Page 3 of Moonlight With Maddox
“Maddox?” I ask in confusion.
Before she can answer, a firm knock on the kitchen door makes me jump. I turn toward the sound and my eyes lock with Maddox Walker.
3
Maddox
After a day spent tracking down overconfident tourists who thought the Fall Festival meant they could ignore trail signs, I’m more than ready for a hot shower and a cold beer.
But there is one thing I need to do before I can head home to the refuge of my secluded cabin on the mountain. I need to check up on Miss Connie.
I’ve made a habit of stopping by every evening since I found her sprawled out on the floor of her staircase last week. If she hadn’t made it her mission to feed me with a casserole every week since I moved back to town, I never would’ve been there to return the empty dish–and she might’ve been lying there for hours.
A familiar ache flickers in my chest at the thought of why I came back to Maple Ridge in the first place.
Angie.
The fiancée who’d sworn she wanted forever, only to toss my heart aside when a shinier opportunity came along in the city. I should’ve seen it coming. She always had one foot out the door,scanning the horizon for something better. Turns out, she found it and I wasn’t a part of the equation.
I push the memory back where it belongs and turn down the dirt drive that leads to Miss Connie’s house. A shiny silver Volvo sits out front, catching the last light of the setting sun through the trees. There is no way she traded her trusty, dented Chevy truck for something that costs more than I take home in a year.
As I roll to a stop, I notice two silhouettes inside the kitchen. My jaw tightens. The last thing this mountain needs is another smooth-talking developer sniffing around, trying to buy up land for “luxury cabins.”
I hop out of my truck and take the porch steps two at a time. The sound of two female voices can be heard inside, but I can’t make out what they are talking about. My hand is halfway to the door when I catch what sounds like my name.
And then I see her.
She’s standing in front of the sink in Miss Connie’s kitchen, looking like she’s stepped out of my dreams. My heart somehow manages to both stop and restart again, like it’s been waiting for this exact moment to regulate itself. For a moment, I forget how to breathe.
My eyes trace every curve and line of the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Her chestnut hair falls in soft waves just above her shoulders. I want to run my fingers through and taste those pink, plump lips in a kiss that will ruin her for all other men. The angles of her soft body stir something deep in me that I’ve never felt before. My cock twitches with excitement at the deep swell of her breasts.
“Come in,” Miss Connie calls out, and waves her hand for me.
I draw a deep breath and thank the old builders for installing half-length windows in the door, buying me a second to school my face—and if I’m being honest, adjust more than just my expression. The hinges of the door groan as I pull the screenopen, the sound snapping the woman from whatever thoughts had crossed her mind at the sight of me.
I hope they were dirty ones, because I want to live out every position that crossed her beautiful mind just now.
“I was coming to check on you,” I say, turning my attention to Miss Connie, grateful for the buffer in the room.
Her gaze dances between us as a sly smile tugs at the corner of her lips. “Well, aren’t you just the sweetest? First you save me, and now you're still checking up on me.”
“You were the one who found her?” The woman asks. Her voice is soft and melodic, and the sound makes my pulse trip over itself.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Before I can say anything more, she moves. One moment she’s standing there, the next she’s in my arms.
Instinct takes over. My hands find her waist, steadying her, holding her closer than I probably should. But in that moment, with her green eyes looking up at me, the same green as the moss lining the paths I walk every day, I can’t bring myself to let her go.
4
Leni
What the hell am I doing?
I attempt to pull back from what I can only imagine are Maddox Walker’s confused arms, but they don’t release me–-at least at first. Is it my imagination or just wishful thinking that I feel something hard pressing against my hip? He clears his throat and lets me go, taking a step back to put some space between us.
“I’m sorry,” I say, feeling the heat color my cheeks and neck. “I just can’t thank you enough for what you did—showing up and saving Aunt Connie the way you did.”
