Page 39 of Whiskey Kisses For the Mountain Man
Owen’s hand runs up and down my arms. My fingers play with his chest hair. My face is set to a serene smile, reliving what we just did in my head. I can see how women fall in love quickly after great sex. Owen McKenna just gave me the best sex ever, and my emotions are a rollercoaster. Tracing a light scar on his right pec, I realize it’s more than the endorphins coursing through my body. It’s him.
Broken, haunted, grumpy, and all. Behind the protective wall is a man who wants to believe in love and happy endings. He’s just never experienced one to believe they’re real.
No one has made me feel beautiful and wanted like he does.
Oh boy.I’m falling for my mountain man Grinch.
“Why Eden Ridge?” he asks out of nowhere.
I raise my head. His hair is deliciously messed up from my hands. The scruff on his face, even more present. Those bright hues in his eyes look clearer. Just because I want to, I stretch up and kiss him.
His hand digs into my hair and deepens it instantly. My body comes to life, wanting to experience bliss again. Owen twists us, me on my back, him over me. My legs welcome him between them instinctively. Breathing hard, our lips part, and he watches me closely, caressing my face.
“Why did you leave the city life for a small town?”
I exhale. It’s only fair, after what he shared with me, that I share too.
“I was cheated on, too,” I confess. His face hardens. Smiling, I kiss his nose.
Taking a deep breath, I recall everything. “My parents…strongly encouraged me to date Trent Ashford. My mother sold him as charismatic, successful, and of course, from a wealthy Portland family that owned commercial real estate developments.”
I roll my eyes. Owen rests his hip on the bed, leaving his body only half leaning on me. Both comfortable, he patiently waits for me to continue.
“Since I insisted on building 'my little social media thing’, my mother’s words, it didn’t hurt that Trent had nearly a million followers. He was 34, making him ‘age-appropriate’ and ‘established.’”I sigh.
I cast my eyes on his neck, shame still pecking at me. “For eight months, I lost myself,” I say quietly. “We became a viral “it couple” on our socials, hashtag trend, and everything. The pressure from my family once his entered into business with mine was suffocating. So, I tried. Trent was charismatic enough that I believed myself to want this.” I shake my head.
“I went from Christmas Queen to Trent’s Lettie. Subdued, neutrals, submissive, and quiet. I let him shine. Well, he didn’t allow for anything less.”
Owen’s finger tips my chin up, forcing me to face his expression. I don’t see pity or disappointment. I see his righteous anger on my behalf. “That fucker cheated on you?” he asks in disbelief, as if the concept of anyone thinking to do such a thing was preposterous.
“With a Victoria's Secret model at a club in Seattle. How cliche, right?” I humorlessly laugh. “Pictures went viral. Social media informed me. Imagine that.”
Owen rakes his fingers into my hair. I close my eyes, his touch, grounding.
It was the same weekend we argued when he was suddenly "too busy with a work trip" to attend Tomlin and Densel’s wedding. He didn’t even apologize in person. He avoided me for weeks and put out a public statement where he was the victim.
The tagged comments began the next day. I lost forty percent of my followers, claiming to be on Trent’s side.
"He was too good for her anyway. She was holding him back."
"Did you see her at that event last month? She looked like she ate the dessert table."
"Trent upgraded. That model is . Lettie's cute but... yeah."
"She should've known she couldn't keep a guy like that."
“My father lost the Ashford account. He was furious. And my mother?”
I transform my voice to sound posh and highbrow. "Well, Colette, if you'd kept yourself in better shape and been less... needy, perhaps things would have worked out. Now what are we supposed to tell people?"
Owen’s hand tightens in my hair as his expression hardens. I cup his cheek, those stormy eyes looking like they’re plotting revenge. I softly smile, reaching up and softly kissing his lips as a silent thank you. When his tense frame loosens over me, I continue.
“It took time, but I rebuilt the account, the image, and myself. I went all in and embraced who I was unapologetically. Even if people find it too much.”
“You’re not too much,” he fiercely states. “You’re perfect as you are, Lettie.”
I pull him down for another kiss, this one longer, deeper. Owen’s body leans over mine again. He’s hard, rubbing against my swollen nerves. I whimper, wanting more when my stomach makes the most obnoxiously loud rumble.
