Page 8 of The Mountain Man's Irresistible Bride
She moves to walk past me. I grab her wrist.
“Let go.”
“Not until you hear me.”
“I heard you.” She yanks her hand free. “Loud and clear.”
I stare down at her, breathing hard. Her chest brushes mine with every inhale. Her cheeks are pink with fury. She’s close enough to kiss.
“I’m not temporary,” she whispers. “And neither are these feelings.”
I don’t know who moves first. All I know is one second we’re staring each other down, and the next, my hand is buried in her hair and our lips are a breath apart. Her lips part. Her breath catches.
I pull back like I’ve been burned.
“I can’t,” I mutter, my voice raw.
“Why not?” she asks, voice trembling.
“Because once Wren gets here, we have to pretend this is real, and if we cross this line—”
“It already is real,” she says. “You’re just too scared to admit it.”
She storms off to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her. I stare after her, my hands clenched into fists. My chest aches. I do want her desperately.
There’s more to it than that. When Wren arrives, it won’t be enough just to have a roof and walls. I need to demonstrate to the social worker that we’re a family. That we’re stable, that Juniper and I are in this together, and our marriage is real.
Which means no separate bedrooms. No icy silences. No more pretending Juniper doesn’t matter.
I have to pull it together. Be the man Wren needs, be the husband Juniper agreed to marry.
Losing Wren isn’t an option.
Chapter Five
Juniper
By late afternoon, the trim in Wren’s room is dry, and I’ve moved on to the baseboards in the room that’s supposed to be ours. It smells like cedar and fresh. I didn’t ask Elias before claiming the space. We both know Wren will need her own room, and the cabin’s layout doesn’t offer many choices.
Besides, someone has to make this house feel like a home.
I sing softly to myself as I work, a mindless little tune my mom used to hum while scrubbing dishes. When the sun starts to dip behind the trees, my arms ache and my back protests. The sense of pride I feel as I look around the nearly finished space dulls the pain.
I’m covered in sweat, paint, and stubborn feelings for a man who grunts more than he speaks.
Which is why I strip off my flannel, tug off my paint-flecked jeans, and slip into the outdoor tub behind the cabin. The water’s lukewarm, fed by a spring tank Elias rigged up a few months ago. It isn’t fancy. It isn’t private. I couldn’t care less.
The moment I sink into the water, I sigh. The sky is streaked pink and orange. Crickets chirp. The breeze lifts my damp hair.
I tilt my head back and close my eyes. Of course, that’s when I hear his boots on the deck.
“You always bathe in the open like that?”
I crack one eye open. “Only when I want company.”
His gaze flicks from my wet hair to my bare shoulders. His throat works.
“You’re staring,” I say lightly.
