Page 11 of Untamed Mountain Man

“My seats can handle a little water.”

Macy looked down at her clothes again, and the move made me wonder if I was talking her into doing something that made her uncomfortable. But when she lifted her head, she wore a smile. It wasn’t just any smile, either. It was the smile of someone who was excited by the thought of what she was about to do.

Bundle of clothes and all, she climbed into the truck, closing the door behind her. That left me standing outside, wondering if I should wait to get in. It felt like I needed to give her time to get settled and comfortable.

Finally, I headed to my door and opened it, taking a deep breath before climbing in. This was either about to be the most exciting thing that had ever happened to me or the most frustrating. I couldn’t wait to see which it would be.

5

MACY

“I’m a virgin.”

I blurted that out before I could talk myself out of it. Beau had barely climbed into the truck, but my words froze his movements. He didn’t look over at me right away, though. Instead, he stared straight forward, as though thinking through what I’d just said.

“It wasn’t really intentional,” I said. “It’s not that I don’t believe in sex or anything. I just…well, guys never really paid much attention to me until recently, and now I’m not sure what to do with the attention.”

Now he looked over at me, and in that look, it occurred to me that I wasn’t covering my chest anymore. I’d settled my clothes in my lap and stared straight ahead at the pond as I waited for him to get in. Until now, it hadn’t even occurred to me that I should cover myself.

Yeah, something weird was definitely happening to me. It was like twenty-three years of holding myself back had caught up with me in one short evening.

“I mean, when you saw me at the bar, were you thinking about having sex with me?” I asked.

I dared to look at him, and that was when I saw the hardened features. Was he mad? His eyes were so intense, it was harder than usual to figure out what was going on in that mind of his.

“Of course,” he said. “But it’s not just that. I mean, you’re naked in my truck. I’d be lying if I said that it’s not taking every bit of willpower I have not to touch you. But just talking to you…well, it’s different from anything I’ve ever experienced. It’s more than your body and your fucking amazing good looks. It’s your personality. It’s who you are.”

My eyes widened. He probably would be surprised if I told him that was the most romantic thing anybody had ever said to me. And it wasn’t just because very few romantic things had ever been said to me. His words had gone straight to my heart. They’d planted themselves deep.

“I feel the same about you,” I said.

That was cheesy. I should come up with something original, but it was the God’s-honest truth.

“The fact that you were game for hopping in that pond with me makes me like you all that much more,” I said.

I smiled and looked out at the water that had chilled me to the bone. It’d seemed like a good idea at the time, but no matter how much the thought of him naked warmed me inside, it wasn’t enough to thaw the block of ice my body had become. No, only the heat now blasting through the vent in the floorboard of this truck could do that.

“But getting naked and hopping into a body of water, was that new to you?” he asked.

That was a good question. “Not really. I mean, I’m not a prude or anything, but getting naked in front of a guy is new.”

His eyebrows arched. We were both still staring out at the water, but I could easily track his expressions out of the corner of my eye. I wasn’t sure what he was surprised about until he spoke.

“So, you’re a streaker?” he asked.

I frowned. “What’s a streaker?”

“Someone who takes all their clothes off and runs around. I guess that’s a term your generation doesn’t use.”

“I’m only twenty-three. I’m not that much younger than you.”

“But a different generation,” he pointed out. “I’m thirty-five, and if you’d asked me a couple of days ago, I would have said I’d never have anything in common with a woman in her twenties. I didn’t think I’d have this kind of…”

He hesitated, and I held my breath, eager to hear what he’d say next. Emotional connection. That’s what I’d call it. But I’d always been wise beyond my years. If I had a dime for every time my friends told me to lighten up when I was a teenager, I’d have a lot of money.

And they still said it to this day. I was the woman people told to smile in a social situation because I was normally standing back, people-watching.

“Connection,” he finally said. “I never would have thought I’d have this kind of connection with someone so much younger than me. Even when I was your age, I didn’t meet women like you.”

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