Page 6 of Redemption in Misty Mountain

It’d be so easy to fall back in love with this man.

“There you go.” He clears his throat, breaking the spell. “I’ll grab you a clean shirt from my bag and light a fire on this thing.” He stands and puts a hand on the fireplace’s mantel.

“A fire would be nice, but I’ve got clothes,” I murmur, forcing my voice to stay even. “I have my gym bag in my car.”

I start to push up. But before I can so much as lift myself off the couch, Dawson’s hand is on my shoulder, firm and steady, pressing me back down.

“I’ll get it,” he says, voice low, leaving no room for argument. A slow smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t want to risk you seeing some kind of bear or maybe a cougar you want to save.”

Just like that, the spell is broken. “Don’t be an asshole.”

CHAPTER 5

DAWSON

Two hours later,I’ve made the most of my unexpected alone time in the inn’s kitchen. The fridge is stocked like someone was planning to ride out the apocalypse here.

The shelves are packed with fresh produce, expensive cheeses, and even a bottle of white wine with a label so fancy I have to squint at it. I’m not much of a wine guy, but I know enough to guess Rosalie picked it out. She’s always had good taste in wine… and in bras.

Tracing the lines of her cleavage on the couch was the best kind of torture. It took two cold showers to get over the tingles it sent whipping across my body. If I don’t get it out of my head, I’m going to need another.

I shake off the thought and focus on the pan in front of me, tossing in another handful of freshly grated parmesan. The upside to trying to win back my ex-wife is that I already know all the tricks in the book. I haven’t seen much of her in the last two hours, but if there’s anything that’ll lure her out of her room, it’s pasta.

Back when we were married, I never cooked for her. Not once. I was too busy, too distracted, and too convinced otherthings mattered more. But after I lost her, I made it my mission and learned how to do it right.

Tonight I needed something rich and indulgent. My goal was to figure out what she’d close her eyes for on the first bite. The answer was right in front of me… garlic, butter, and parmesan.

The pasta’s done, the chicken’s nearly seared to perfection, and the air is thick with the scent. It’s a damn masterpiece. I let it simmer for just a minute longer to give the sauce time to do its thing.

In the meantime, I scoop a few tiny bites of chicken into a dish for my reluctant dinner companion. With a sigh, I carry it into the lobby. “Come on, cat, order’s up.”

Silence… Figures.

I scan the room, spotting the little devil’s glowing eyes from beneath the couch. I crouch down, then decide to fully commit. Stretching out on my stomach, I rest my chin on my forearm and lock eyes with him. His pupils narrow into slits, his ears flatten.

I smirk. “What, you don’t like hot chicken on a cold day? You wanted to starve up there on that icy branch?”

He responds with a low, rattling hiss. I throw one right back, a quiet, mocking sound through my teeth. “You're lucky I’m feeding you at all. I haven’t forgotten what you did to my girl. Eat your damn chicken.”

A pause.

Then, like the spiteful little bastard he is, his tiny paws shoot forward. Before I can react, sharp teeth sink right into the top of my hand.

“Son of a—” I yank back with a yelp, barely avoiding smacking my head on the coffee table. “You're a real asshole, you know that?”

By the time I recover, he’s already snatched the chicken and retreated into the shadows, probably smug as hell about it. I glare at the darkness under the couch, flexing my hand.

A soft crunch echoes back at me and I turn to see Rosalie and get to my feet. She’s got all my attention. She stands in the doorway, bathed in the soft glow of the inn’s lighting. She’s a vision wrapped in tight, black spandex that clings to every inch of her curves. The woman is all thick thighs and soft hips. Her tank top hugs just enough to make my brain short-circuit.

“Are you fighting with the kitty?” She arches a brow in my direction.

“He started it.”

Her lips twitch, but she doesn’t smile. And damn, I want to be the guy that makes her.

“Come on, I made you dinner.”

I push open the kitchen door and let my hand settle against the small of her back as she steps inside. It’s just a light, barely there touch, but through the thin fabric of her workout top, the warmth of her skin seeps into my palm. I force myself to ignore it.

---