Page 10 of Connecting with the Mountain Man

I snort, trying to play it off, but my heart’s still doing the damn cha-cha in my chest. “I’m not hovering.”

“You are.” He tightens the wrench, biceps flexing, and I forget how to think.“I can feel you burning a hole through my back.”

Yeah. Because I’m two seconds away from combusting.

But sure, let’s pretend I’m just keeping tabs on the plumbing.

The thing is I can’t pretend that I don’t notice that he isn’t making eye contact. Granted he’s busy but still something in me tells me there’s something off with Silas. And as soon as my vagina stops throbbing, I should ask him. I clench my legs tighter, my panties soaked as I tell myself to stop.

I push off the counter, stepping closer until I’m right behind him. My knee almost brushes his broad shoulder. “Silas.”

Still nothing.

Okay. Fine. He wants to play this game, I’ll play.

I crouch down beside him, balancing on my heels. He’s still focused on the pipes, but I’m close enough to see the crease in his brow—the tight line of his jaw.

The second I crouch down next to him, I regret it.

Not because I don’t want to be close to him. Oh no. It’s because being this close to Silas Matthews isdangerous.

His scent wraps around me like a damn chokehold—pine, sawdust, and whatever sinful soap he uses that smells like pure, unfiltered man.It makes my thighs clench involuntarily, and I swear my vagina sits up and waves.

Calm down, girl.

He’sunder the sink,fixing a leak, and I’m sitting here practically ready to hump the kitchen counter.

I watch the way his arms flex, the veins in his hands standing out as he tightens the wrench. His knuckles brush against the bottom of the sink, and all I can think about is those huge, rough hands—so strong and capable.

What would those hands feel like on my thighs? Gripping my hips. Spreading me wide.

Fuck.

I cross my arms tightly over my chest aware that my nipples are erect, desperate to be touched.

“So,” I say, trying to sound casual and not like I’m two seconds away from throwing myself at him. “You’re going to pretend you’re not in some kind of mood today?”

His head barely lifts. “Not in a mood.”

Sure. And I’m not sitting here with my nipples hard enough to cut glass.

I shift slightly, and the movement draws his gaze—just for a second. Long enough for me to catch the flicker of something in his eyes before he locks it down.

He’soff.

I know Silas, and I know his grumpy moods better than anyone. This isn’t the usual irritation. This is different.

I lean closer, pretending I’m inspecting the pipes, as if I have any idea about what I’m looking at. Really, I’m just getting another lungful of him.

“You sure about that?” I press, my voice softer this time.

Nothing.

Just the faint scrape of metal against metal.

Alright. Fine.

I reach out without thinking, my hand brushing over his thick forearm, andthat—that gets a reaction.

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