Page 9 of Mountain Man's Longing
“Graham?” Her voice is soft, uncertain, and when I look down, those green eyes search my face. She’s looking for reassurance I’m unsure I can give when I’m barely holding myself together.
She deserves gentle. She deserves careful. But right now, all I want is to fuck her hard and fast. To claim her as mine.
Which is exactly what I do.
Chapter six
Brenna
Ipause halfway across the meadow as I head down to my car, filling my lungs with a deep breath of the crisp morning air. The breeze catches my hair, sending it dancing around my shoulders as I close my eyes and raise my face to the slim rays of sunlight peeking through the clouds. Pine, wood smoke, damp earth, and the sweet smell of fallen leaves all reassure me I’m where I’m meant to be.
The mountains are what I’ve craved my entire life. Not the perfectly climate-controlled air of our Manhattan penthouse or the recycled atmosphere of charity galas, but this wild, honest wind and a breathtaking view. One I couldn’t see last night, but that now stretches before me. Endless peaks are blanketed in fall colors, the morning mist clings to valleys, and a sky is so vast it makes my problems feel insignificant in the best possible way.
For the first time in twenty-two years, I can breathe.
Twenty minutes later, the Range Rover’s leather seat reminds me with every shift that I’m not the same woman who drove up this mountain yesterday. A delicious ache between my thighs sends heat spiraling through me as I navigate the windingroad back down to Wildwood. Every bump in the dirt road is a reminder of Graham’s powerful hands, his warm mouth, his skilled tongue, and the way he claimed me beside the fire.
I press my lips together, tasting the ghost of his kiss, and grip the steering wheel tighter. The steaming pot of coffee and the mug he set out for me proved he’s thoughtful. But the fact he was gone when I woke? That stings more than I want to admit.
Plus, he restored power to the rental cabin. I tested the lock before hitting the road. I mean, sure, he strikes me as the kind of man who follows through. And he did say he’d fix it today, but does it mean he wants me gone from his place?
My fingers drum against the wheel as I replay last night in my mind. The way Graham wiped me gently with a warm, moist washcloth, even after he was clearly shocked—and furious—I was a virgin. The way his arms wrapped around me as if he’d never let me go. How I drifted off to sleep against his chest while his fingers traced lazy patterns on my skin. I still feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my cheek.
But then this morning—nothing. Just hot coffee and an empty cabin.
Maybe, I was naïve to think one night could mean something to a man like him. A man who’s been with women who have experience. Women who actually know what they’re doing in bed.
The thought stings, but I shake it off. I didn’t come to Vermont for Graham Hughes, no matter how perfectly I fit against him or how his gray eyes go storm-dark when he looks at me. I came here for answers. For my father.
Though I make a mental note to ask Eric if he knows Graham. In a town this small, surely their paths have crossed.
Eric Truett. The name tastes foreign on my tongue, though I’ve practiced it for years. Will I have his eyes? Do I get mystubborn streak from him? Will he take one look at me and see the disappointment my mother always claimed he’d find?
The Sugar Plum Cafe sits at the edge of Wildwood’s tiny main street like something from a postcard, complete with gingham curtains and a chalkboard advertising fresh apple cider donuts. My stomach growls, but I’m too nervous to eat.
I park between a rusted pickup and a Subaru covered in hiking stickers, suddenly aware of how out-of-place my brand new, top-of-the-line SUV looks. Like I must look. City girl playing dress-up in designer hiking boots.
At least, the storm has passed. The skies are still heavy with clouds, but they don’t have the ominous weight that promises rain. Small mercies.
The cafe’s bell chimes as I push through the door, and conversations pause long enough for curious glances to sweep over me. Small town radar. I square my shoulders and approach the counter where a young woman with warm blue eyes and a red-and-white checkered headband is taking an order. She’s only a few years older than me, with a flour-dusted apron that suggests she’s been baking since dawn.
“What can I get you, honey?” she asks, shooting me a kind smile as I slide onto the edge of a red leather-covered stool.
I pause then plunge ahead, eyeing her nametag. “Actually, Mia, I’m looking for someone. Eric Truett? I heard he lives here in town.”
Her eyebrows lift with interest, and I catch the way her gaze lingers on my face with quiet curiosity. “Eric? Sure, everyone knows Eric. He’s the kind of man who’ll carry your groceries to your car without being asked.”
Really? That doesn’t sound like a man who’d act the way my mother said he did. But it was a long time ago.
Mia continues, “This time of year, he’s running the tour guide business out of a counter at the outfitters just down Main Street, past Wildwood Brewing.”
That makes sense. My mother said he was a ski instructor somewhere around here during the winter. Or at least, he was when she met him.
“Thank you.” I move to stand then hesitate before adding, “What about Graham Hughes? Do you know him?”
The surprise that crosses her face is even more pronounced. She glances toward the window as if looking up toward the mountain. “Graham? Well, sure. He’s…” She pauses, studying my face with renewed curiosity. “Let’s just say that when an ice storm knocked out power for a week last winter, Graham made sure every elderly resident in town had firewood.”
That squares based on my read of him. Solid. Dependable. I’m glad to know my instincts were right.
