Page 23 of The Mountain Man's Mail Order Muse
Another beat passes. Then, softer, he asks, “Do I need to worry about Mark coming back?”
“Not after that punch,” I murmur.
We both glance at Mark knocked out cold on the ground.
It truly feels like my new life starts now.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
HUDSON
The truck rumblesbeneath us as we make our way back up the winding dirt road to the cabin. Daisy is quiet beside me, arms folded loosely in her lap, her eyes trained out the passenger window as she watches her past disappear in the rearview mirror.
I keep glancing at her, trying not to make it obvious, but hell—who am I kidding? I can’t stop looking at her. That stubborn strength. That quiet sadness. That fire she doesn’t even know she has.
The words build up in my throat, heavy and certain. I clear it once, then glance her way again. “I know this probably isn’t the way you dreamed of meeting your husband.”
She turns her head slowly, brows lifting just slightly. Her mouth parts, but I keep going.
“I know it’s messy. Unconventional. Hell, probably reckless. But I want you to know something.” My hands tighten on the steering wheel, knuckles pale. “I’m gonna do right by you, Daisy. However this goes—however long you want this to last—I promise I’ll take care of you. For the rest of my life, if you’ll let me.”
She blinks, stunned. And for a moment, she doesn’t say anything. The only sound is the tires crunching over gravel and the soft whir of the wind slipping in through the cracked windows.
Then she looks at me.
Not with fear. Not with doubt. Just… eyes wide open. Honest. The way someone looks at a man when they’re deciding whether or not to hand him their whole damn heart.
And I swear to God, I melt right there behind the wheel.
I feel it—deep and gut-wrenching—this ache in my chest, pulling me toward her like gravity. I’m falling in love with this woman.
“I don’t need perfect,” she says quietly. “I just need real.”
That’s it. That’s all she says. But it hits me harder than any punch ever could.
“Real,” I echo, voice a little rougher than I intend.
She nods, and when she leans her head back against the seat, I notice the way her shoulders soften just a little. We ride the rest of the way up the mountain in silence. But it’s not empty.
I have the fortitude to keep myself composed in the truck. But the moment we enter my cabin, the rush of getting my girl back takes me over. I want her. I need her.
The moment she’s close, everything else blurs. Daisy’s breath brushes against my skin, warm and sweet. My heart thuds hard in my chest, louder than it should, but I don’t care. I want this—her.
I reach out slowly, fingertips brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The tiniest shiver runs through her, and it pullsat something deep inside me. I close the distance, my lips barely touching hers at first—soft, testing, electric.
Her mouth parts slightly, inviting me in, and I take it. The kiss deepens, hungry but careful, like we’re both afraid of breaking the fragile thread pulling us together. Her lips are warm, soft, and I can taste a hint of something sweet—maybe cinnamon from the coffee she had earlier, or just her.
My hands find her waist, pulling her closer until there’s nothing between us but skin and heat. I can feel the rise and fall of her chest, the quickening pulse at her neck, and it makes me reckless. I slide my tongue along her bottom lip, and she gasps—soft, breathless—and it’s the sound that sends a jolt through me.
We’re tangled, pressed close, the world shrinking until it’s just the two of us, caught in the fire of a kiss that’s both new and inevitable. When I finally pull back, just enough to look into her eyes, I see that same fire burning there—and I know I’m hooked, no turning back.
“I need you to know something.” I tell her.
“What’s that?”
“I’ll never hurt you. I’ll never do anything to make you cry. From the moment you walked in that door, you were mine, and I’ll keep you on a pedestal. I promise I’ll treat you right.”
