Page 50 of Wrecked on the Mountain
“So,” I say slowly, prowling around the desk until I’m standing behind her like a shadow, my voice dropping to a rough, hungry edge. “You think I’m too grumpy, huh?”
I can see her stiffen, but there's something in her posture that tells me she knows exactly what game we're playing now.
"Jamie, I was just—"
"Just what?" I lean down, bracing my hands on either side of her chair, caging her in. My mouth is close enough to her ear that I can smell that citrusy perfume that's been driving me crazy for days. "Just giving poor Robert your honest assessment of my charming personality?"
She turns in her seat slowly, and the second our eyes meet, I see it… that spark. The dare in her grin. She's not apologetic. She’s lit a match and now she wants to see if I’ll burn.
“I was deflecting,” she murmurs, breath catching. “He thought we were married, and I—”
“And you immediately shot that down by telling him no woman in her right mind would marry my grumpy ass,” I finish with a smirk, straightening to full height. "Really did a number on my ego there, sweetheart."
She bites her lip, clearly fighting a smile. And fuck me, that little act of rebellion is only going to make this even sweeter.
"That's not what I meant."
"No?" I circle around to the front of the desk, leaning against it with my arms crossed, making a show of looking deeply offended. "Because it sounded like you were telling Robert that I'm some kind of impossible cave man who grunts at people and scares off potential wives."
"You do grunt at people," she points out, and now she's definitely trying not to laugh.
"I donotgrunt."
"You absolutely grunt. This morning when Knox was teasing you about the bacon? Pure caveman grunt."
"That was not a grunt, that was an expression of masculine frustration."
"Uh-huh."
She stands up slowly, like she knows exactly what she's doing, and damn if she doesn't. As she rises, she shrugs out of her rescue jacket, letting it fall over the back of the chair.
Underneath the coat, her top is doing things to her figure that should be illegal in a professional setting. Tight across her chest, hugging her waist, the faint outline of a black bra teasing beneath the neckline.
She’s not just standing. She’spresenting.
My gaze drops and sweet hell, I couldn't stop it if I tried.
"And what would you call the sound you made when Chase broke the snowmobile engine?"
“That,” I growl, “wasjustified.”
"Sounded like a grunt to me."
She’s toying with me. Coy and confident, eyes sparkling with challenge. Like she knows she’s got her finger on the trigger and she’s daring me to pull it.
“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” I ask, voice low and tight.
“Maybe a little,” she says, tilting her head back to meet my gaze.
"Well then," I say, my voice dropping as I reach out to trace one finger along her jawline. “Since you think I’m such a grumpy bastard, maybe I should show youexactlywhat that looks like.”
Her breath hitches. A single flutter of her throat gives her away.
“Jamie—”
“You know what grumpy men do when pretty doctors call them too difficult to marry?” I drop my mouth to her ear, let my lips brush the shell of it as I speak. “We don’t just argue. We don’t debate.”
I graze her earlobe with my teeth and feel her shudder.
