Page 11 of Chiseled Mountain Man

I pulled my worktable in front of me and grabbed a small block of wood. I kept plenty of them around—scraps from my day’s work. This would be the perfect size for what I planned to do.

But then I looked at her and questioned all of this. What if it didn’t live up to her expectations? Did she have expectations? I was basically carving her nude, but curves only. I wouldn’t be adding nipples or any other details.

“Do you want me to take something off?” she asked. “Would that help?”

Her question drew my attention back to her face. I’d been looking down at the block, thinking through what I was going todo, but now I could only stare at her. Had she just offered what I thought?

“You’re not wearing layers,” I said.

Was I blowing this? I should have just said yes. Jump on the opportunity when it was presented to me. What was wrong with me?

“I know.” She looked down. “But this blouse is kind of loose-fitting. It’s hard to see what’s under there, right?”

She was right about that. When I’d first met her, she’d worn running gear, and it had all been form-fitting. Her curves were highlighted perfectly. That image was imprinted on my brain. But yes, if I had only the blouse she wore now to go by, I’d be at a loss. My imagination would have to do a lot of the heavy lifting.

“Maybe if I just show some cleavage,” she said.

She set the glass on the shelf next to her—a shelf that held several of my carvings—and reached for the top button of her shirt. My dick immediately jumped to life.

I should say no. A gentleman would say no, right? And a good host would put her comfort first. Sitting there with her shirt half undone would definitely not be comfortable, but it would make me just about the happiest guy on Earth.

I should look away, act like this was no big deal. But I couldn’t. I was staring like a teenager who’d never seen a woman unbutton her blouse before. I had to force my jaw to stay in place to avoid gaping at her like a moron.

The top button was already undone, but she kept her gaze down as she went for the second one, then the third. By the fourth button, serious cleavage was showing. I could even see that she wore a gray bra.

“More?” she asked, lifting her head.

Now my mouth fell open. I had to force my eyes to stay on her face, but I was definitely checking her out in my peripheral vision. The woman had the largest breasts I’d ever seen inperson, including the strip clubs I was dragged to with friends in my younger years. Watching women take their clothes off for tips had never been my thing.

Thiswas my thing. This gorgeous woman showing me so much of her body. Of course, she wasn’t completely naked. In fact?—

“It’s nothing more than what you’d show if you were at the beach,” I said with a shrug. “Or hanging out at the swimming pool.”

She laughed. “Yeah, cleavage-wise, you’re right, but my bathing suit is a modest one-piece. But, you know, you make a good point.”

And then, without further comment, she started unbuttoning the rest of her blouse. I hadn’t expected that to happen. Not in my wildest dreams would I have imagined something I’d say would make this beautiful woman bare more of her body.

Guys worked for years to refine their pickup game, and I didn’t care anything about any of that. What I did care about was making sure this woman felt safe and comfortable. That was far more important than seeing her naked, and seeing her naked was pretty damn important.

“Wait!” I said. “I don’t want you to think that I expect this.”

Her fingers stopped moving over the buttons. I wanted to take back my words, if only to get those fingers moving again. But that was my body doing the talking. My brain knew this was the right thing to do.

“I don’t want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable,” I said. “I can carve just fine without.”

As if to demonstrate, I turned to grab some tools from the table behind me. When I flipped back around, her hands were on her lap and she looked hurt.

Oh crap, I’d been the one to cause that pain. That was the last thing I’d ever want to do. I scrambled for a way to make it right.

“I suck at this,” I said. I closed my eyes for a second, then opened them again. “I told you I’ve been living up here alone a while. But I was never really all that good at getting women into bed. I hated the whole game of it all. I just wanted a woman I could be open and honest with.”

Her expression changed then, softening considerably. The pain seemed to disappear from her eyes. That was a good sign.

“I’ve never done any of this,” she said. “I’ve had men try to pick me up, but not anyone I’d even consider sleeping with. I feel like I’ve spent my whole life waiting for something.”

She didn’t say more. But what I wanted to hear was that she’d spent her whole life waiting to meet me. It was too early for that, though.

Was that how I felt? The more I thought about it, the more I decided, yes, it was. I’d waited my whole life to meet Bronte. The funny thing was, I didn’t even know her last name, but I was sure she was the woman for me.

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