Page 92 of Mountain Grump
How good it felt having her beneath me.
How I need to have her there again.
I want to tell her that I’m becoming enamored.
Obsessed.
That I’ll help her through anything. That I’ll happily punch Ralph in the fucking face if it will just make her smile.
But I don’t want to derail her.
Don’t want to make this about me.
So I keep my mouth shut.
And I hold my hand out.
She tips her head up, and I watch myself in the reflection of her lenses as she makes her decision.
Tilda blows out a breath. Nods. Then puts her hand in mine.
Satisfaction blooms inside my rib cage as I close my fingers around hers.
Tilda falls into step beside me as we walk together down the ramp to street level.
I keep my grip firm and use my hold on her to turn Tilda to the left.
Before she got to the hangar this morning, I studied the map of this location so I’d know where to go. I didn’t tell her that. And she doesn’t question me. Just follows. Giving my confidence another boost.
I know I fucked up with how I said things on the plane, but I can still show her that today isn’t just about a hired job.
Heat radiates up from the concrete as we make our way down the wide sidewalk.
Summer in Las Vegas is not for the faint of heart.
And not for people dressed like lumberjacks.
I reach up with my free hand and undo the top couple buttons of my flannel.
I’m probably showing more bare chest than is respectable. But, fuck, it’s like being in hell out here.
Tilda’s fingers flex against mine. “You okay, Ranger?”
“Hot.”
She huffs and reaches across with her free hand to the front of my shirt.
My steps falter as she undoes the next button.
A fingertip taps against my chest, and I look down at the tattooed skin she’s revealed.
“I’m suddenly better.” I try to say it dryly. But it comes out as a rumble.
Tilda hums and drops her hand.
I focus on slowing my heart rate as we cross an intersection.
Then, we’re here.
