Page 6 of Moody Mountain Man
“Then you disappeared.”
“I had reasons.”
“Like what?”
“Like not wanting to drag you into my mess.”
I tilt my head. “You think I can’t handle mess? Look around. I’m the Queen of Mess.”
“You shouldn’t have to.”
“Well, tough. I’ve been tripping over your silence for months, Cal. I’ve missed you, and now you’re back in my kitchen, making excuses and looking at me like—”
He moves fast. One step, then another, and suddenly his hand is on my waist and his mouth is on mine.
Holy hell.
It’s not a sweet kiss. It’s not gentle or careful. It’s a kiss full of want and regret and months of pent-up frustration. His mouth claims mine like he’s starved for it, and I give as good as I get, fingers fisting in the front of his shirt, pulling him closer.
He groans against my lips, deep and low and rough.
I gasp when he lifts me onto the prep table, knocking a bowl of flour to the floor. I wrap my legs around his hips without thinking, and he presses into me, all solid muscle and masculine heat.
“Annie,” he says against my throat, voice strained. “Tell me to stop.”
“Not a chance.”
He kisses me again. This time it's longer, slower, like he’s memorizing every inch of my mouth. His hands roam, sliding under my sweatshirt, calloused palms skimming my skin.
I moan when he grazes my ribs with his thumbs. “This is a terrible idea,” I whisper.
“Yep.”
“We shouldn’t—oh God—do this on the prep table.”
He pulls back, breathing hard. “You want me to stop?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll help you clean up after.”
I laugh, breathless. “You’re so considerate.”
He grins, actually grins, and it hits me right in the chest. He’s devastating when he smiles.
He freezes, his forehead dropping to mine. “If we do this, Annie…”
I wait.
He lifts his head. “I won’t be able to pretend it didn’t happen again.”
I meet his gaze, steady and sure. “Then don’t.”
Then he kisses me again, softer now. Reverent. Like he’s worshiping, not just wanting. And I know, deep in my bones, that this time he’s not going to push me away.
Chapter four
Cal
