver through me.

He's gay, he's gay, he's gay.

I quickly flick my gaze over to Owen, and yep, he's watching. I turn back to Magnus. "Thank you for doing this."

Before he can respond, I lift on my toes, tug on his shirt, and bring my lips to his. A weightless, bubbly sensation rushes through my veins, spreading throughout my entire body all the way from my head down to my tippy toes, which I'm currently on.

I could stop here.

Ishouldstop here.

If my point was to greet Magnus the way a girlfriend would greet her boyfriend, done. Mission achieved. Time to retreat.

But he smells so good, his lipsfeelso soft, and let's face it, when am I going to get the chance to kiss a hunk of a man like this again?

So I deepen the kiss, just a fraction.

I have no intention of mauling the guy or making a scene—public PDAs are kinda ew—but a few seconds of innocent tongue action isn't going to hurt anyone. Especially when his tongue is doingthingsto me. This man can kiss.

He's gay, he's gay, he's gay.

And with that sobering thought, I break apart.

I suppose I should check back in with Owen, revel in my triumph, but there's something about Magnus's eyes that holds me captive, making it impossible to look away.

"Thanks, I really appreciate that," I finally say. "I hope the kiss wasn't too much. I just saw my ex sneering at me as I walked over to you, and Sabra said you'd be cool with a kiss even though you're gay, so?—"

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