Page 8 of Owned In Misty Mountain

His chest is against mine.

His thigh brushes between mine.

And he smells like sawdust, man, and the exact kind of mistake I want to make.

“You okay?” he asks, voice rougher now.

I can only nod, breathless and speechless.

That gets a twitch of his mouth—something close to a smile.

Then I don’t know who leans in first.

But suddenly we’re closer.

Breathing the same air.

And his gaze drops to my mouth like he’s thinking about tasting it.

He blinks hard. Takes a step back.

“Be careful.”

Then he turns and stalks off like he didn’t just cradle me like I was something precious.

Like I’m not already soaked and throbbing in every spot that counts.

I stare after him, heart racing, legs shaking, absolutely ruined.

Five

Mike

I shouldn’t be here.

Social gatherings and small talk aren’t my thing. But when your oldest friend invites you over to say thanks for fixing up town property, you show up.

Especially when his niece—the one you’re not supposed to want—might be here.

I’m near the edge of the yard, drink in hand, trying to keep my eyes off her.

It’s not working.

She’s in a sundress.

Floral, clingy, soft.

Her curls are down tonight, catching the sunlight.

And every time she laughs, something low and primal wakes up in my chest.

I watch her from behind the rim of my plastic cup.

She’s with a group of women—one I recognize as her cousin, Eddie’s kid. All of them, loud.

And I can’t look away.

She doesn’t know I’m watching.

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