Page 13 of The Mountain Man's Accidental Bride
Well, that all but confirms it. I need to make this woman mine. There is no way in hell I can take something so precious without claiming it all.
“It wasn’t bad,” I tell her, clearing my throat. “Not bad at all.”
Her smile turns more natural, leaving little dimples on her cheeks.
Cursing under my breath, I have to have the strength to turn away before I pick her up and try to take everything all at once.
Realizing that the moment is over, she turns and gazes at the table. The cards are stacked neatly in a pile, the game completely forgotten. Currently, I don’t think I can concentrate enough to win another round.
“Maybe we should call it.” Rubbing the back of my neck, I wait for her to make a deal about me going out of my way to step into the storm, which would lead to an outcome that could have been the same either way.
Instead, her flush grows deeper in color as she looks around. “Where will I sleep?”
Shit. That is an important question. Of course, it’s one I should have thought of already, and at the time when it did cross my mind, I figured that the couch wouldn’t have made a difference. It’s not the most comfortable furniture out in the world, but it’s not great.
“Give me a moment, and I’ll see what I can do.” Turning away from her, I coast toward my bedroom and scowl at the state it is in. It’s not something I’d want to display to anyone happily.
The bed’s a wreck—sheets tangled, blankets half-dragged to the floor like I’ve been wrestling ghosts in my sleep. A shirt hangs off the bedpost, another crumpled near the dresser. It’s not filth, just… neglect.
I strip the sheets with rough, quick tugs, the fabric snapping like it’s offended. The fresh ones smell like laundry detergent and nothing else—no cologne, no sweat, no me. It’s better this way. Clean. Controlled.
A quiet, traitorous thought slithers around my thoughts. Would she notice if they still smelled like me? Would she press her face into the pillow, inhale slowly, like I would if our roles were swapped?
I shake the traitorous thoughts off and tuck the corners tighter than necessary. When I step back to make sure everything is in a better state, my stomach clenches.
I can picture it too clearly—her curled in the center of that bed, hair strewn across my pillow, sheets twisted around her legs.
I rake a hand through my hair and exhale hard.
This is bad.
When I go to grab her and lead her inside, she doesn’t take in the space for long. Instead, she spins on her heel, staring back at me like I’ll disappear without warning.
“Um, where will you be sleeping?”
Parting my lips, I figure it would be better for me to sleep on the couch. Just as I’m ready to try to explain that to her, her eyes drift over to the bed.
“It’s big enough for the two of us. Actually, it probably fits three bodies on there. Never seen such a big bed in my life. So, why don’t we share it? I don’t want to intrude.”
Her voice is too light, too casual, like she’s not asking me to throw away every last shred of my self-control. Throw in the way she’s looking at me?
There’s no chance in hell I’m telling her no. Not when her gaze drags over me like that—like she knows I don’t have the strength to turn down the idea.
The idea is a dangerous one, can’t she see that? And yet, I don’t shake my head. Don’t walk away.
I just watch as she drifts toward my bed, as she sinks into the sheets like she belongs there. Like she’s been waiting to stretch out across my mattress for years.
Jesus.
I want to join her. No—scratch that. I want to climb over her, pin her into those sheets, and overcome the laundry smell with a mixture of what comes off of us.
See, I’m not even on the bed with her, and I’m already teetering toward the edge.
I need to get out of these damn jeans. If I don’t peel them off soon, I’m going to have a zipper imprint pressed into my cock from how hard I’ve been straining against it.
While I’m at it, I’ll take care of this problem she’s given me.
If I don’t get her out of my system—even just a little—lying next to her is going to be pure fucking torture.
