Page 13 of Love Me In Misty Mountain
She freezes for half a second before turning, smile still plastered on. “I’m not pretending, Scott. It’s just sex. People have it all the time. And you obviously don’t look at me that way. I’m fun to play with, sure, just not enough to close the deal.”
Just sex?
I clamp my jaw so tight I’m surprised my teeth don’t crack. I haven’t been with a woman in a long time, like years. And none of them ever made me feel the way she did just by touching me.
But if that’s what she wants? Fine. I’ll play it her way.
“You’re right,” I say, though the words are a lie. “No big deal.”
Her smile falters, but she hides it quick.
I grab my coffee, drain it, and set the mug down harder than necessary. “Let’s go check your cabin.”
She nods, grabbing her hoodie. I try not to stare at the way her tank clings to her tits. Or the way her hips sway when she walks in those leggings that look painted on.
I fail. Miserably.
We step out into the crisp morning air, and I breathe deep, trying to center myself. Misty Mountain is quiet this time of day. The dirt path leading to her cabin was still damp from last night’s storm. Bree hums softly beside me, a little tune under her breath. It’s cute as hell. Annoyingly cute. The kind of thing a man could get used to.
I grip the back of my neck, shaking that thought away.
We reach her cabin, and the damage is worse than I hoped. A section of the roof is sagging, water stains bleeding down the walls inside. A tarp might buy us time, but this is a full gut job if she wants it right.
I break the news, expecting her to be upset, maybe cry, maybe curse.
Instead, she plants her hands on her hips, eyes narrowing as she surveys the mess.
“Okay. We fix it.”
Just like that. No drama. No whining.
“That’s it?” I ask. “No freak-out?”
She snorts. “What’s the point? I could cry, but it won’t fix the damn roof.”
I bark out a laugh, surprising both of us. “Fair point.”
She smiles, this real, radiant smile that hits me square in the gut.
I’m so fucking screwed.
We get to work, pulling down the worst of the damage. She’s right beside me the whole time, not afraid to get dirty. Her shirt rides up when she lifts her arms, giving me flashes of soft skin, the curve of her waist, and all I can think about is sinking into her heat.
By midday, we break for water and she wipes her brow, cheeks flushed, hair sticking to her temples. The same flush she gets when I taste her, spread out before me.
I grit my teeth.
“Scott?” Her voice pulls me back. “You okay?”
No. Not even a little.
“Fine,” I lie. “Lets go to the Rusty Elk for a drink tonight, I think we need it.”
Her eyes narrow like she doesn’t believe me. Smart girl.
We work until the sun dips low. It’s temporary patchwork, but the cabin is sealed for now. As we walk back to my place, I feel it again—that pull.
What would it be like—really be like—to keep her? To wake up with her every day? To put a ring on her finger? To fill her belly with my kid?
