Page 16 of Mountain Man's Curvy Girl

The room feels smaller all of a sudden, the air heavier. He doesn’t reach for the food. Instead, he leans back in his chair, his hands resting on the table as he studies me, his expression unreadable.

“You’re staying,” he says finally, his tone firm.

I blink, my fork halfway to my mouth. “What?”

“You’re staying,” he repeats, leaning forward now, his forearms braced on the table. “Here. With me. This is your home now.”

I stare at him, my heart pounding as I try to process his words. “Ethan, that’s—”

“Not up for debate,” he says, cutting me off. “I don’t want you going back to that house. Not when you could be here. Where you belong.”

My lips part, but no words come out. He’s looking at me like he’s daring me to argue, but the possessiveness in his voice—the conviction—it sends a thrill racing down my spine.

“You could at least pretend to ask,” I say finally, my voice a little breathless.

His lips curve into a faint smirk, and he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Why waste time? You’re mine, Chloe. End of story.”

My cheeks heat, and I look down at my plate, trying to hide the smile tugging at my lips. “You’re ridiculous,” I mutter.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice softer now. “But I’m not wrong.”

I glance up, and the intensity in his eyes takes my breath away. “You’re really serious about this?” I ask quietly.

“Dead serious,” he says, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “I want you here, Chloe. With me. Every day. Every night. Always.”

My chest tightens, and I feel a lump forming in my throat. I want to say yes—I want to throw myself into his arms and never look back—but the fear is still there, lingering at the edges.

“What if this doesn’t work?” I ask softly.

He stands then, rounding the table and pulling me to my feet. His hands cup my face, his thumb brushing against my cheek as he leans down, his lips a breath away from mine.

“It’ll work,” he says firmly. “Because I’ll make it work. I’ll do whatever it takes, Chloe. Just say yes.”

I swallow hard, my hands clutching at his waist as I look up at him. He’s so sure, so steady, and I feel the last of my doubts melting away.

“Yes,” I whisper. “I’ll stay.”

His lips crash into mine, and everything else fades away.

Chapter 17

Chloe

Moving day wasn’t supposed to look like this. In my head, I’d imagined something neat and organized—labelled boxes, a checklist, maybe a little celebration at the end of the day.

Instead, I’m sitting on Ethan’s oversized leather couch, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes, my hair in complete disarray, wearing one of his old t-shirts that hangs down to my thighs. It’s been chaos, but it’s the kind of chaos that feels good. The kind that feels like the start of something new.

Ethan strides in from the kitchen, a steaming mug of tea in the other. He’s shirtless again—of course—and I can’t help but stare at the way the firelight highlights every hard line and muscle as he moves toward me.

“Here,” he says gruffly, handing me the tea before sinking down beside me.

“Thanks,” I murmur, curling my legs under me as I take the mug.

His arm stretches across the back of the couch, his fingers brushing against my shoulder as he takes a long sip of his water, his eyes scanning the room, lingering on the boxes piled around us. His free hand reaches for one of the stray labels sticking out of a half-open box.

“You’re a terrible packer,” he grumbles, though there’s no real heat in his voice.

I laugh, nudging him with my elbow. “Excuse me, Mr. ‘Throw Everything in a Truck Without a Plan.’”

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