Page 12 of The Mountains Edge

"The finish is original," I say, desperate for safe topics. "We'll need to match it exactly."

"How?"

I pull out my grandfather's recipe book. The leather's worn soft with age.

Her eyes light up. "Family secrets?"

"Five generations worth."

She takes it reverently, fingers tracing the handwritten notes. "Thank you for sharing this with me."

The simple sincerity in her voice undoes me. "Christ you are killing me."

She stands before me, head tilting back, as she tries to look me in the eyes. Her body is open for the taking and she has made it clear she wants me. So, what the hell is holding me back?

"I see you, Marcus Steel." Her eyes meet mine as she points her finger into my chest as if to make a point. "The real you. Under the scars and the growling and the self-imposed exile. I see the man who rescues dogs and checks on furniture and carries his grandfather's secrets."

My chest aches. "You see what you want to see."

"No." She steps closer and stands on tip toes. "I see what you try to hide. The artist. The protector. The man who kisses like he's dying of thirst."

Heat floods my veins. "Don't."

"Why? Because it's true?" She winds her arms around my neck. "Because you felt it too?"

"Daisy." Final warning.

"Marcus." Challenge accepted.

She's too close. That vanilla scent surrounds me, mixed with wood and chemicals and woman. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown wide.

"Please," she whispers.

I break.

My hands cup her face, thumbs stroking her cheeks. But I don't kiss her. Just hold her there, foreheads touching, breathing her air.

"You make me want impossible things," I confess roughly.

"Nothing's impossible." Her fingers curl in my shirt. "Just improbable."

"This can't—"

A truck door slams outside.

We spring apart as Jake's voice carries through the night. "Marcus? You here? We've got a situation."

Daisy swears creatively.

"Stay here," I order, already moving to the door.

"Like hell."

I'm gone before she can follow, the taste of almost on my tongue. Some things are better left as maybes. Even if they taste like coming home.

Chapter 9: Marcus

Ijust couldn’t sleep. Jake and I had spent the last four hours setting traps for the wolves that had started to wander into the camping grounds. Its better to catch it and release them back deep in the woods, then have a camper injured.

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