Page 12 of The Mountain Man's Curvy Surprisem
The words tease my lips, but it’s well past afternoon, so dark outside, I hear the serenade of crickets, muffled through the thin glass of the cabin windows.
“What are you thinking?” Mack asks darkly.
Chapter
Five
MCGREGOR
“What are you thinking?” I ask.
She looks down, shaking her head. Guilt flashes across her face.
It figures that I would fall head over heels for a woman who thinks I’m somebody else … pretending to be me.What world does that even make sense in?
My mind races back to the love letters exchanged between Mack and Callie. I thought I had a decent grasp on their knowledge of one another. I never factored emails into the mix. When I excused myself to the kitchen, I texted Mack, furious for clarification. The son-of-a-bitch has yet to respond.
This is such a mess. And the worst part is the thought of hurting Callie in any way. But I know it’s already too late for that.
If she had just walked out, taken a clue when she first showed up at my door. But the more we talk, the more I stare at her, inhabit the same space with her, breathe in her fragrance and her air, the more keenly aware I become that I’m giving away little pieces of myself to her with each interaction.
Would it be so bad if I carried on Mack’s ruse for a little longer? See where it leads? The questions tear me up because I’m not that kind of man …ever. But if what she believes about the guy she’s been corresponding with fits who I am, and I feel these powerful emotions for her, could anyone fault me for wanting to settle into a happily ever after?
Even entertaining these thoughts makes my stomach churn. Yet, I can’t help myself. Because my first look at Callie was like a shot of lightning, more powerful and life-changing than anything I’ve ever felt before. I can’t let Mack screw this up for me.
Callie sits at the bar, and I realize what a bastard I’ve been since she walked through the door. “Sorry about my lack of manners tonight,” I apologize. “But being in the same room with you is overwhelming.”
“Overwhelming?” she asks, arching her brow.
I nod, no longer trusting my words. Especially when it comes to explaining what I feel when I’m around her.
I take a seat at the bar next to her, turning so my knees point towards her, enough distance between us to keep my self-control from completely fraying. But still close enough to feel the unmistakable smolder that comes with her physical presence. I can’t get enough of it, like a moth to the flame.
“Change of subject,” I order sternly, fighting against what this woman does to me. “How do you like Hollister?”
She shrugs. “Just like I remembered.”
“Wait, you’ve been here before?”
Guilt flashes across her face for a second time, in equal proportion to the relief that washes over me. I’m not the only one keeping secrets. “Yes, I’ve been here before.”
“Huh,” I remark, taking a sip of my iced tea. “Weird. This place is pretty far off the beaten track.”
“A good friend of mine lives up here.”
“Wonder if I know them.”
“Maybe.” She shrugs, pressing her lips together and making it clear she doesn’t want to say more.
Curiosity grips me. But that’s rich coming from a man pretending to be the guy who stole his identity for a pretty face. Okay, a drop-dead gorgeous face that I could, for once in my rootless, shiftless life, imagine waking up next to happily for the rest of my days.
It’s a new feeling for me. An unprecedented thought. It scares the shit out of me.
“The cowboy hat surprises me,” she says with a laugh, nodding at my headwear. “And your very slight Hispanic accent is sexy.”
Do I have an accent?Never thought about it before. I remove the hat, internally chastising myself. It’s not polite to wear hats inside, though I do it more often than I mean to because of living alone with no one to hold me accountable. I run my fingers through my hair, ruffling it to offset hat head.
“You mentioned you’ve been sober for the past year and a half. I remember you talking about this in your emails, but I didn’t know it had been that long.”
