Page 4 of Owned In Misty Mountain

God help me.

He stood in front of me like a mountain.

Still. Silent. Intimidating.

I don’t know if he realizes it, but the entire energy in the room bent around him.

He didn’t even try.

Didn’t need to.

He just stared—those deep, unreadable eyes sweeping over me.

My hands shake as I close the back room door and make my way to the front of the library.

I need air. A drink. A time machine. Something.

Instead, I sink behind my desk and pretend I can focus on emails.

I click the same one open three times.

His voice is still ringing in my ears.

Low. Rough. That slight rasp at the edge. Like he’s used to barking orders and doesn’t know how to talk soft.

He said it’s Mike.

Not Mr. Costa. Just… Mike.

My fingers curl against the armrest.

I should’ve called him that.

I said, I’m glad it’s you, and meant it with my whole chest.

Because I am.

Even if every part of him is a reminder that I’m still a virgin, still way out of my depth, and still completely wrecked by a man I shouldn’t want.

He’s my uncle’s best friend.

He’s way too old.

Too big.

Too intense.

Too much.

And I want him anyway.

I click through emails like my hands aren’t shaking. Like I’m not already counting the hours until he comes back.

He said he’d be here tomorrow.

Which means I have one night to get myself together before he walks through that door again.

And I have no damn idea how I’m supposed to act normal around a man who makes me forget how to breathe.

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