Page 59 of The One With the Mountain Man

"Jackson."

"I'm serious." He brushed my hair back and cupped my face in his hands.

I let mine fall to his shoulders. "So am I." For as wonderful as Jackson was and as amazing as our time was together, there was one constant in my life. Everything always ended badly. And considering who Jackson was and what my real life entailed, there was no other possible ending for us.

He shook his head like I exasperated him. "For a writer with a big imagination you sure have trouble seeing the possibilities. Now kiss me or get out of this truck."

Commanding Jackson was back and it was probably for the best. I slid off his lap so he could unbuckle, then let him haul me out of the truck and up the porch stairs.

"Am I coming in or not, Marley?"

I could invite this gorgeous mountain of a man inside and have my wicked way with him. I could let us have some fun and light in our lives while it lasted.

Or I could overthink and worry.

I punched in the code and stepped inside, pulling him in behind me. "You're coming in and you're staying the night." Jackson was kind and wonderful and I was going to enjoy having this little slice of goodness in my life while it lasted.

He kicked the door closed. "Good answer."

My body hummed. Being near Jackson made me feel good but kissing him, feeling him, made me greedy. I grabbed the front of his shirt. "You're killing me with that hat, Jackson."

He shot me a cocky grin. "The only killing I plan on doing is the little deaths kind."

I paused. "My outdoorsman knows aboutla petite mort?"

He leaned down and whisper-growled, "What do you think I do with all that time in nature? I read, Marley. A lot."

A shiver raced through my body. "Then it seems you know what to do next."

He backed me into the hallway wall. "The question isn't ‘Do I know what to do?’ It's ‘Are you ready for it?’"

I splayed my hands over his chest, smoothing the fabric I'd just had in my fists. "I haven't been ready for one second of you."

He tipped his hat back and leaned down so his lips just barely touched mine. "Then I'll start slow."

He ever so gently kissed my lower lip, then my top lip. He brushed the corners of my mouth and I whimpered because it felt like I was having an out of body experience while still very much inside my body.

Jackson was so careful with me. It was so foreign I almost didn’t know what to do with the feelings it gave me. I had the strongest urge to put up a shield because it was just too much. It couldn’t be real.

"We're going to be good together, Lee. Trust me."

"I do." How was he so calm? How could he talk and move while I was vibrating to death from the combination of his nearness and niceness.

And why did niceness feel so overwhelming? It shouldn’t, right? It was supposed to be normal. Like a fist-bump. Cool.

Instead it made me want to kiss him and cry and explode and run far, far away.

"Show me the bedroom." He stepped back.

The wall was the only thing holding me up without his body pressing into mine. How was I supposed to put one foot in front of the other?

"Do I need to carry you, darlin'? Do you need me that badly?"

I did. I really, really did, but telling him that felt like too much too soon. "It's just here." I slid along the wall to the first and only door on the right.

Jackson was right there again, hands on my hips, turning me to move through the open doorway. It was an adorable room with the king-sized bed against the wall beside the door. There were simple wood night stands on either side with elegant lamps. I flicked a switch on the wall and they both lit up with a dim warm yellow glow. At the foot of the bed sat a couch with a thin table in front of it. The bed and the couch looked out French doors that led to a small porch and steps down to the yard below. On the wall to our left there was a mirror, which reflected the large windows on the opposite wall.

It was a room designed for sleeping and daydreaming. The perfect bedroom for a writer. There were no closets, no clothes other than the hook for a bathrobe, and no televisions.

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