Page 19 of The Mountain Echoes
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
She swivels the swing around and looks at me. “Are you now?”
I don’t like her tone. I don’t likeher.
Celine told me her sister’s a cold fish. And standing here now, I believe her, despite the way Aria lay down beside her father’s grave like a child waiting for him to wake up.
Her dark eyes are unreadable, holding nothing. No grief. No rage. No anything. Just a calm, practiced emptiness that makes me wonder what kind of woman learns to bury everything that deep.
“I am,” I admit, and then add because it’s polite, “Rami was a good man.”
She lets out a breathy laugh. “Papa was a lot of things,goodhe wasn’t.”
Her face shifts when she laughs. She relaxes, opens.
There’s a sensuality to the way she shows emotion, like it costs her something, which is why she doesn’t give it away for free.
But it doesn’t last. From one moment to another, it’s gone, and I wonder if I imagined it.
“He was an ornery bastard,” I agree.
“Now,that’shonest.” She shifts her weight, the swing creaking as she moves it gently. “Papa would appreciate that. He was a straight shooter. No bullshit.”
“Speaking of being honest.” I grip one of the thick ropes holding the swing, stilling her. “I want you to know I’m interested in buying Longhorn. No bullshit.”
“Ifit’s for sale,” she challenges.
“Isn’t it?”
Her lips curl into a smirk, like she doesn’t believe me. No, it’s worse, it’s as if she doesn’t give two damns about what I’m saying.
I don’t like this woman, I think at the same time as I wonder what it will be like to fuck her, make her submit.
I don’t mind prickly women—just not in my bed.
But this one…is she cold as ice under the sheets, or does she light up?
“I have no idea, Maverick.” She says my name with disdain, like she doesn’t like how it feels on her tongue.
“You don’t?” I ask sarcastically, my disbelief evident.
She studies me for a beat, like she’s measuring how much nonsense I’m capable of.
“Once the will is read, we’ll know what’s what. Who knows, Papa may have left everything to Celine, and then you won’t have to talk to me about this at all.”
“Would you care if he did that?”
She eyes my hand holding the rope of the swing. I let go. I don’t know why I wanted to restrain her as I did.
You want to control her.
That thought makes me uncomfortable.
Why was this woman evoking such emotions inside of me?
Flat chested, no curves, hard lines, an angular face—there’s nothing here that I usually find attractive.
And, yet….
