Page 2 of My Bossy Mountain Man

Against every instinct, I glance back up.

‘Beautiful’lodges itself in my throat like a confession. I choke it down before it escapes. Can’t have her bolting when she realizes her boss is already six feet under and she hasn’t even started digging.

“It’s your hair. If you like it, that’s what matters.” The scanner beeps again, a mechanical distraction. “You wear the color well.”

The truth is, she could dye herself in every shade of the rainbow, and it wouldn’t matter. Tulip Walters could make a potato sack look like a masterpiece. Can’t lie to myself. She’d look best without anything at all, and thoughts like that are precisely why I can’t tell her how I feel.

Her cheeks flush—just a hint of pink, like the dusk creeping over her hairline—before she moves around the desk. The way she drifts toward me, it’s like she’s floating across the carpet.

Then, once she settles next to my side to clock herself in, her elbow grazes my arm.

It’s not an accident. Tulip doesn’t do accidents. It’s a glancing touch, her skin against mine, warm and fleeting, but it sends a jolt straight to my ribs.

Once upon a time, I thought she might know exactly how I felt about her. That’s why she’d casually touch me, hoping I’d touch back. Most of the time, I’ve ignored the urge. Not even the strongest man can deny every opportunity for a brisk brush.

It turns out that the woman is just comfortable around everyone. I’ve watched her pat shoulders and squeeze hands in reassurance. Hell, she’s even hugged a few of the mountain rescuers who have made their way in.

I tell myself it’s because her sister is married to one of them, but jealousy always flares up at the worst of times.

Green isn’t my color. While telling her that I fell hard for her at first glance isn’t an option, scaring her away because I can’t control my feelings is at the top of my list of things not to do.

She clocks herself in like nothing happened, then kneels down to slide open one of the cupboards. I hear the rustle of her digging around, the soft thud of the sanitation wipes tumbling to the floor as she loses her grip. Quickly recovering, her nails tap against the plastic container.

My throat goes dry just as my eyes follow her movement.

It’s not her coral colored hair that’s making my chest stir. It’s the realization of how she looks right at this moment.

She’s kneeling at the perfect height.

The thought hits me like a sucker punch. Because from where I’m standing, if she just looked up with those innocent brown eyes of hers—

And then, of course, she does. Like she’s a mind reader, or she’s feeling my gaze, or…

Tulip tilts her head back, loose strands of pink hair catching the fluorescent lights, and shows me the tube of disinfectant wipes. “We’re gonna need more of these. Looks like we’re on the last one.”

I should say something. Something professional, something sane. But all I can think is how her knees are digging into the thin library carpet, how her neck is bared just slightly when she tips her chin up, how easy it would be to—

“I’ll pick some up later,” I mutter, and my voice comes out rough like I’ve swallowed broken shards of glass. “Thank you.”

Despite the filthy thoughts spiraling in my head, I don’t entertain them. Hell, I don’t linger on them long enough to get a response from my cock. Instead, I’ll bank them for later when I’m alone, tucked away in my big empty bed instead of here.

I offer my hand to help her up. She takes it without hesitation, her fingers curling around mine with a warmth that lingers long after she’s back on her feet.

“I’m going to clean up and tackle the dust collecting at the computer station,” she says, dragging her thumb across my palm slowly before pulling away and hugging the plastic tube of wipes to her chest.

Better to be jealous of a tube than another man. If a man takes Tulip in like I do, then Iwillscare away those with library cards.

“Sure,” I rasp, clearing my throat as the library doors swing open. A family shuffles in, their chatter filling the silence I struggle to do myself. I nod at them, then scan another book with the handheld. “Might take a fifteen after this. If you don’t mind.”

Fifteen minutes alone. Fifteen minutes to choke down this relentless want, to will my body back under control. Because right now? Every brush of her fingers, every hum under herbreath, every time shebreathes—it’s all a live wire under my skin.

My cock’s already made it clear it doesn’t give a shit about professionalism plenty of times in the past. The longer she’s near me, the more it stirs to life, thickening against the layer of denim.

“Anything for you, Dallas,” she says, bright as sunlight, and fuck me, the way she says my name so melodically—

I grit my teeth. Twenty minutes. I’ll need twenty now. I’m not sure a few tugs will be enough. Once I get behind a locked bathroom door, I’ll have to rely on the grip of my fist to put me out of my misery.

Might have to think about that fantasy early, too.

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