Page 11 of The Mountain Man's Accidental Bride
Payton isn’t mine. Not even close. I don’t even know if I want her yet. To want her means I want someone to interrupt my silence and solitude.
I’d be lying to myself if I genuinely tried to believe there wasn’t a pull constantly eating at me, demanding I take care of her. Give her a reason to stick around.
Why else would I have gone out in that storm if it wasn’t for a reason to keep our time together going?
The floorboard creaks behind me, revealing that I’m no longer allowed to lose myself in my thoughts at my lonesome.
Fuck.
I don’t turn. Can’t. Not when every damn nerve in my body’s already strung tight as a tripwire, urging me to feed this demand to do something about how I feel. Hell, I haven’t had enough time to unwrap that mystery yet.
“August?” Saying my name so sweetly, I’m forced to look over my shoulder to find her clutching one of my towels with a grip so tight, her knuckles match the white fluff.
Approaching me ever so carefully, she doesn’t thrust the towel in my direction and make a run for it despite her expression.
I grunt, beckoning her to continue. I don’t trust my tongue enough to keep myself from saying something I shouldn’t. Something like the truth.
Something along the lines of asking her to stay here through the weekend instead of at another man’s cabin.
“You’re—you’re still soaked.” Her fingers tighten around the towel. A heartbeat passes before her voice grows softer. “Let me help.”
The air between us goes taut.
I should say no. Should’ve stripped off this damned shirt the second I walked in. But the way she’s looking at me—like she’salready imagining the drag of fabric under her palms—roots me to the spot. My cock thickens, traitorous, as she steps closer.
I can’t let this go to my head. She just wants to return the favor, that’s all. I went out of my way to get the power turned back on, and she feels bad. Fuck, there has to be a reason behind her wanting to do this. Something platonic.
Her first touch is a whisper—just the towel brushing my collarbone. Then bolder, pressing into the soaked cotton of my shirt. The heat of her seeps through, sharper than any fire.
I don’t move. Can’t. Every muscle locks, not from cold, but from the sheer effort of not hauling her against me. Her breath hitches as she discovers the unyielding planes of my chest, the way my body betrays me, tensing under her ministrations.
The towel slows over my ribs. Her knuckles graze bare skin where the fabric clings, and my pulse kicks hard enough she must feel it.
I choke on a groan as she slides back up. Her cheeks are flushed, her dark eyes wide. Taking in her lips, I catch them parted in wonder. Is that what this is? Could she just be curious?
Ducking down so she can reach the droplets clinging to my hair, it’s not the fuzzy fibers of the towel that touch my bearded cheek, but her fingers.
Her eyes are clouded, like she’s not even aware of what she’s doing. Her touch is delicate as she moves to cup my face. Is she even aware of what she’s doing? All she’d have to do is lift up on her toes, and I would be aware of what her intention was.
Instead, she keeps me guessing, leaving me to wonder what would happen if I lost myself as well.
I can’t, though, can I?
Fuck, I must’ve inhaled too much gasoline when filling up the generator.
I try to be a good man and tell myself to put some distance between us, but my body doesn’t listen. Instead, once I’mlooking at her lips, a habit that is forming at an impressive rate. Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m leaning down to kiss her.
Her lips are soft against mine, hesitant at first, like she’s still unsure. To avoid scaring her, I move slowly.
Grazing my fingers along her face and brushing her hand away, I tilt her head back and cradle her like she’s a delicate doll.
At the sound of the towel dropping and hitting the floor with a thud, I don’t know which one of us moves faster to cave to what we both want.
It must have been me. I’m dragging her to my lips before I can fill my lungs with another breath of air. I need her. I need this.
Her lips are surprisingly warm, softer than I could’ve imagined. Memorizing her heat, I linger, taking my time. While I have spent plenty of time looking at her mouth, nothing comes close to discovering every inch with my lips.
The faintest sigh escapes her before she makes an intoxicating gasping sound when I catch her bottom lip between my teeth, tugging ever so gently.
