Page 7 of The Mountain Man's Curvy Obsession
Her gaze locks onto mine, and there’s something raw behind her eyes that stabs me with guilt. “I thought about what you said last night. You were right. I shouldn’t have assumed I could just … show up and live with you when the mail-order bride thing fell apart. It’s my fault I didn’t have a backup plan, not yours.” Her words hit like a punch I didn’t see coming. Last night’s argument flashes in my mind—I was harsh, no doubt, too much of an ass — and I don’t want to rehash it, not now. Not when she’s probably on the brink of hypothermia, stuck in a cave.
“Your teeth are chattering.” I dodge the subject, reach into my pocket and pull out an emergency aluminum thermal blanket. “Take that jacket off. It’s sopping wet. We’ll dry it while we wait for the storm to pass.” She hesitates, then meets my eyes, her fingers fumbling with the buttons. She peels off the soggy denim, and hands it to me, heavy with rain. “Here,” I say, passing her the blanket. “Wrap this around you. Trap the heat.”
Using my paracord, I rig a quick drying line near the fire, knotting it between two jutting rocks. She watches me hang her jacket in silence.
“What else do you have in those pockets of yours, Slade?”
I chuckle and ease closer. “You’d be surprised.” I’m wearing a heavy jacket, a utility vest, and a raincoat to keep everything dry. “After years of getting stuck in storms, you learn what to carry.” My eyes drift to her, and I can’t look away. Maybe it’s the relief of finding her, or the fear of what could’ve happened if I hadn’t, but she looks different in the firelight—she’s never seemed so fragile. My voice softens. “You’re still cold.”
I shrug off my raincoat, peel off the vest full of gear, and drape my heavy jacket over her shoulders, on top of the foil blanket. My hands linger, rubbing her arms through the layers. She’s so close, I feel her breath on my chin.It’s her. My cock swells with recognition. It’s us, like it used to be.
“You remember how we used to warm up sometimes?” The words slip out, low and rough, before I can stop them.
She pulls back to peer up at me, her eyes searching mine. A small, knowing smile curves her lips. “We warmed up pretty well, as I recall.” That’s all it takes. The urge to kiss her hits like a lightning strike, raw and undeniable. I slowly slide my hand from her arm to the curve of her jaw. I cup her cheek, drawing her full, beautiful lips closer to mine. I can’t resist. I bend and kiss her, gently at first, until every fight, every year, every mile between us melts away.
She glides her hands over my shoulders, and around my neck, pulling me nearer, opening her mouth for me as I deepen the kiss. Eva lets out a wistful moan. “We were really good at warming each other up.”
“We still are, baby girl,” I say in a jagged tone with my cock throbbing against my zipper. I trail kisses along her jawline, down her neck, savoring every bit of her. She smells like fucking heaven, and my need for her is getting desperate. I slide my hand under her shirt, feeling the warmth of her skin against my palm. My God, she’s so soft, so smooth—I’ve missed having Eva in my life. Looking back, I don’t think I ever stopped loving her. Justbecause we weren’t together, doesn’t mean she wasn’t there, always, somewhere, in my heart. I kiss her fiercely, not hiding how much I want her, and let my primal instincts take over, drowning out any thought other than Eva.
“Wait!” she suddenly pulls away and looks up at me in shock. “What are we doing?”
“We were kissing, darlin’.” I grin, wrapping my arms back around her and pulling her against me. She responds by gripping my forearms and breaking out of my hold.
“We can’t do this.”
“Why not?”
She stares at me incredulously. “Because you threw me out of your house. You don’t want anything to do with me. You were going to give me cash and drive me to the train station so I could make up with my boyfriend as if that were possible, or something I’d even consider. Remember?”
Shit.I sigh and run a hand through my hair. “About that. I’m sorry. I was very harsh.”
She shakes her head, quick and dismissively, her expression softening just a fraction. “Please don’t apologize. I get it. You weren’t expecting your ex-girlfriend to show up knocking on your door. I understand how I made you feel so uncomfortable.”
I raise an eyebrow, surprised. “You do? You seemed pretty upset about it over breakfast.”
Her lips curve into a small, self-satisfied smile. “But then I had a heart-to-heart with your mom.” She pauses, letting the words sink in, her grin widening. “And we worked out the problem together. So, I have some good news for a change.” She straightens, lifting her chin triumphantly. “I’m moving into your mom’s house and will pay rent by working for her at the shop.”
My brain goes blank for a moment, while I digest what she's saying. She’s living with my mother now? What the hell? How is that supposed to help me win her back?
Chapter five
“You can tell when the cupcakes are finished by poking a toothpick in the middle of the cake. If the pick comes out clean, the cupcakes are ready.” I’ve baked them before, and I know when to take them out of the oven, but I don’t have the heart to tell her Slade’s mom.
From the first day Slade brought me home to meet her, Clara has always been kind to me. It’s been a week since I moved into her rambling mountain home and she never fails to let me know how much she appreciates my help at the Grizzly Grind. I can’t begin to express how grateful I am.
I take this job seriously and do my best to stay completely focused on work when I’m here, but I have to stop myself from daydreaming constantly about the way her son kissed me in that cave.
Clara, with her silver-streaked braid swinging as she moves, hands me a cup of cappuccino. “Go on, Eva, go ahead and enjoy it. I made it just for you. You’ve earned it.” Her eyes crinkle at thecorners as she grins. I glance at the counter, where a few stray crumbs linger from the morning rush. Guilt tugs at me—I should be helping, not sipping coffee—but Clara’s already grabbed a dish towel and is wiping it down.
“Don’t give me that look,” she scolds playfully, flicking the rag at me. “You’ve been on your feet since six a.m. Go. Sit. Enjoy.”
“Okay, okay,” I relent, cradling the warm cappuccino mug in my hands. I take a sip and wander through the shop. This place was a gem when she opened it, but Clara’s recent remodel has transformed it into something breathtaking. The walls are now a soft sage green, adorned with local artwork—vibrant landscapes of Passion Pines’ rolling hills and quirky sketches of coffee cups with sassy quotes.
The front area is still buzzing with locals catching up on gossip, or working on their computers in one of the few places with reliable internet. I round the corner into the new addition, a sprawling lounge that feels like stepping into a friend’s living room.
Oversized armchairs, upholstered in plush velvet shades of ruby and sapphire, invite customers to stay awhile. The coffee table is stacked with paperbacks and board games. This is the kind of place I’d dreamed of back in Missouri, where our “coffee shop” was just a sterile counter, all business and no soul.
I check out the bulletin board and scan the flyers and notes: a grainy photo of an orange tabby with a plea to “Find Mr. Leonardo,” a yoga class schedule, and a neon-green poster for a dance this Saturday, promising live music and “boot-stompin’ fun.” I make a mental note to keep an eye out for the poor missing kitty when a voice cuts through my thoughts, teasing and low. “You here to tame Slade?”
