Page 4 of Craving the Mountain Man
She pops the tab on the can and leans a hip against the counter, completely unfazed by my suggestion. "I don’t like underwear.”
I freeze.
Fuck. I was thinking jeans, not underwear.
My jaw clenches.
Her lips curve like she knows what she’s doing.
The smart thing would be to walk away. To tell her goodnight and lock myself in my room until I can think straight. But I've never been particularly smart when it comes to beautiful women who challenge me.
"You're not funny," I grit out.
"I'm not trying to be."
I face her fully, arms crossed, trying to put some barrier between us that doesn't involve me leaving the room like a coward. "Cass, this isn't a game. You know that, right? You are here for a week to get your life together. You brother told me about your ex."
She tilts her head, studying me. "My ex is a dick and I’m already over him. I just needed to get away and Dylan knew I loved it here growing up.” She hesitates. “And what makes you think I'm playing?"
"Because you're twenty-four years old and you don't know what you want."
"I'm not a kid, Evan.”
"No, you're not. That's the damn problem."
The silence stretches, loaded with everything we're not saying. I can see her processing my words, can see the exact moment she decides to push harder.
Finally, she pushes off the counter and takes a step closer. "You kissed me once."
I blink.
"What?"
She takes another step, and now I can smell her shampoo, something sweet and warm that makes me think of lazy Sunday mornings and tangled sheets. "New Year's Eve. Your place. I was home from college. Remember that?"
I remember. Fuck, do I remember. She'd been wearing a red dress that hugged her curves in all the right places, and drinking that sickly sweet stuff her brother warned her about. The party had been winding down, and she'd found me on the back porch, looking up at the stars. I hadn't meant to, but she'd leaned in, soft and tipsy and laughing at something I'd said, and I'd kissed her. Just once.
Just enough to make me hate myself for wanting more.
"I remember," I say roughly.
She stops a foot away, close enough that I can see the gold flecks in her green eyes. "You pulled back like you were ashamed."
"I was. You are my best friend's baby sister."
"Did you want to try it again?"
My eyes drop, traitorously, to the hint of thigh showing beneath her shirt. Then up to her flushed cheeks and bold, stubborn gaze.
"You're still nearly ten years younger, Cass."
"So?" The word comes out like a challenge. “I was then as well and yet you still kissed me.”
"So, you deserve more than a man who lives in the middle of nowhere and barely knows how to talk to people anymore. You deserve soft."
She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "I just got out of a relationship with 'soft.' A man who thought I was boring and who made me feel inadequate in every sense of the word. I don't want soft, Evan. I want more of what we tried before. That’s whatI’ve been chasing ever since. Something that makes me tingle with. Just. One. Kiss.”"
My hand tightens around the beer bottle, and I have to force myself not to step closer. To not close the distance between us and show her exactly how to make her tingle in all the right places.
