Page 30 of Knocked up By the Mountain Man

She cuts me off sharply, her voice biting. “Is that why you thought it was okay to barge into my house?”

“I knocked,” I say defensively, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. “And the door was open…”

“That doesn’t give you the right,” she retorts, her voice clipped. “This is my space, Beau. You can’t just come in here whenever you feel like it.”

I take a step back, stung by her hostility. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I just… I wanted to talk to you.”

Before she can say anything more, the air between us crackles with tension, charged with years of unspoken words and unresolved feelings. Driven by impulse, I close the distance between us and crash my lips to hers. For a heartbeat, Clara stiffens in surprise, her body rigid against mine. But then, slowly, she begins to respond, her hands tentatively finding their way up my shoulders and around my neck.

The kiss deepens, a mix of longing and hesitation, as if we’re both unsure of how far to let this go…

13

CLARA

What the hell is wrong with me?

I sit on the edge of Thomas’s bed, my hands trembling as I pull the blankets up to his chin. His soft, even breaths a stark contrast to the storm raging inside me. He looks so peaceful, clutching his teddy bear, unaware of the turmoil that erupted in the living room just moments ago. I lean down, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, and linger there a moment longer, drawing strength from his innocence.

Why did I kiss Beau?

The question echoes in my mind, relentless and accusing. My heart is still pounding, each beat reminding me of the impulsive act. To make it worse, Beau is still out there, in the living room, probably feeling as bewildered as I am.

It all started when I saw Beau laughing with Thomas. It was such a simple thing, two people enjoying each other’s company, but it was like a switch flipped inside me. The sight of them together, laughing so naturally, scared me.

Beau and Thomas, together, looking like father and son.

The resemblance is uncanny, and the realization hits me like an arrow through the heart. I’ve never considered the possibilityof telling Beau the truth, but in that moment, it felt like my carefully constructed world was on the verge of collapsing.

I stand up, smoothing the blankets one last time, and walk out of Thomas’s room, closing the door quietly behind me. My steps are hesitant as I make my way back to the living room and to the hurricane I had left behind. Beau is there, standing by the window, his back to me. He turns as he hears me enter, his eyes searching mine for answers.

The silence between us is thick, a tangible tension that I can’t seem to cut through.

Beau’s gaze is intense, filled with questions he hasn’t yet asked. I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks, the weight of what just happened pressing down on me.

“Beau,” I begin, my voice barely above a whisper, but he interrupts me, stepping closer.

He doesn’t say a word.

Instead, he looks at me with an expression that is both confused and tender. My breath catches in my throat, and before I can think of what to say next, he closes the distance between us. His hands gently cup my face, his touch warm and steadying. For a moment, I feel frozen.

No, we can’t do this.

We have to talk…

But before I can find the words, Beau’s lips are on mine again, and this time, there’s a desperation in his kiss that mirrors the chaos inside me. I melt into him, my resolve crumbling, and for a brief moment, everything else fades away.

Beau’s lips are soft yet insistent, moving against mine with a fervor that sends shivers down my spine. His hands slide from my face to the back of my neck, pulling me closer, deepening the moment. My own hands find their way to his chest, feeling the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath my fingertips. His mouth is hungry, passionate, as though trying to make up forlost time, to convey years of unspoken words and hidden desires in this one moment.

Beau’s tongue grazes my lower lip, seeking entrance, and I part my lips for him, a soft moan escaping me as his tongue meets mine. The sensation is intoxicating, a heady mix of warmth and desire that makes my knees weak. He tastes of mint and something indescribably him, a flavor I realize I’ve been craving without knowing it.

His hands are roaming now, one sliding down my back, pressing me firmly against him, the other tangling in my hair. I press my whole self up against him, my body responding to every touch, every movement. The world outside ceases to exist; it’s just the two of us, caught in this whirlwind of desire and unspoken emotions.

Beau’s hands begin to tug at the hem of my t-shirt, and I lift my arms, helping him pull it over my head.

The cool air hits my skin, but it’s quickly replaced by the warmth of his touch.

He lets the top fall to the floor, his eyes trailing over me with a mix of reverence and desire, like he still wants me, even after three long years.

---