Page 8 of My Bossy Mountain Man

Parting my lips, I almost say it outright—that she’s got the kind of body to drive a man mad. Hell, I’ve lost sleep over it. Nights where I’ve stared at the ceiling, replaying the way her hips sway when she walks, how her waist nips in just enough to make my hands itch to span it.

The generous swell of her chest, the thighs that could ruin a man’s self-control—every damn curve crafted to haunt their imagination.

At first, I assumed she already knew how good she looked. That the confidence in her stride, the way her fingers lingered on the fabric, meant she didn’t need me to tell her. But now I wonder—was she asking for my opinion because she needed to hear it? Because I hadn’t given her enough?

Damn. If that’s true, then I’ve failed her before I even realized it.

I should fix this. Find the right words—ones that don’t feel hollow, but don’t cross the line either. Honesty has always beenmy compass, but with Tulip? It’s a gamble. With the risk of losing her completely, the stakes are high.

I should compliment her and see how things play out.

Finding a shirt in her size, I hand it over before my hand moves to the back of my neck.

I’m still searching for the right words—something honest but weightless, a compliment that won’t betray too much—when she tugs the oversized shirt over her dress. The fabric swallows her waist, and my eyes are drawn right toward the design printed on it.

Staring back at me from her chest is a grinning cartoon book, its cover donning an unsettling smile while declaring ‘Reading is Fun!’. No wonder people didn’t come to claim their shirts.

“I love it,” she muses, her usual energy slipping right back into her. “Makes me wonder if you’ll ever entertain the idea of uniforms here.”

Not a chance. That would be like clouds coming in to block out the sun.

“Not anytime soon. Don’t worry, I won’t make you wear absurd clothing like that.” Rubbing the back of my neck, I look away before I get caught staring for too long. “If you love it, you can keep it. I’m sure when we clean this place up, you’ll find other things you’ll want, too.”

Tulip inhales sharply as she hops off the desk. “So we are doing it? When?”

She doesn’t hesitate—just surges forward, erasing the space between us like it was never there. She has no idea how intoxicating that energy is. It’s reckless, magnetic, the kind of thing that makes restraint feel like a losing battle.

“Give me a few days to prepare. Additionally, if your nose requires attention, I want you to prioritize your healing first. I can give you an extra day off and—”

Her smile vanishes mid-sentence. Before I can finish, her finger jabs into the center of my chest.

“Don’t you dare.” The playful lilt in her voice is gone, replaced by something firmer. “If you give me a day off before you take one yourself, I’ll show up anyway. Try me, mister.”

It’s rare for her to get serious. Rarer still for it to hit me this hard.

I exhale, conceding with a nod as she keeps poking—each prod an accusation. Finally, I catch her wrist, my fingers curling around hers. A squeeze. A silent truce.

Then, her breath hitches. Just a faint catch in her throat, but it’s enough to freeze us both. For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. The air between us thickens, charged with something neither of us names.

“A few days, then.” My voice comes out rougher than I intend. “We’ll clean this place up. See if anything’s worth keeping.”

Slowly, I let go, turning away before I do something stupid. Stupid like feeding into this demand to touch her more. To pull her toward me and go as far askissher.

The more time I spend with her like this, the more starved I become.

A few days to prepare. That’s the plan, at least. The truth is, I’ll need a whole week just to survive a few hours alone with her. With her proven patience with me, I’m sure I won’t get away with waiting half of it.

4

Tulip

Dallas’s eyebrows practically hit his hairline when I walk in.

Good.

I do a little spin just to make sure he gets the full effect—my patched-up overalls, the threadbare shirt underneath, and, most importantly, the giant apple stitched right over my left pocket. His gaze lingers on it a second too long, and I bite back a laugh.

Yeah, yeah, it’s ridiculous. But if he thinks that’s over the top, just wait until he sees what’s coming.

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