Page 10 of Enticed by the Mountain Man
“An old Ford that stalled every winter.”
“What did you think of me the first time we met?” She asks shyly.
“I thought you were gorgeous, but way too young and full of life to do anything about it.”
Her smile brightens. She flips the next card and slides it toward me. “Your turn.”
“Why’d you really come here?” I ask.
She takes a breath. “Because I was tired of feeling watched. Because I didn’t want to make Connor worry more from a distance. Because I didn’t want to be brave alone anymore.”
Something pulls tight under my ribs. I reach for the deck and shuffle. We play until the wine bottle is empty and my second beer is gone. Her laugh goes loud and then soft. She leans her elbow on the table and rests her chin in her palm. I gather the cards and set them aside.
“Time for me to shower,” she says, pushing back her chair. “I smell like onions and wood.”
“I wasn’t going to say it.”
“I will.” She points at my shirt. “You smell like sawdust. And man.”
“Man?”
“Woodshop man.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It is now.” She walks toward the hallway, then glances back.
I clear the table while the water starts down the hall. Her laugh from earlier keeps replaying in my head. The way her mouth went soft on the wordbrave.I stack plates, rinse them, and line them to dry. The shower turns on, and I can’t help but think about her naked and what would happen if I joined her. I tell myself to finish and go out to the porch for air.
She appears in the doorway before I move. She’s wearing one of my flannel shirts. Bare legs. Damp hair. Clean face. No makeup. The top two buttons of the flannel are undone. She hooked the sleeves and pushed them to her elbows. The hem hits mid-thigh. My body goes tight everywhere at once.
“That’s mine,” I say, because it’s the only sentence I can manage.
She looks down at the flannel, then up at me. “I know.” Her voice comes out lighter now. “It’s warm.”
“Maeve.”
“Yes, Graham?”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Push.”
“Or what?”
I step close. Not touching. Close enough to feel her heat. Close enough to see the drop of water on her collarbone. My hands curl into fists so I don’t reach.
“Or I’ll snap,” I say. “I won’t be careful. You won’t get slow. You’ll get me the way I am.”
She holds my stare. Her pulse beats at her throat. “What if I want you the way you are?”
I drag a hand over my face. “You don’t.”
“I do.”
“You’ve been drinking.”
