Page 6 of The Mountain Man's Irresistible Bride
I lean in a little. “You were jealous.”
“I’m not discussing this.”
“You’re brooding. Your face gives you away.”
His eyes darken. “You think this is funny?”
“I think it’s fascinating.”
The silence stretches between us. The fall breeze lifts my hair. I know I’ve pushed him, maybe too far, but I can’t help it. Something is thrilling about poking the bear and watching him barely hold it together.
“You shouldn’t tease like that,” he says finally. Low. Rough.
“Why not?”
“Because I might stop pretending I don’t want you.” He stands, offering me a hand. “Let’s go.”
My fingers slip into his, and his grip tightens like he doesn’t plan on letting go. We walk back to the truck in silence, but everything between us crackles. The air is heavy with words unspoken and touches untried.
Back at the cabin, we don’t speak much. He disappears into the bedroom for a shower. I wander into the kitchen and find a fresh bouquet of wildflowers in a jar on the counter. He nevermentions picking them, but there have been new flowers every few days.
When he reappears, towel slung over his shoulder, damp hair curling at his neck, I nearly drop the mug I’m holding.
“Tomorrow,” he says, clearing his throat, “we finish the living room framing.”
I nod. “We’ll make it before Wren gets here.”
He meets my eyes, then nods once before disappearing into the bedroom.
I finish my tea with a racing heart, knowing sleep won’t come easily.
Not when he’s in the next room.
Chapter Four
Elias
The sun hasn’t even cleared the treetops, and I’m already pacing. Wren will be here in three days.
Three. Days.
The cabin is still half a construction site. The kitchen’s usable, the bedroom’s done, and the roof no longer leaks when it rains, but the living room’s a skeleton, and the hallway floor still creaks like a haunted house. I wanted to have everything ready to prove I could do this. I need to give her a stable home, a quiet place to heal.
Instead, I’ve got sawdust in my hair, a half-finished cabin, and a woman who keeps looking at me like she sees more than she should.
She hums while she cooks. Twirls her hair when she reads. Bends over in tight jeans and damn near wrecks me every time she does it. In short, she’s driving me crazy.
She’s painting the trim in the guest room today. I told her not to, said I’d handle it, and she ignored me.
I lean in the doorway and watch her for a moment. She’s barefoot, with paint flecks on her cheek, wearing an oversized flannel tied at the waist. Her hair’s a mess, and her smile is soft and faraway as she brushes paint across the windowsill. There’s a spot of pale blue on the curve of her neck, and it takes everything in me not to walk across the room and kiss it.
“You missed a spot.”
She startles, then glares. “Don’t sneak up on people, Elias.”
“Didn’t sneak. Just walked.”
Her lips twitch. “Like a lumbering mountain lion.”
