Page 2 of Enticed by the Mountain Man
Something flickers in Graham’s eyes. He’s not exactly surprised by my situation. It’s more like I confirmed what he already knew. “You tell the cops?”
“I tried. They said without threats or actual violence, there wasn’t much they could do. He’s good at staying under the radar.”
“And Connor sent you here.”
I nod. “He said you’d keep me safe.”
Graham mutters something under his breath and walks into the kitchen. I hear the clink of a mug, the sound of water running. When he comes back, he sets a steaming mug of tea down in front of me.
“Chamomile. It’s all I’ve got besides coffee, and I don’t think you need any more of that.”
“Thanks.” I wrap my hands around it.
He doesn’t sit. Just stands, leaning against the wall like a watchdog who doesn’t know what to do with the intruder he’s been told to protect.
“It’s getting late. I think I’ll head to the guest room,” I say after a minute. “I remember where it is.”
“If anything feels off, no matter how small, you wake me.”
His tone leaves no room for argument. I nod.
He studies me again, slower this time. His eyes linger on my face, then dip down and back up.
“I’ll see you in the morning, Maeve,” he says as I leave the room.
I came here to feel safe, but now I’m wondering if I just jumped from the frying pan into the fire. Because the one thing I remember most about that summer I met Graham? He never once looked at me like he does now, and I never once stopped wishing he would.
Chapter two
Graham
Maeve Prescott is a distraction.
It’s been three days since she showed up at my door, and she’s made herself at home. I tell myself I’m just keeping an eye on her, Connor’s orders and all, but the truth is I can’t stop thinking about her. I can’t stop noticing the way she moves through my house like she’s meant to be here.
Every morning, I tell myself to stay focused on work. Every afternoon, she finds a way to ruin that plan.
Today is no different.
She walks into my workshop, holding two steaming mugs. “Do you always work this hard, or are you just ignoring me?”
I don’t look up from the table leg I’m sanding. “Trying to get things done.”
She sets one mug next to my hand. The smell of coffee hits me, intense, dark roast, the way I like it. “You need caffeine to get things done. I’ve seen how you work.”
I glance at her. “You’ve seen me work a total of five minutes.”
“Five minutes is enough to form an opinion,” she says lightly, her voice teasing. “You’re a perfectionist, Graham Hawthorne.”
She smiles, and I swear she knows exactly what she’s doing. She’s standing there in a faded T-shirt that’s seen better days and a pair of tight leggings that should be illegal.
She doesn’t belong here. She’s too bright, too alive, but damn if she doesn’t fit anyway.
“Connor warned me you were stubborn,” she says, sipping her own coffee.
“I’m not that stubborn.”
She starts to wander, trailing her fingers across the woodwork I’ve been sanding. Her nails scrape lightly against the grain, and I wonder what it would feel like if she ran those fingers on my skin. She stops beside the half-finished cedar chest in the corner.
