Page 2 of Craving the Mountain Man
The way he says my name sends a shiver down my spine. His voice is deeper than I remember, rougher around the edges.
"Hey, stranger." I smile, trying not to show the way my heart just thudded into next week. "I hope you don't mind the intrusion."
He blinks like I caught him off guard, and I catch the way his gaze travels down my body, like he's assessing all the waysI've changed. It should make me uncomfortable, but instead, it makes me stand a little straighter and arch my back just enough to remind him that I'm not a kid anymore and that I finally know what boobs are for.
"I wasn't expecting you till tomorrow."
"Well, surprise." I step onto the porch, chin high, close enough now that I can see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. "Turns out I drive better when I'm running away from my life."
He doesn't ask what I'm running from. But that's Evan. He's always been the type to let people come to him on their own terms. It's one of the things I liked about him, even back then. He never made me feel like I had to perform or prove myself.
"You still talk too much." His mouth twitching.
"And you're still an asshole," I shoot back sweetly, brushing past him.
The contact is brief, just my shoulder against his arm, but it's enough. Enough to feel the heat radiating from his body and to catch his scent as I pass. It's a scent I remember from those long-ago hiking trips, when I'd find excuses to walk close to him on the trail, pretending I needed help with my pack.
"Show me my room, mountain man. I've been in a car for ten hours and I need to change."
His eyes drop, just for a second, to the curve of my hips in the tight jeans. Not fast enough for me to miss it. Definitely not fast enough for him to pretend it didn't happen.
"I'll grab your bags," he mutters.
I keep walking, swaying my hips just enough to let him know I know he's watching. "Thanks mountain man."
Inside, the cabin is still pure Evan, with the dark wood, stone fireplace, everything neat and lived-in. There's a leather couch that's seen better days but looks comfortable, bookshelves crammed with everything from survival guides to classicliterature. A guitar sits in the corner, well-used, and I wonder if he still plays the songs he used to hum on those hiking trips.
He's not flashy. He never was. But there's a comfort to it. A steadiness that speaks of a man who knows exactly what he needs and nothing more.
The bedroom is small but clean. The same one I was in when I was sixteen. A window looks out to a ridge of pines, and there's a thick wool blanket on the bed that looks hand-knitted. I'm already picturing myself curled up there with a book. Or maybe writing the kind of stories I never had the nerve to tell before. The ones about strong, silent men who know exactly what they want and aren't afraid to take it.
"I can take Dylan’s room if you want the master," he offers, dropping my bags at the foot of the bed. “This room looks too small now that you are older.”
The thought of Evan in the room next to mine, separated by nothing but a thin wall, makes my pulse quicken. I shake my head. "I'm good here."
He stands there too long. Looking at me. Like he can't decide what to say next, like there's a conversation happening beneath the surface that neither of us is brave enough to voice.
The silence stretches between us. I can see him wrestling with something, can see the exact moment he decides to say it.
I tilt my head. "You okay, Evan?"
"You're not sixteen anymore."
The words hang in the air between us. Like a door opening just a crack.
I smile slowly, feeling confident again. "Not even close."
He swears under his breath and turns away, leaving the room, but not before I catch the way his hands clench into fists at his sides or see the way his jaw tightens, and definitely not before I notice the way he adjusts his jeans as he walks away.
I sink onto the bed, my heart racing, and stare at the empty doorway where he stood.
Game on, mountain man. This might be just what I need after all.
Chapter Two: Evan
I'm not proud of it.
The way I close the door to her room and stand there for a minute. I just saw Cassidy Monroe for the first time in eight years, and she's not the scrawny, braces-and-books kid I remembered.
