Page 7 of Possessive Mountain Man

“I figured that’s how you’d want it. I have my big tent and a few older ones that I’ve used since moving here. I picked out the best of those few. It’s rainproof, so I don’t know if that matters.”

I didn’t want to stay in a separate tent, although I definitely should. I bit my lip, trying to figure out a way to say that. Yes, I’d just met this man, so it was understandable I might want some privacy, but the idea of sleeping alone in a tent while no-telling-what lurked outside—bears, rabid raccoons, serial killers—terrified me.

Maybe I wasn’t as adventurous as I’d thought.

“You can sleep in my tent, of course,” he said. “I brought a couple of sleeping bags. It’s big enough that you’d have your own space. I could even erect some kind of partition.”

Erect. That word stuck in my head. It made me think of other things. Things I didn’t normally think about.

“Let’s do that,” I said, shoving thoughts of erections to the back of my mind.

He flipped on his turn signal and glanced in his rearview mirror before turning onto a narrow road. Trees created a tunnel over us, giving the drive an even spookier feel.

After a quarter mile or so, the road dumped out into the most beautiful patch of dirt I’d ever seen. It overlooked a vast expanse of land and was lit only by stars and moonlight.

He parked on the dirt patch, which was where I figured the camping happened. But over to the left of it was grass, and that was where he began erecting the tent.

Erecting the tent. I repeated the word silently to myself while I helped him unload. He tapped stakes into the ground just a few feet away. Yes, this was definitely the kind of guy who could start a campfire. We wouldn’t need one tonight—it was hot as hell—but we could come back and camp in the fall. And when we had kids…

That thought brought my footsteps to a halt. Was I actually thinking that? That was probably the definition of naïveté. Did I think that just because this guy wanted to camp with me, he was my happily ever after? Ridiculous.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I realized then that he’d stood, the tent fully in place. I’d been so caught up in my thoughts as I shuffled back and forth, unloading things, that I hadn’t noticed how much progress he was making.

“Fine,” I said. “Got distracted by the view.”

I gestured toward the area in front of me, hoping he didn’t notice I wasn’t even looking in that direction. My attention had been on the SUV and him and nothing else. Right now, though, I was avoiding dropping my gaze to his lower body. The word “erection” just would not leave my mind.

“I’ll load all this stuff into the tent and then we can sit and enjoy that view,” he said.

We worked side by side, moving items into the tent. That meant brushing up against each other more than a couple of times. In every single instance, I felt a little lightheaded. Was that the definition of getting swoony over a guy? I’d read about it. But I’d never had it actually happen to me.

Finally, he picked up the last bag—a small soft-sided cooler—and carried it over to a patch of grass close to the edge of the mountain. I followed, not sure exactly what to do. I was so self-conscious around him.

I cared what he thought. I wanted him to like me as much as I liked him. It definitely wasn’t the first time I’d felt that way around a guy, but it was the first time that feeling had been so intense.

“I just grabbed a few drinks from my fridge,” he said. “And I had this cooler handy.”

I sat down on the other side of the cooler and took the bottled water he was holding out to me. Our fingers brushed in the transfer and my heart leapt into double time again.

“The only other thing I had was beer,” he said. “I brought extra if you want one of those. Maybe we should have stopped by the grocery store.”

I shook my head. “This is perfect.”

He opened a beer while I screwed off the cap on the water bottle and took a generous drink. I hadn’t even realized I was thirsty until now.

“This is what it’s all about,” he said. “I can’t imagine being cooped up in an office all day. I get to work outside. Breathe fresh air three hundred sixty-five days a year.”

“The cold days would be the toughest.”

“It’s not as bad as you think. I guess we work so hard, it keeps us warm. But… yeah, if weather conditions get really rough, we?—”

“Get the week off, paid?”

He laughed. “No, but the pay is good enough that it makes up for it.”

“If I worked from home, I wouldn’t have to be trapped in an office. I could bring my laptop here.”

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