Page 14 of My Bossy Mountain Man

I don’t let her finish.

“Yes.” It’s rough, barely more than a whisper. “There’s nothing I would like to do more.”

I hear another hitch in her breathing, a soft gasp that catches in the back of her throat.

I kill the engine before the truck even settles.

No hesitation. No chance for her to rethink this—to rethink us. I’m out of the cab in a heartbeat, boots hitting the pavement with a thud that echoes my racing pulse.

By the time I wrench her door open, my breath is ragged. Not from the sprint—from the anticipation.

“Let me,” I murmur, offering my hand. A flimsy excuse to feel her skin again, but I’ll take it. I’ll take anything.

Her fingers slide against mine, warm and sure. A sigh escapes her, soft as moonlight, and it undoes me. Because that sound? The way she leans into my touch?

She’s just as starved for this as I am.

As soon as she’s out of the truck, all it takes is ten steps and the twist of her key before I’m getting the opportunity to see more of Tulip than I ever have before.

Pastel paint colors her walls, and she’s happy to lead me deeper into her home so I can see what else there is to discover.

The coffee-themed curtains and decor surprise me when we reach the kitchen; I’ve never caught the scent of grounds on her clothes, nor have I ever seen her with a cup in her hands. Yet here, surrounded by the scent of grounded beans and ceramic mugs with witty slogans hanging on hooks, it feels like discovering a secret side of her.

Does she wake up early and have herself a cup, or does she brew herself a pot after her shift whenever she’s feeling restless?

There’s still much I have left to learn.

She catches me studying her collection of glass canisters, each filled with different roasts. “Would you like a cup? I can make some.”

Her offer comes soft, hesitantly, as her thumb absently strokes my knuckles. Then she freezes. Her eyes drop to where our hands remain entwined, and I watch realization bloom across her face that we’ve yet to separate.

“I don’t want coffee, Tulip. I want… I want whateveryouwant.”

Her breath catches when I squeeze her hand—a silent plea to stay connected. For a moment, the kitchen disappears. There’s just the pulse thrumming where our skin meets, the way her lashes flutter as she processes my words.

Finally, she nods. Meeting my gaze, she eliminates the space between us by taking all but one step forward.

“I want you to kiss me again.”

Now that’s something I can do.

My grip on her hand loosens—not to pull away, but to cradle her face instead. My thumbs trace the blush heating her cheeks as I drink in the way her eyes darken with want. There’s no hesitation this time. No stolen moment to second-guess.

When my mouth finds hers, it’s not just hunger fueling the kiss—it’s certainty. Her fingers twist into my shirt, anchoring me to her as she sighs into the kiss, sweet and surrendering. It’s a blissful few seconds I never want to end.

She pulls back before I can lose myself in her, her eyes wide and earnest. “I want you, Dallas.”

The words hit me like a punch to the chest. How many nights had I spent imagining that exact confession? Too many to count—too many to admit without sounding pathetic.

But then her brow furrows. She worries her bottom lip between her teeth, and the sight sends a spike of concern through me. Whatever this is, it’s serious enough to make her hesitate.

I give her space to breathe, cocking a brow in question as a nervous laugh escapes her.

“You totally stole my first kiss. Second and third too. I just… I know some guys wouldn’t want to deal with someone who’s… well, completely inexperienced. With you, I don’t want to mess this up. I really like you, Dallas.” Her cheeks burn hotter beneath my thumbs, and suddenly her fingers are twisting in my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll bolt.

The world narrows to static.

She’s never done this before. Never been touched. Never been wanted—not like this. And yet here she is, offering me everything with shaking hands and honesty.

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