Page 8 of Mountain Man's Holiday Home
“There used to be mills all through these mountains,” he said finally. “Textile mills, paper mills. Most of them shut down decades ago, but some of the buildings are still standing.”
My pulse quickened. “And you think one might be…warm?”
“Maybe. There’s an old textile mill about ten minutes from here. Last time I drove past, it looked like part of the building was still intact. Some of those old places still have their boiler systems, or at least machinery rooms that hold heat.”
The idea of ducking into some abandoned building with him sent a thrill through me that had nothing to do with adventure and everything to do with the man beside me.
“You think it’s safe?”
He glanced over at me, his gray eyes dark with something that made my stomach flip. “Probably safer than sitting in this truck much longer.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because if we don’t find somewhere private soon, I’m going to do something we’ll both regret. Like kiss you in broad daylight where anyone could see.”
My breath caught. “That doesn’t sound like something I’d regret.”
The look he gave me could have melted snow. “Jesus, Lainey.”
The mill appeared through the trees like something out of a fairy tale—if fairy tales included crumbling brick buildings wrapped in ivy. It sat beside a narrow river that caught the afternoon light, its windows mostly broken but the main structure still solid-looking.
Hendrix parked beside what used to be the main entrance, now partially hidden by overgrown vines. “Stay here while I check it out?”
“Not a chance.” I was already unbuckling my seatbelt. “I’m not waiting in the truck.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “Somehow, I knew you’d say that.”
We approached the building together, our footsteps crunching on fallen leaves and broken glass. The main door waslong gone, but the opening was clear. Hendrix stepped through first, then reached back to help me over some rubble.
Inside, shafts of dusty sunlight streamed through the broken windows, illuminating what had once been the main floor of the mill. Old machinery sat covered in rust and vines, but toward the back of the building, I could see a doorway that seemed to lead deeper into the structure.
“It’s warmer in here,” I said, surprised.
“The river probably helps moderate the temperature. And if I’m right…” He led me toward the back doorway. “There should be a boiler room back here somewhere.”
Sure enough, we found a heavy wooden door that opened to reveal a smaller room lined with old brick. The space felt noticeably warmer, and though the boiler itself was long dead, the thermal mass of all that brick seemed to hold onto whatever heat the afternoon sun provided.
“This could work,” he said, but his voice sounded strange.
I turned to look at him and found him staring at me with an intensity that made my knees weak. “Hendrix?”
“We shouldn’t be here,” he said quietly.
“Why not?”
“Because I want you too much. Because you’re inexperienced and I’m leaving town, and this is a really bad idea.”
I stepped closer to him, close enough to see the war playing out in his eyes. “What if I don’t care about any of that?”
I closed the remaining distance between us, my heart hammering against my ribs. The air in the small, brick-lined room was thick with dust and desire. I placed a hand on his chest, feeling the solid, frantic beat of his heart matching my own.
“All I care about is right now,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.
I saw the last of his resistance shatter. His hands came up to frame my face, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the raw hunger in his gaze. I rose on tiptoe, tilting my head up, an unspoken invitation. For a breathless second, he just looked at me, as if memorizing the moment.
Then, with a low groan that seemed to be torn from the depths of his soul, he crushed his mouth down on mine.
It wasn’t the tentative, exploring kiss I’d always imagined. This was a claiming. A revelation. His lips moved over mine with a desperate, searing intensity that stole the air from my lungs and the strength from my legs. The world—the dusty mill, the fading afternoon light, the reasons why this was a mistake—all of it vanished, burned away by the sheer, overwhelming force of the kiss. This was it. The kiss of my life.
