Page 13 of Her Mountain Boss
“Morning,” he says, and just the sound of his voice has my toes curling in my boots. “Help me load this up and then we’ll run it into town.”
“Sure,” I say, and close the distance between us, helping him with the last few trays of food. “Who’s it for?”
“Town council’s having their quarterly meeting. This is their lunch.”
“It looks good,” I say, surveying the trays of wraps, fresh veggies, potato and pasta salads, cookies and squares. My stomach rumbles loudly enough that I blush again, and Ford glances at me.
“Did you eat breakfast yet?” he asks, his brows knitting in concern.
“No, not yet,” I answer, fighting the urge to fidget under his stare. He lifts a hand and traces it over my jaw, and I press into his touch without even thinking about it.
“Then we’d better drop this off so I can get you fed.”
I find myself nodding. I don’t understand this connection between us. This power he has over me. All I know is that it feels right.
It feels like with Ford is where I’m supposed to be.
Once the last of the food is loaded, Ford walks around to the passenger side door and holds it open for me, his hand lingering on my waist as he helps me up into the truck. I start to reach for the seatbelt, but he beats me to it, his much larger fingers brushing mine away. Then he leans over me, bringing that mouthwatering scent with him, and I want to lean forward and lick his neck, just to see if he tastes as good as he smells. When he buckles me in, his face is inches from mine.
“You’re not much of a poker player, are you?” he asks, and my eyebrows shoot up.
“Um, what?”
“I can read every single dirty thought you’re having right now. It’s written across your pretty face, kitten.”
I make a completely undignified squeaking sound and blush from my hair to my collarbone. “I’m sorry.”
He smiles, slow quirk of his lips. “It’s not something to be sorry for. Not when it’s just you and me.” He tugs on the seatbelt, making sure it’s secure, like I’m precious cargo. He gives a satisfied nod and then closes the door, leaving me tingling and aching.
No one’s ever done that for me before. I should feel infantilized, but I don’t. I feel safe. Cherished. Important.
I feel like I belong to him.
Do I belong to him? Is that where this is going?
Questions bounce around my brain as he gets in the truck and starts it up. I steal glances at him as he drives through the resort’s property, my stomach flapping with butterflies at the way his strong hand grips the wheel, the way his tattoos peek out from under his sleeves. He should feel like a stranger, buthe doesn’t. There’s something familiar about him. Something comforting, yet exciting.
I shift in my seat, my clit starting to throb. I’m already wet and achy, and he hasn’t even kissed me. He’s barely touched me. All I have is his filthy words and easy dominance, and that’s enough to have me halfway to orgasm, apparently.
Ford glances over at me. “You sleep okay?”
I nod. “Yeah. I had a great sleep, actually.”
The corner of his mouth kicks up again, a teasing hint of a grin, and I like it. “How many times?” he asks, and even though he doesn’t specify, I know exactly what he’s talking about.
“Four,” I answer honestly, blushing furiously. My skin is hot and prickling. “You?”
“Twice.”
He turns his attention back to the road, but his hand reaches over to rest on my thigh. The heat of his touch sears me through my thin leggings, branding me.
The drive into Honey Ridge is breathtaking, the fall colours painting the landscape in vibrant hues of red, orange and gold. The mountains stand tall around us, snow-capped peaks stretching up toward the fluffy white clouds. I’ve always considered myself a city girl, but I’m starting to think that was only because I hadn’t been here yet.
The truck crests over a hill and the town comes into view. It’s pretty and charming, with buildings that blend seamlessly into the natural beauty surrounding them.
Ford’s voice cuts through my admiration of the scenery. “How are you finding work at the lodge?”
It’s as though a barrier has come down between us, and this easy conversation in his truck, his hand resting on my thigh, feels like the most natural thing in the world.
