Page 3 of Beast of Misty Mountain

Alone again, the adrenaline starts to ebb, giving way to a rush of heat that burns in my core. I breathe out, glance toward the now-empty living room, then down at myself. I’m still in my tank top. Still wrapped in a blanket.

Still way too aware of what Milo Adamson looked like in the doorway—scarred, scowling, and infuriatingly hot.

It’s not like I want a fling. I’ve told Hanna that a hundred times when she calls to check in on me. But even she would admit that if I were going to have one, this man would qualify. Rugged. Handsome.Definitelynot boyfriend material. He’s the kind of man who makes you mad the moment he opens his mouth, but who’s probably amazing in bed.

I shake my head. Thinking about sex with Milo isreallythe last thing I should be doing. The point of coming to Misty Mountain was to get away from my ex, not to find a new man. I came here to figure out what I wanted to do next. I’m not even sure if I want to go back to Jefferson.

And yet, here I am, sharing a cabin with the first man in months to actually make my stomach flip.

CHAPTER 2

MILO

Marilee stands at the kitchen counter, nursing a steaming mug of coffee. She’s barefoot, and her hair is still wet from a shower she must’ve taken when I was outside chopping wood.

Marilee doesn’t look surprised by my voice. She turns and offers a slow smile. “How are you doing, Roomie?”

I stretch my neck, then my back. A sharp pop echoes across my spine, and I wince before I can catch myself.

“Don’t call me that,” I snap. I can normally control my temper pretty well, but something about this curvy redhead pushes all my buttons. She’s trying to wind me up and knows she’s succeeding.

She eyes me over the rim of her mug. “You alright?”

“I’m fine.” I roll my shoulders again, trying to stretch the soreness out of my back. “Didn’t sleep well.”

She leans a hip against the counter, watching me with a half-smirk that has me regretting letting her stay. “Let me guess. Hammock wasn’t quite five-star accommodations?”

“It was perfectly adequate,” I lie. Damn hammock is meant for naps, or at least people who don’t have scars that ache during chilly nights.

My granny’s quilt barely held off the chill that rolled in, and I spent half the night shifting to keep pressure off my right hip. But I’d rather gnaw my own arm off than admit I should’ve slept inside.

I glance toward the bathroom, where I saw her damn soap sitting beside mine and stinking up the bathroom.

I’ve been back less than a day, and I don’t know what the fuck to think. It wouldn’t have been right to throw her out, and I know full well that Misty Mountain is jam-packed this time of year. Still, that doesn’t mean I suddenly like having someone invading my space. I haven’t shared quarters with anyone since my days in the Army, and it’s not something I’ve missed.

Peace and quiet is how I like it. And this woman is everythingexceptthat.

“I didn’t agree to this,” I say, resting one hand on the back of the couch. “You being here. Taking over my space.”

She doesn’t flinch. “You agreed not to kick me out. I’m holding you to that.”

I scowl at her. I know I said that last night, but there’s a difference between doing the right thing and wanting this. “This is temporary,” I mutter.

“Obviously.”

“Don’t get too comfortable.”

“Oh, I’m already comfortable,” she says, then flashes that damn smile again. “You always this grumpy?”

I narrow my eyes. “You always this mouthy?”

Her grin widens and it raises my hackles even more. “What can I say? You bring out the best in me.”

She finishes her coffee and crosses to the sink to rinse her mug. Her shirt shifts with her movement. Soft cotton pulls tight across her back, and I have to look away before I start imagining what it’d feel like to run my hand down the curve of her spine.

It’s not that she’s sexy, because she is—curvy, with that luscious red hair framing her face, confident, and brave. I know what I look like, and the way she stood up to me last night—a strange man invading her space—was unexpected. I respect how she stood her ground, even if it was infuriating.

It’s that she’shere.Inmyhouse. Moving through my space like I’m the guest.

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