Page 17 of My Tempting Mountain Man

"If you're the reward, I'm up for it," I say softly, reaching out to brush dirt from her cheek. She leans into my touch, eyes fluttering closed briefly.

“I wish we could stay like this,” she whispers, voice thick with emotion.

“Me too,” I admit hoarsely. “But there’s so much more out there for you.”

“I have everything I need right here,” she insists quietly, eyes shining fiercely.

I swallow hard, chest aching again. "Let's finish up here, then we'll talk."

She nods reluctantly, understanding clear in her eyes. We return to work, quiet now, the playful banter replaced by thoughtful silence. My mind races, grappling with what comes next.

As we finally finish clearing the debris, Everly moves to my side, slipping her hand back into mine.

"You okay?" she asks gently, eyes searching my face.

"I am now," I reply softly, squeezing her hand reassuringly, even as uncertainty gnaws at me. For now, I'll cherish this stolen moment, knowing deep down that soon I'll need to face the hardest decision of my life.

We head inside, boots muddy and clothes damp from lingering moisture in the air. I set the fire roaring again, warmth quicklyspreading through the cabin. Everly heads toward the bathroom, glancing back at me with a small smile.

"Shower sounds pretty perfect right now," she says.

"Yeah," I murmur, eyes tracing the curve of her back as she disappears inside.

Moments later, I follow her in. The room fills quickly with steam as I twist the knob on the shower, hot water gushing from the spout. Without a word, I reach for the hem of her shirt and slowly lift it over her head, baring her soft skin to my gaze. My breath catches as I take her in—every line, every dip, every curve. Reverence isn’t strong enough for what I feel.

I undress her slowly, letting my fingers graze her skin, memorizing her the way I memorize mountain trails—like I plan to return to this map over and over again. She's still, watching me with eyes that hold more trust than I deserve. I want to tell her I love her. I want to say it right now. But the words lock in my throat, heavy with the weight of all the reasons I shouldn't say them.

She steps toward me then, hands moving to the hem of my shirt, helping me undress with the same quiet care. Her touch is gentle, but it brands me. When we're both bare, I take her hand and lead her under the stream. The hot water hits my back, cascading down tense muscles and instantly relaxing me. Her body presses lightly to mine, warm and perfect.

We stand like that for a while, steam curling around us, her head resting on my chest. I wrap my arms around her and hold on like this is the only thing anchoring me to this world.

I may not be brave enough to say it yet, but I hope she can feel it in the way I hold her.

In the way I need her.

In the way I’m already hers.

11

Everly

The cabin is warm now, heat radiating from the fireplace Liam stoked as we came in from the cold. But the warmth I feel isn't just from the fire—it's from him. Every glance, every brush of his hand, every quiet moment of unspoken emotion has me teetering on a fragile edge I never knew existed.

I head into the bathroom, casting a glance over my shoulder with a soft smile. "Shower sounds pretty perfect right now," I say, knowing he’s watching me.

And a few seconds later, he follows.

The air fills quickly with thick steam as he turns on the water. It rolls across the mirrors, coats the tile in a soft haze, and wraps around us like a cocoon. The world outside disappears.

Liam steps in close, eyes locked to mine, and with careful hands, he reaches for the hem of my shirt. He peels it away slowly, reverently, as if he’s unwrapping something sacred. I shiver—not from the cold, but from the way he looks at me. Like I’m morethan beautiful. Like I’m worth something. His hands skim over my skin, and I swear my legs almost give out.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he whispers, voice rough and full of wonder, as his fingers sweep gently through my hair.

He grabs the bottle of shampoo, tilts my head back beneath the water, and lathers it into my scalp. His touch is gentle, almost worshipful, and I melt under it, my eyes fluttering closed. The rhythm of his fingers—strong, steady, tender—works through every strand, and a soft sigh escapes me.

It feels amazing having his hands on me. Intimate in a way that’s deeper than sex, more vulnerable than anything I’ve ever experienced. No one’s ever touched me like this—with care, with attention, with emotion brimming in every movement.

He rinses my hair, then smooths conditioner through it, his thumbs brushing against the curve of my neck. I can feel the tension draining from my body, bit by bit, as the hot water and his presence soak into me.

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