Page 8 of Merciless Mountain Man

“Yes,” I said. “Let’s do this.”

5

CASSADY

Let’s do this.

Those three words signaled a turning point in my life. It was like I was standing at a crossroads. Did I go left or right?

Left was the safe road. I’d laugh off the whole conversation, and he’d go along with it. We’d finish our meal, pay our respective checks, and go on our way.

Maybe he’d ask me on a date. We could do things the old-fashioned way—dinner, maybe a movie. He’d slowly, eventually, kiss me. Or maybe he’d do that on the first date. But it would be a gradual build toward the big moment—toward actually getting naked with him.

I’d already seen him naked, though. And that was where this new side of me came out. That was the other road. The road where I explored where things with my sexy mountain man would go.

No, I’d never been much for taking the ordinary path. I also didn’t shy away from adventure. The only exception was my lack of sexual experience at twenty-three years of age. But a big partof the reason I was still a virgin was that I had never met anyone exciting enough.

This guy was exciting.

“You know what?” I asked. “If I won’t be driving anytime soon, I’m going to get a margarita.”

He looked over at me, surprised. Was it that I was ordering a drink? Or that I was taking him up on his offer?

“Drive?” he asked.

“I figure you’re taking me back to your place,” I said.

But then my gaze landed on his drink. A guy like him could probably handle one without it affecting him. Still…

“Maybe we shouldn’t drive at all,” I said.

The wheels of my mind were turning. I could say it was about drinking and driving, but really, what I was thinking was that going home with him would be ordinary.

Of course, we’d have a drink at a bar and go back to his place. We’d have sex in his bed. And if I was lucky, we’d fall asleep in each other’s arms. We’d both have to get up early and go to work in the morning.

It would all be so…ordinary.

“You think we can get two drinks to go?” I asked.

“Only if we say we’re not going to take them beyond the lobby.”

The message was clear. This guy didn’t need to know where we were going with the drinks.

Dane lifted his finger to summon the bartender, who came over. He didn’t ask any questions, just poured a gin and tonic and margarita into foam cups, added lids and straws, and handed them over.

Dane insisted on paying the entire bill. And when I got a look at what he wrote on it, I got why the bartender didn’t ask questions. The tip Dane left was more than generous, which nodoubt was what the bartender was hoping for when he turned the other way while we headed out with our to-go cups.

“Let’s take a stroll around the property,” I said as we exited the restaurant.

Stroll? Had I actually said stroll? That was not a word I normally used. But I was lucky I was able to talk, I was so nervous.

“Stroll?” he asked.

“Walk,” I corrected. “It’s a beautiful night for a walk, right?”

I was right about that. We stepped out into perfect weather. There was a light breeze, but it was warm, and the air kept it from being unbearably hot like it would be in a few weeks. It was the perfect night for a stroll. Or a walk. Or whatever else we were going to do in the next half hour or so.

“Do you ski?” he asked.

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