Page 3 of Marked By the Mountain Man
I wanted a warm, quiet body that wouldn’t stir anything in me. A warm body that also needed companionship and nothing more. Just another person to talk about the weather with. Another person to share responsibilities.
Apparently, even a simple request can be incredibly stupid.Lesson learned.
I poke at the sparking log and stare into the flames, trying not to think about the girl in my bathroom. I’m sure she’s figured on her own that this won’t work and she’ll offer to leave.
Still, I can’t stop picturing her in the rain. Her clothes clinging to her soft frame, her round breasts, her hard nipples. I shouldn’t have noticed. I know that.
She’s young. Way too young for me to be looking at her like that, but I can’t help myself. It’s been a while since I’ve seen a woman this… perfect.
I shift in my chair and lean forward, annoyed with myself as I poke at the fire again. The bathroom door creaks open, and she steps out into the living room, long white T-shirt hanging to her knees, hair still soaked but tamer, lips now pink instead of blue. “That felt good.” She sighs and tosses herself back on the couch as though she’s spent twelve lifetimes here and has a spot she calls her own. “I’m starving. Are you starving? I had like half a protein bar and a cup of M&M’s on the way up here. I meant to stop for pizza, but it had already started raining and I got nervous the roads would get worse if I waited too long.”
I stare at her, wondering if I look as annoyed as I feel. Clearly, she didn’t get the memo to leave. She, in fact, wants dinner.
“I don’t cook until six.”
She grins wide, almost sarcastically. “That’s what you brought me here for, right? Cook, clean, and listen to you ramble about vintage trucks?”
“That was humor.”
“I don’t know about that.” She shakes her head back and forth with a grin. “You seem like the kind of guy who’d like a quiet woman who does her part and leaves you alone.”
She’s nailed it on the head, though she gives me the impression it’s not what she’s looking for. “Is there a problem with wanting that?”
“Only that it sounds like you made your listing on the wrong website. See, you’re looking for a maid with boobs.” She slows down her speech considerably, I assume for comedic effect as she says, “You applied for a mail-order bride.” Her lips curl into a sweet smile, but her eyes are daring me to argue.
“Well, you’ve got a point there. I was looking for a maid with boobs. Is there an exchange program that you know of?”
She gasps, mock-offended, and places a hand dramatically over her heart. “Wow. Misogyny and customer service jokes? You really are the full package.”
I smirk, but she’s already turning toward the pantry like she owns the place. “I’m not going anywhere tonight. Have you seen the storm coming in? My car is horrid in this stuff. You’re stuck with me… and I’m starving.”
She moves like she’s been here before. Confident, curious, and completely unbothered by the fact that I haven’t exactly rolled out the welcome mat. Her fingers trail along the edge of the pantry door, and I catch myself watching the way her hips sway beneath that oversized T-shirt like I’m some kind of idiot.
I look away, poking at the fire again. “Fine,” I say. “Dinner’s at six.”
“Why can’t we eat until six?” Her voice does this high-pitched whiny thing that pierces straight through my head. “I’m starving right now. I’m telling you, I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
“Sounds like a you problem. My cabin, my rules. We don’t eat ‘til six.”
“What happens if we eat before six? Does the spell break? Do all your vintage trucks turn back into pumpkins?”
I scoff under my breath, hiding the bit of laughter that almost makes its way up my throat as I poke at the fire again, refusing to look at her. “You want dinner early, you cook it.”
A spark lights in her eyes. “Great. Where’s the garlic? I’m making pasta and summoning spirits.”
“What?”Is this some sort of joke?
“Yeah, spoiler alert, I’m not here for romance either, caveman. I’m doing research for a story.” She turns back toward the pantry and pushes boxes around until she finds what she’s looking for. “I’m a ghost hunter. I have my own blog.”
I blink at her slowly. “You’re a what?”
She pulls out a bulb of garlic like it’s a weapon and holds it up triumphantly. “Ghost hunter. Paranormal investigator. Spirit whisperer. It all depends on the day.”
I stare, unsure if she’s messing with me. “You came all the way up here to chase ghosts?”
Garlic flies from her hand and onto the counter with the box of pasta and a jar of sauce she found somewhere in the back. “Your land’s got a reputation. Rugged Mountain itself has been flagged in three different databases for high spectral activity. I couldn’t resist a place this close to the peak.”
I lean back in my chair, arms crossed. “So, you’re not here for me?”
