Page 7 of The Mountains Edge

"Good." I turn to face him, bringing our bodies almost flush. "Maybe I think you've been alone long enough."

Something flares in his eyes, a hunger mixed with vulnerability and for a moment, I think he might kiss me.

A throat clears.

We jump apart. The other men are very deliberately not looking our way.

"Meeting adjourned," Jake announces, standing. "Before we see something we can't unsee."

They file out with knowing smirks, taking their dogs with them. The door closes behind them with a decisive click, leaving me alone with Marcus in my dark store. In the back room.

Yikes.

His grey eyes burn in the dim light. "You should go upstairs to bed."

"Should I?" I step closer.

His hands flex at his sides. "Daisy."

"Or," I say softly, "you could tuck me in?”

The tension crackles between us.

"No." He backs away, then he's gone, leaving me frustrated and tingling.

But there's always tomorrow night, and I'm very, very patient when I want something.

Or someone.

Chapter 7: Daisy

I've been rearranging the same stack of chairs for the past ten minutes, making room for Marcus to repair any of my furniture. I am aware of Marcus watching me. He thinks he's being stealthy, but I can feel those grey eyes burning into me every time I bend over.

That's why I wore the jean shorts.

"Are you going to lurk there all night," I say without looking up, "or actually help me move this furniture?"

"I’m assessing the space." His deep voice does wonders for my nether region.

I glance over my shoulder, catching him definitely not assessing the space. "And how's the view?"

He scowls, but I don't miss how his eyes drag over my legs. I may have borrowed one of his old flannel shirts I found in storage, rolling the sleeves and tying it at my waist. The way his jaw ticked when he saw me in it was worth every second of searching.

"Cluttered," he growls. "You're going to need to clear at least twenty square feet to work on these pieces properly."

"Good thing I have a big, strong mountain man to help me then."

The temperature in the room seems to spike.

Don’t touch the mountain man Daisy. Make him come to you.

"Tell me about when you made these pieces,” I ask, something so I can get my thoughts together.

"I’d rather hear about why you're really here." He moves to the antique dining table, his large hands skimming over the surface. Those fingers should be illegal. "This is a long way from Seattle."

"Keeping tabs on me?"

"Small town. People talk."

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