Page 22 of The Maverick of the Mountain
“Corinne.”
Gruff. Strained. Another plea.
“Maverick.”
My gaze drops momentarily, focused on the way my fingers move over his shirt, imagining the muscles beneath them.
Maverick grabs my hand, completely enveloping mine. Warm. Rough. If this was his idea to stop me, all he’s accomplished is unleashing more wicked thoughts. Those hands cupping my body. Pinning my wrists above my head as his mouth claims mine. Wrapped around my thro?—
I swallow hard. What am I doing? What am Ithinking?I’m… never like this.
“It’s late. You’ve had a day. You?—“
“You’re right,” I interrupt. “I… Thanks again.”
I slip out of his grasp, wishing him goodnight before ducking into the bathroom to prevent embarrassing myself anymore. I slide down the door and onto the floor as soon as I’m behind it.
“Good night, angel,” Maverick rasps.
It’s so soft and deep that I’m not sure I hear it, but it doesn’t matter.
My body reacts the same.
Well,that was lovely.
It’s the first thought that comes to mind when I finally wake up. Now Ireallyneed to thank Maverick, specifically for what he did to me in that dream. Again. Andagain. It was only a dream, but my body is still singing his praise.
I roll over and grab one of his pillows, pulling it against my body as I take a deep breath, shaking on the exhale. Hoo, boy. If he came in here right now and saw me huffing his pillow like a maniac, he’d be kicking me out. But he’s not here, so… one more sni—I’ve got a problem.
I toss the pillow, throw my head back against another, and groan. Why am I entertaining this crazy fantasy? I’m practical, but right now I’m practically insane. It’s like something snappedyesterday. The chipmunks? Hank? The chainsaw-wielding mountain man I can’t stop thinking about?
Speaking of… I don’t hear him. I don’t feel him either. Every step that man takes in the cabin shakes the floorboards. And it’s not because this cabin isn’t built well. It’s withstood a storm like last night and countless others. Maverick is just built differently. Apparently, exactly to my tastes—ones I never knew I had. Ones I’d love to explore, but know I shouldn’t.
After taking a few long minutes lazing around in bed with my thoughts, I finally drag myself out. I can’t help but smile when I see an unopened toothbrush and travel-sized toothpaste at the door that I don’t remember seeing when I went to bed.
I snag both of them, heading to the bathroom to get ready for the day. Maverick’s taking me around the mountain, and I can’t be more excited. I mean, the shots I’ll take will be cool and all, but I’m hoping I’ll need Maverick’s assistance more than a few times on the hike. Two firm hands on my ass, boosting me on top of a boulder for a better view? Yes, please.
A few minutes and one light huff later, I’m out of the bedroom and into the main living space. Sure enough, I’m the only one here. Well, Hank might be sleeping somewhere, but Maverick’s nowhere to be—his workshop. Yup, there’s that chainsaw or some kind of power tool.
And it gives me a little time to snoop. The cabin is gorgeous in daylight. It’s not like those cabins you see on Instagram, or the ones you see people restore on YouTube—all modern, refined, and far too perfect. This cabin has character that can’t be bought. A feeling. Everything serves a function, and everything feels well-cared for and lived in, from the handcrafted furniture to the old-school stove and refrigerator.
I run my hand along one of the bookshelves. Tattered paperbacks, hardcovers with ripped dust jackets, and, as I flip through aBlueybook, pages and covers that have been chewedon. Could’ve been Hank, but I’m leaning towards Maverick’s niece. I smile, remembering Maverick walking her to their booth. He had to lean down to hold her hand.
I set the book down, glancing briefly at the eclectic collection. Fiction mixed with non-fiction. Maps and dictionaries next to Agatha Christie. Recipe books and worn notebooks dating back to well before I was born. I grab one at random, the pages riffling in the air as I flip through it.
Drawings and notes. Diagrams and quotes. The notebook seems to have it all. I pause on one page and read the page.
Liz dropped off Maverick and Ryder today. Luke didn’t even show his face. Bastard. Maverick’s a little confused, but Janie and I have been trying to distract him. Her with cookies. Me with games. Never played a game of chess in his life, but checkmated me. Smart kid. Ryder’s more glum. But now they’re both asleep in their new bunk beds.
The entries continue, but I don’t. It feels wrong reading them. What Maverick’s been through… There’s a lot that I don’t know about him and his family, and I don’t want to learn it by secretly reading his grandpa’s journals.
I slot the journal back in place, running my fingers along the spines. My finger rakes across a firm, papery edge. A postcard. I can’t help but pull it out. On the front is a black and white photograph of the Tower of London. I’ve never visited or seen it before, but it looks like a fortress. Gorgeous architecture that you don’t see here. When I flip the card around, my heart flutters. There’s correspondence.
Dearest Janie,
I made it to England. I’m not sure what I expected to find, but it wasn’t this. I wish I could come back because I miss you dearly. It feels like I left a piece of myself behind. The best part of me. My sunshine that could brighten up these dreary days. Ithought we had rain back in Whispering Winds, but this place is?—
I jolt, dropping the card as Maverick places his hand on the nape of my neck.
