Page 20 of Possessive Mountain Man

But I don’t.

Instead, I press a kiss to her temple and close my eyes, just breathing her in. The steady rise and fall of her chest against mine is a balm, lulling me into a rare kind of peace.

She stirs a little and murmurs, “Coffee?”

I chuckle, the sound rumbling through my chest. “Give me five minutes and you’ll have the best damn cup you’ve ever had.”

Reluctantly, I untangle myself from her and pull on my jeans, padding over to the stove to get the fire going and set up the percolator.

Elise wraps herself in a blanket and watches me, her hair messy and her cheeks still flushed from sleep. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

“You’re staring,” I say, gruff.

She grins. “Can you blame me?”

I shake my head, unable to keep from smiling.

We drink our coffee in a comfortable silence, stealing glances at each other over the rims of our mugs. It’s too easy to imagine more mornings like this—her in my shirt, in my bed, in my life.

Dangerous thoughts.

When she finishes her coffee, she sets the mug down and stretches, the blanket slipping from her shoulders.

“Show me how to chop wood,” she says suddenly.

I blink. “You want to learn how to split logs?”

“You never know.” Determination lights her face. “It might come in handy someday.”

I chuckle and pull on a flannel, tossing another to her. She catches it and slips it on, buttoning it halfway and knotting the ends at her waist.

Jesus. I roll my eyes.

“What?”

“It’s cold outside.”

“Duh. I’ll wear a coat.”

Outside, the air is biting, but the sky is clear, the snow piled high and sparkling under the sun. I grab the axe and a few logs from the woodpile.

“Watch,” I instruct, setting a log on the chopping block.

She stands close, arms folded against the cold, her gaze locked on me.

I split the log cleanly, the axe biting deep with a satisfying crack.

“Your turn.”

She steps up, determination written all over her face. I hand her the axe, adjusting her grip.

“Here,” I murmur, moving behind her. My hands cover hers, guiding them into place. I’m close enough to feel the shiver that runs through her—not from the cold.

“Lift with your legs, not your back,” I instruct, my voice low in her ear.

She nods, and together we swing. The axe sinks into the wood with a satisfying thud, though it doesn’t split.

“Good,” I murmur. “Try again.”

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