Page 11 of Cider Kissed By the Mountain Man
“Someone has to,” he said roughly. “You’re going to give me a heart attack with all your accidents.”
“Then you better keep me close, mountain man,” I whispered, breath hitching.
His hands tightened on my face. “Abby, I’m not... I don’t do relationships. I don’t do complications.”
“Good thing I’m not asking for a relationship then.”
He studied my face, searching for something. “What are you asking for?”
Everything.The word popped into my head unbidden, and I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying it out loud. Because that was crazy. I barely knew this man, and what I did know suggested he was emotionally unavailable and determined to stay that way.
But looking at him—really looking at him—I couldn’t bring myself to care about the smart thing to do.
“I’m asking you to stop overthinking,” I said instead. “I’m asking you to kiss me again.”
For a moment, I thought he might refuse. Thought his better judgment might win out over whatever this was between us. Then his mouth crashed into mine again, and I stopped thinking altogether.
This time, he walked me backward until my legs hit the workbench, lifting me effortlessly to sit on the edge. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, and the sound he made against my mouth was purely male and completely undone. I wanted to bottle it just like he bottled cider.
His hands were everywhere—tangling in my hair, tracing the curve of my jaw. I could feel the heat of him through our clothes,could feel how much he wanted this despite every rational reason to stop.
“Fuck, Abby,” he breathed against my neck, his lips trailing fire along my skin. He found the hollow of my throat and pressed his lips there, slow and reverent. ‘What are you doing to me?’
I didn’t have an answer for that. All I knew was that I was drowning in the feel of him, the taste of him, the way he was touching me like I was something precious and forbidden all at once.
His mouth found a spot just below my ear that made me gasp. My hands fisted in the front of his shirt. I could feel him smile against my skin.
“Sensitive?” he murmured, doing it again and making me arch against him. “Let’s find some more, shall we?”
His hands slid beneath the hem of my shirt, fingers dancing along my bare skin until they were stopped by the edge of my bra. I was about to suggest we find somewhere more private when the sound of tires on gravel cut through my haze of desire.
“Damn it to hell,” he cursed. “Can’t a man kiss a girl in peace?”
I giggled. I had to. We’d sprung apart like teenagers caught by parents. “Are you sure there’s not some lost lover’s history to the orchard? Some spirit trying to keep us apart?”
He smiled, just a little. “Not that I know of. Just really piss poor timing on everyone’s part.”
Through the open door, I could see a delivery truck pulling up. Trent looked like he wanted to curse a blue streak.
“I have to—” he started.
“Go,” I said, hopping down from the workbench on unsteady legs. “I’ll... I’ll just wait here. Or maybe I should—”
“Don’t go anywhere,” he said, and there was something almost desperate in his voice. “Please. We need to... we need to talk about this.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. He gave me one last look—intense and heated and full of promise—before heading out to deal with the delivery.
I slumped against the workbench, pressing my fingers to my still-tingling lips, and tried to process what had just happened. They still felt bruised. Claimed and cider-kissed.
Trent Lawson had kissed me. More than kissed me. He’d given me my first cider-kiss. And unless I was completely misreading the situation, he wanted to do a lot more than that.
Oh, Abby. What have you gotten yourself into?
CHAPTER FIVE
Trent
The supply delivery took forty-five minutes and felt like forty-five years.
