Page 4 of My Bossy Mountain Man

Every gulp makes it taste more delicious than the last.

A few of the tables are occupied with families, some by loners. All flipping through books to help pass the time while the sun beams up in the sky. Some of them send friendly glances, and I return with quick waves.

I truly adore this place. I love books. But I love the person in charge even more.

Tearing my eyes away from the view, I search for the man who enjoys putting all of his time into this place. Seven days a week, I don’t think he ever gives himself a day off.

Most people would be stressed holding a record like his. Dallas treats this place like a hobby. It’s one of those jobs where work doesn’t feel like work.

Personally, I think the guy deserves a vacation. Now that I’ve got the whole thing down,Icould work a few long shifts so he can prop his feet up and enjoy himself. But knowing him, he wouldn’t dare let me even breathe the idea.

He should really look into hiring more help and give himself some time off. One of these days, I’ll succeed in convincing him. For now, I’ll appreciate how often we work together.

I eventually find Dallas skimming his fingers over a few books in the Sci-fi section.

My steps feel weightless as I make my way over toward him.

I steal a glance while he’s distracted, his broad shoulders flexing slightly as he reaches for a book on the top shelf. As his height helps him, the whole length of his body works in his favor.

The faded cotton of his t-shirt stretches across his back, clinging just enough to outline the hard lines of muscle beneath. There’s the little slip of skin right above his tailbone that makes me feel heated all over again.

Unfortunately, no amount of air conditioning can cool me down once I get worked up over a peek of what he looks like beneath his usual wear.

I amterrible.

He’s always like this—unaware of how effortlessly he commands the space around him, how the simple act of browsing books makes my pulse skip. How easily I drool at the view, and how often my fingers twitch to touch him.

His jeans are worn soft, hugging his hips in a way that makes my fingers itch to trace the seams. Dark hair falls slightly over his forehead as he tilts his head, scanning the spines with that focused intensity that always seems glued to his expression. His jaw is shadowed with stubble, strong and stubborn, and I wonder what it would feel like beneath my fingertips.

I should look away before he catches me staring. But I don’t. Can’t, actually.

While people struggle to maintain eye contact with him,Istruggle to tear my eyes away.

“What are you looking for?” Moving my hands behind me, I step closer, hoping for the excuse to brush against him.

Dallas jerks, his focus broken as those gray eyes move in my direction. If I didn’t know him, I’d think I’d upset him by the frown on his lips.

Upon realizing it’s just me, his gaze drops, slow and deliberate. Taking in the way my new dress clings to every curve, I feel every inch his eyes roam over.

His throat bobs as he swallows hard, and my smile widens.

“New dress?” His question comes out in a rasp like he’s got something caught in his throat.

“Just got it today.” I nudge closer, watching the way his knuckles whiten around the book in his grip as I tilt my head. The air between us feels charged, thick with something unspoken. “What do you think? I don’t normally get something like this. If you can’t tell, I’m working on my look.”

My fingers drift up, grazing the sliver of bare skin just beneath my breasts—and his eyes follow, darkening.

Maybe I shouldn’t tease the guy who signs my paychecks. But the thrill is too sweet to resist, especially when his brows knit together like I’ve handed him an unsolvable riddle. His jaw tenses, his throat working as if he’s physically holding back words.

“It looks…” He tears his gaze away, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “…fine, Tulip.”

Fine.The word lands like a dull blade, and I swallow back the sting of disappointment before it can take root.

He clears his throat, suddenly very interested in the book in his hands. Once his eyes settle on the cover, I know there’s no pulling it away.Dang it.

“Someone called looking for a title, so I came to see if we had it.” He thrusts the book between us like a shield. “I should get back to them. Oh, and there’s a cart of returns that need to be put away.”

Just like that, he’s gone—retreating behind that infuriating, unreadable mask of his. But not before I catch the way his fingers flex at his side, like he’s stopping himself from reaching for something.

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