Page 7 of My Forbidden Mountain Man

Something needs to help control the fire burning in the pit of my stomach.

If it goes unchecked, I’m going to end up sandwiching her body against the counter as I cave to this hunger to get my mouth on her. My hands, too.

With how far my fantasies have gotten me on my loneliest nights, there’s an entire catalog based on the things I’d want to do with her.

Things that are out of question.

“So—” She tugs out a container of sliced fruit nearing the end of their life before easily remembering where I kept the forks, “—what have you been up to since… you know…?”

If she doesn’t want to say it, I will. Call it a vocal reminder ofwhyI need to make some distance.

“Since the divorce?” Drying my hands, I motion around with them. “You’re looking at it.”

All quiet and solitude up here once there isn’t anyone occupying the spare bedrooms.

“Seems boring.” Nudging me with her elbow in passing, she teases me with a smile. “I thought you used to be fun? You seem like a whole different person now.”

“The same could be said about yourself.” Meeting her scoff with a grunt, I follow her like a magnet to metal. Sitting across from her at the table, I flick my fingers toward her appearance. “Want to tell me what led you to my front door? Last I checked, you were in Washington—”

The moment her brows lift, I know I’ve said too much. Now the information is out there, impossible to stuff back into my mouth.

“Logan.”Teasing me with my name in that same tone that makes my knee bounce, her smile seems more genuine. “I’m flattered that you’re keeping up with me. You’re right, I was in Washington. Newport, specifically. But, sometimes you can’t control which way the wind blows and what assholes decide to give you the boot.”

As her words register, she jabs her fork into a chunk of cantaloupe before bringing it to her lips.

“They kicked you out?” Staring at her, she raises and lowers her brows in confirmation before sinking her teeth into the fruit.

Violet got out of her comfort zone to follow some snot-nosed punk when he promised her a life on the road. Now what, their band is landing hits, and they can suddenly be successful without her?

It’s not until I feel the light touch of her fingertips against my aching knuckles that I realize just how angry I’m getting for her.

“Hey, I’m sour about it too, but it is what it is. I’m just writing this off as a mini-vacation. I’ll give that dick some time to realize he’s made a mistake. When that time comes, I’ll go back with my list of demands. No worries, I’ve had plenty of time to think of a lot of them.” The smile she gives me is outright mischievous, and her thumb traces the vein pulsating along the top of my hand. “Think you can put up with me until then?”

My throat grows tighter by the second. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you need. I don’t think you’ll have to wait for long. Whoever it was is a dumbass to begin with.”

Pleased by my words, her smile softens before she pulls away to eat the fruit. From the way she devours every chunk, it’s like she’s starving.

“My diet consists of junk food and beer. Sometimes coffee, too, if we have to stop to get fuel. Being on the road constantlysucks. So this? Yeah, this is a godsend. Don’t judge me, old man.”

For a moment, my scowl cracks at the core. As she insults my age with a grin of her own, it’s impossible to be offended. Rather, the pull I feel on myself toward her only grows stronger. All I can do is avoid fanning the flames.

It will take some time to get used to life returning to this cabin.

Can’t let myself grow too comfortable. If I start liking the company, I’ll accidentally try to keep her around.

Not as my ex-wife’s kid, but something else entirely.

3

Violet

Sleeping in—whatever day of the week it is—feels like stolen luxury.

No frantic midnight wake-ups, jerking awake to Jeremy’s off-key serenades for whatever starry-eyed admirer has wandered backstage.

No crack-of-dawn scrambles to scribble down a melody before it slips away.

Just the heavy comfort of blankets against bare skin, the cabin’s pine-scented air, and the slow, delicious awareness that time is mine to waste.

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