Page 11 of Enticed by the Mountain Man
“I’m not drunk.”
“You drank the whole bottle,” I remind her.
“Over several hours. I’m warm. Not dizzy. Not careless.” She tips her chin. “I know what I’m asking.”
I should go. I should put distance between us. I walk to the sink, grab a towel, and then set it down because I don’t need it. She stands very still. I can feel her attention on my back like pressure.
“I’ll go to bed,” she says. “You don’t have to worry. I’m not going to chase you. You don’t want this, say so.”
She turns for the hall, and I break.
My hand hits the doorframe before I think. “Maeve.”
She stops and looks back.
“Don’t run from me.” I step closer. “Not if you want me to stop running from you.”
Something changes in her face. It is small and it is clear. She reaches behind her and flicks the hallway light off. The kitchen stays lit low. She takes three steps back toward me. Two. One.
We collide at the edge of the counter and kiss like the world is ending. No first-date pace. No slow test. It goes deep fast. Her mouth opens under mine. My hands slide to her hips. She makes a sound that kills every plan to stay away from her I ever had. I lift her onto the counter. Her legs wrap around my waist. Heat blasts straight through every layer between us.
She tastes like wine and mint. Her fingers pull at my hair, then fall to my shoulders, then slip under my shirt. I hiss when her nails skate my back. She smiles against my mouth.
“Tell me to stop,” I say against her jaw.
“No way.”
I kiss down her throat. She tips her head to give me better access. My palms flatten on her thighs. The flannel gapes and shows skin I haven’t earned yet. I drag the fabric closed, because if I don’t, I won’t stop where I should. She watches my hands. She presses one of hers over mine.
“It’s just a shirt,” she whispers.
“It’s you in my shirt,” I say. “That’s the problem.”
Her laugh is quiet and pleased. She pulls me close again and kisses me harder. We move like we’ve done this before. No stumbles. No questions. Every slide of her mouth lines up with mine like it was waiting.
“Bedroom,” she murmurs.
“Bad idea.”
We stay at the counter. It feels safe. She shifts forward until I have to grip her to keep us steady. The flannel swings open again. I swear and close it with shaking hands. She sucks in a breath when I pin her with my hips and rock once. Her reply is instant. She rolls and presses back. It burns everywhere all at once.
I pull away before I do something we both can’t take back. The space is small. My breath is loud. She stares at my mouth, licks her lower lip, and I almost cave.
“Go to bed,” I say. It comes out rough.
“I’m not ready to sleep.” She says while peppering my face with kisses.
“Me neither.”
It takes all my willpower, but I walk away from her. “Night, Maeve.”
“Night, Graham.”
I make it to my room. The clock stares at me from the dresser. I lie down and get back up twice in ten minutes. I stare at the ceiling and give up.
The hall is dark, and her door is closed. It should be easy to turn around and go back to my room. I try to walk past her door and fail. My hand lifts and stops in the air before I knock. I’m about to drop it when the handle turns.
She opens the door and steps into me like she had the same thought at the same time. No pause. No question. Her hands slide up my chest and grab the back of my neck. I catch her waist and pull her close. Our mouths find each other.
