Page 7 of Grumped By the Mountain Man

As I move closer toward the barks, another sound grabs my attention. Running water, like a brook or creek.

Already my mind’s racing as I peer at the camera strapped around my neck. A creek could be a great photo opp—

I swallow a scream as I nearly fall on my ass from skidding on a rock. Maybe Willis had been right to side-eye my kickass boots. Sexy as they were, the moss-covered boulders seemed to disagree.

Two almost ankle twists later and I bank around a massive boulder formation and freeze. The creek isn’t the only thing I stumble upon.

Mochi’s looking at me expectantly as Jaxon emerges from the water like a bronze beast, butt naked and as sculpted as those fourteenth-century statues, but with double the bulk.

I grip the frappe so hard that the top pops off as I gawk at his massive cock, watching each drop of water that rolls off the tip.

Jaxon’s so stunned to see me that he doesn’t even attempt to cover himself.

“Ayla? What are you doing here?”

Watching the show.

But his icy tone breaks my trance on his glorious member as my eyes dart to his cold ones.

Chapter Three

Jaxon

What on earth is Ayla doing here of all places?

Outside of work ventures, I’ve avoided visiting town and the lodge. Sure, my reclusive tendencies have a lot to do with it, but lately, Ayla is the primary cause.

I don’t want to bump into her. I don’t want to see her, smell her, or risk touching her again like I had to at Cali and Beau’s wedding. Because if I do, I don’t think I can control myself anymore, and going down that path would only lead to heartache.

For Ayla, I’m sure strolling back into Covet County, and undoubtedly out of it again in a few weeks is a cakewalk. For me, watching her come and go these past few years is pure torture. Every time I think I’m okay, that I’m content to be alone, here she comes again waltzing back to the mountains with her sexy impractical heels and heart-melting smiles.

She has no idea what these little teasers of hers do to me. In the beginning, I could plaster on a fake smile and fake a polite conversation for a few moments. Now? I can’t even look at her without wanting to pull her into my arms and kiss her. To protect my little butterfly I have to protect myself from her. Because if I get just one taste, I’ll turn into what I swore I’d never become. A trapper. That’s what Mom always called Dad. That’s what she called Cali and me by default. Baby trappers.

Ayla isn’t meant to be tied to these mountains with me or any baby I’d put inside of her. So despite the chemistry that hangs thickly in the air and the lust in Ayla’s eyes as she gawks at me, nothing can happen between us for both our sakes.

It’s just better this way.

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