Page 33 of Stuck with my Mountain Daddies

My eyes followed her movement unapologetically. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”

She lifted a brow. “Because I’m wearing highlighter?”

“Because you look like trouble,” I said, stepping closer. “And I have a tragic weakness for women who look like they might ruin my life.”

Her laugh was surprised and slightly scandalized. “Shit, you really are terrible.”

“Hmm, I know,” I murmured, close enough now to smell her perfume, soft and expensive, something that didn’t belong in a cabin full of sawdust and snow boots. “You’re like a champagne cocktail in a dive bar.”

She blinked, visibly fighting a smile. “That’s either the best or worst metaphor I’ve ever heard.”

“Depends on how much you like dive bars.”

Another beat. Another inch of space vanished between us.

She wasn’t backing away.

Neither was I.

I reached out, gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. It felt electric. Intimate. Way more personal than it should’ve.

Her breath caught. Mine did, too.

All I could think about wasthatnight.

Medford Inn. Dim lights. Her lips on mine, her breathy laugh in the dark, the way her nails had dragged down my back like she was trying to memorize the shape of me.

I leaned in.

And when she didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t breathe, I kissed her.

Soft, at first. Testing. Waiting for the moment she’d flinch or slap me or push me away.

She didn’t. She kissed me back.

Her fingers curled in my shirt, anchoring me to her like she was afraid I’d disappear. I pressed in, deepening it, letting the moment stretch until my lungs burned and my head spun and none of it mattered because her mouth was on mine, anddamn, she tasted like everything I’d forgotten I craved.

Want.

Not just the physical kind. The soul-level ache that crept in when I wasn’t looking.

I broke the kiss first. Barely.

Our foreheads touched. Her eyes were wide, lips parted, breath warm against my cheek.

“That wasn’t smart,” she whispered.

“Nope,” I agreed.

“We shouldn’t…”

“Probably not.”

Neither of us moved.

I let my fingers trace the curve of her jaw, slow and reverent. “But I’m not sorry.”

She swallowed, eyes locked on mine. “Me neither.”

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