Page 16 of Enticed by the Mountain Man
She smiles, her eyes closed. “Yeah. Better than okay.”
Her voice is drowsy, soft around the edges. Within minutes, she’s asleep.
I stare at the ceiling, wide awake, my mind still running. I should feel guilty. I should be thinking about Connor, about what he’d say if he knew. Instead, I’m just trying to memorize this moment. The weight of her in my arms, the steady rhythm of her breathing, the quiet peace that’s settled over the room.
I pull the blanket higher over her shoulders. She stirs a little, murmurs my name, and settles again.
I press my lips to her hair. “Mine,” I whisper, the word slipping out before I can stop it.
And for once, the thought doesn’t scare me. It feels like the truest thing I’ve ever said.
Chapter seven
Maeve
I wake to warmth, to quiet, to the smell of cedar and skin and something that feels like peace.
The curtains are still drawn, but sunlight still finds its way through. Graham’s arm is draped over my waist, heavy and comforting, his hand resting against my stomach. Every slow breath he takes moves through me like a rhythm I never want to lose.
I lie still, not ready to break the moment. His body is solid behind mine, a steady wall of heat. I can feel his heartbeat against my back, can hear the faint rasp of his breath against my shoulder. It feels safe in a way that’s almost unreal.
My whole life, I’ve waited to feel this kind of calm. To wake up and not flinch at the silence.
I turn slowly in his arms until I can see his face. His hair is messy, curling against his forehead. There’s a faint scrape of stubble on his jaw, and a crease from the pillow runs down his cheek.
As he wakes, he blinks once, catches me staring, and a sleepy smile curves his mouth. “You’re still here,” he murmurs.
“Where else would I be?”
“Wasn’t sure if I dreamed it.”
I smile and touch his face, tracing that crease down his cheek with my thumb. “Not a dream.”
He catches my hand and presses a kiss to my wrist. “Good.”
We stay like that for a while, trading small touches and quiet smiles. He brushes his thumb over my bottom lip, his eyes dark and lazy. When he leans in and kisses me, it’s slow, unhurried, full of warmth. The kind of kiss that says more than words ever could.
When we finally get up, I pull on another one of his shirts and walk barefoot to the kitchen. He’s half-dressed behind me, grabbing his coffee mug, watching me move like he’s trying to memorize it.
“You’re staring,” I tease.
“Just making sure you’re real.”
“I get that a lot,” I say lightly, but the truth is my chest aches at how serious he sounds.
He grins faintly and shakes his head. “You don’t make things easy.”
“I didn’t know I was supposed to.”
He laughs once under his breath. “I guess you really aren’t.”
The moment is easy, familiar. I pour him coffee, then grab mine, and step out onto the porch to take in the morning. The air smells like pine and wood smoke. The forest beyond the cabin glows gold in the rising sun.
For the first time in months, I feel like I can breathe.
Then I see it.
A white piece of paper, fluttering against the windshield of Graham’s truck.
