Page 1 of Cider Kissed By the Mountain Man
CHAPTER ONE
Trent
I should have known my day was going to hell the moment I heard the car door slam like a gunshot through the morning quiet.
It was seven-thirty in the morning. The mist still clung to the apple trees, and some idiot was already here to ruin my peace. I’d been up since five, pruning branches and enjoying the one time of day when no one expected me to be polite or helpful or any of the other things that came with running a business that depended on the public.
Through the trees, I caught sight of a small red sedan that had no business on my dirt roads. It was a cute, shiny city car and probably had playlists named autumn vibes and pumpkin spice feels. And it was probably driven by some soccer mom who thought apples came from the grocery store and wanted to give her precious little angels an authentic—social media—experience.
I was already irritated when the driver stepped out, and then the part of me that remembered how to breathe forgot its job.
My first thought was she didn’t belong here, but yet, she was autumn romanticized—curves and color and chaos.
My second thought was that she was perfectly shaped. Heavy hips and thick thighs. And her breasts… my body tightened uncomfortably as the image hit me hard—my mouth on her, sucking one thick nipple until she moaned.
Damn. Had it been that long since I’d had a woman in my bed that I was lusting after a complete stranger?
Focus, Lawson.
You’ve got trees to prune, cider to press. No time to think about how she looked in—or out of her soft sweater.
And if her silhouette wasn’t enough to turn me into a non-thinking man, she slammed the car door and turned toward the harvesting shed. Dark eyes framed by thick lashes, skin that looked soft as silk, and lips that were made for—
Shit. I scrubbed those thoughts from my mind. I had not time for a woman.
Then she took three steps, slipped on the gravel, and fell to her knees, her palms catching her weight. The leaves scattered around her like a spilled bouquet.
“Son of a—” The curses tumbled out sweet and filthy all at once. Not something you’d expect from a woman who looked like a fairytale princess.
My feet were moving before I made a conscious decision, boots pounding against the packed earth. She was already pushing herself up when I reached her, dirt streaked across one flushed cheek, and something protective and possessive clawed at my chest.
I didn’t even know her name, and already my instincts were lining up to play hero. That was dangerous. And stupid. And happening anyway.
“Stay still,” I commanded, dropping to one knee beside her. My hand hovered just short of her skin, torn between checking her scrapes and tracing the curve of her mouth.
She looked up at me and I got caught in those dark eyes. They reminded me of cider just before it ferments—sweet, sharp, and stronger than it looked. They were also filled with enough irritation to melt paint.
“Don’t worry, I’m fine,” she said, as she brushed dirt off her palms. “Nothing says competent professional like eating dirt before introductions.”
She flashed a smile that could’ve thawed frost off apples. The kind of smile that didn’t apologize—it dared you to underestimate her. Most people took one look at my size and scowl and decided to stay quiet. This woman was sitting in the dirt, bleeding from scraped palms, and giving me attitude.
I liked it way more than I should have.
“Let me help you up.” I slid my arm around her waist and felt her sharp intake of breath at the contact. Hell, I felt it too—the way her curves fit perfectly against my side. And her scent. I leaned my head down unable to stop myself from breathing her in. Damn it, she smelled good.
She didn’t immediately step away and her hands somehow ended up pressed against my chest. For a heartbeat, we just stood there. Her lips were slightly parted, her breathing shallow, and I had the insane urge to see if she tasted as sweet as she smelled. It would be too easy—just one tilt forward and my mouth would be on hers. Sweet. Messy. Completely unforgettable.
A cider kiss. The kind that lingered on your tongue and made you want to keep on drinking.
“Oh.” She snatched her hands away. Her eyes were wide, her breath shaky. “I—sorry. I didn’t mean to…” Her gaze darted to my chest. “I got blood on your shirt.”
For a second, it felt like the blood mattered less than the fact she’d touched me. Which was stupid. Dangerous. And way too damn flattering.
I glanced down seeing the small red dots barely discernable on the fabric. “You’re hurt.”
She shook her head, putting her hands behind her back. “No. It’s nothing.”
“Nothing?” I fought the urge to reach for her hands and examine the damage myself.
