Page 39 of Beneath the Mountain Sky
She climbs to her feet, tossing the book onto the couch. “Well, I guess I’m not needed here anymore.”
The annoyance in her tone makes me cringe.
Raven stalks to the kitchen, snags her purse off the counter, and stomps toward where we still stand. She pulls on her shoes and assesses us for a moment before huffing and moving toward the door.
I meet her concerned gaze. “Drive safe…”
Stopping beside us, she narrows her eyes at me. “Be careful.” Then she glowers at Killian. “Keep your fucking hands off her.”
The heat of his hand still at my cheek seems to grow with her warning, but Killian doesn’t release his grip on my face as she tugs open the door and stalks out into the rain to make her way down the mountain to her place in town above Claire’s Bakery.
Killian kicks the door closed behind him without even looking at it, keeping his eyes on me the entire time—as if Raven wasn’t even here. The same intense focus I recognize and have always craved that makes heat flood my core and warms me, despite my now-wet clothes.
His gaze dips to my lips, and I shiver in anticipation.
But instead of kissing me, Killian clears his throat and steps back from me, putting enough space between us for the reality of the situation to slam into me.
You just threw yourself at him…
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think about…”
Jesus.
He isn’t my fiancé anymore.
He isn’t my anything.
It might feel that way to me, but I left him.
“Don’t apologize for worrying about me.” The corners of his lips curl slightly. “I love that you did, but you don’t have to. You know this mountain is my home. I know it like the back of my hand. Nothing would happen to me out there.”
“This coming from the man constantly reminding everyone how dangerous McBride Mountain can be.”
“That’s true.” He nods slowly. “But it doesn’t apply to me.”
“Oh, really?”
His lips quirk. “Really.”
The steady drip, drip, drip of water falling off his clothes and body and onto the wood floor finally drags my focus down to the puddle forming around us. “You need to get out of these clothes.”
He nods and retreats another step, and I instantly miss the warmth, shivering as the cold, wet front of my clothes cling to me. I retreat, giving him some space, and he bends down to untie his muddy, wet boots, peel them off, and set them onto the plastic mat beside the door.
The hands that just held my face so gently reach for the hem of his shirt. He tugs it up over his head, revealing the body I memorized. Rippling muscles, peaks and valleys of abs that descend to the belt of his jeans. Tattoos covering almost every inch of exposed skin—even a few new ones.
Christ.
If anything, he’s only gotten more beautiful in the time I’ve been gone.
He tosses his shirt on top of his boots, keeping the wet clothing on the protective plastic as much as he can, but it still drips from his jeans onto the floorboards. “I don’t want to walk through the house like this.”
“Oh.”
I quickly turn around and close my eyes, giving him some privacy, even though I know his naked body as well as I know my own.
The sound of his button popping and zipper lowering stiffens my spine, and heat coils low in my belly at the sound of his jeans hitting the pile near the door.
“I’m going to go take a shower, then I’ll be back.”
