Page 8 of The Mountain Man's Curvy Obsession
I jump, nearly spilling my drink and spin toward the sound. “What?” My gaze drops to the floor, where a good-looking guy kneels beside a wobbly table with a toolbox open at his side.Shaggy brown hair falls into his face, but those familiar blue eyes spark with recognition. It takes a second, but then it clicks. “Eli? Oh my gosh, Eli Boone, is that you?”
“Eva!” He scrambles to his feet, dusts off his jeans, and pulls me into a friendly hug, smelling faintly of wood polish and motor oil. “Look at you, all grown up! How long has it been?”
“Six years,” I explain, really taking him in. He’s taller now, broader, super handsome, with a scruffy charm I hadn’t noticed before. But he doesn’t come close to Slade, whose chiseled good looks and mysterious dark eyes have haunted me all week. He’s been in everyday for coffee, leaning against the counter with that slow, dangerous smile, and I have to fight the urge to kiss him senseless.
“Sorry, Eli, what were you saying about Slade?”
He grins sheepishly. “Just messin’ with ya. There’s this wild rumor goin’ ‘round that Slade ordered a mail-order bride. Can you believe it? I saw you standing’ here and thought maybe you were her.”
I laugh. “You nailed it, I was. I mean, I am.” Eli’s jaw drops, and I wave a hand. “There was a mix up with the mail-order bride service. The story would bore you to tears, so forget it. What about you? What’s Eli Boone up to these days?”
He straightens and digs into his back pocket. “Rusty Wrench Ranch and Home Repairs. That’s me.” He hands me the crumpled business card with a sweet, cocky grin. “If you need anything fixed—leaky faucet, creaky porch—give me a call. Friends and family discount, just for you.”
Before I can respond, a deep, velvety voice slides over my shoulder, sending a shiver down my spine. “That won’t be necessary.”Slade.I don’t have to turn to know it’s him—I sense his presence whenever he’s near me. Always have. I stifle a grin.
“Hey, Slade,” Eli says quickly, gesturing to the table. “Just fixin’ this for your mom. Leg’s busted, but I got it.” Slade’s gaze flicks to the table, then back to Eli, cool and assessing.
“Good for you, Eli,” Slade’s tone is even but laced with something possessive. He steps closer, his broad shoulder brushes mine, and my heart trips over itself. “But as far as Eva goes, she’s living with my family now and doesn’t require your help. My brothers and I have Eva covered, no question.” His words ignite a buzz through my veins.Does he consider me part of the family now?
Eli blinks, caught off guard. “Oh. Right. Uh, cool.” He clears his throat, drops to his knees and starts rummaging through his toolbox. “Gotta finish this up. Nice seein’ ya, Eva. Oh, and if you’re goin’ to that dance at Timber Jack’s, I’ll catch you there.” He flashes a quick smile before disappearing beneath the tabletop.
Slade’s hand grazes my elbow, guiding me away from Eli’s workspace toward one of the cozy loveseats. My heart is doing somersaults as I sink into the cushions, clutching my cappuccino, hyper-aware of how close he’s sitting with his knee almost brushing mine. He smells like cedar and something crisp, a forest after rain, and I’m trying—failing—not to notice how his flannel shirt stretches across his shoulders.
“So, you’re back,” I say, aiming for casual, “what brings you here for the fifth day in a row?” I catch a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, and my stomach flips again.
“Just checking on you,” he says in a low, deep voice like he’s sharing a secret.
“Oh?” I raise my brows and send him my most mischievous grin.
“Absolutely. I’ve been thinking about you a lot.”
“Wonder why.” I slowly lick my lips, deliberately trying to drive him crazy.
He zeros in on my mouth and lingers before he drags his gaze away and nods toward Eli’s table. “What dance were you talking about?”
“Oh,” I mutter nonchalantly. “The one at Timber Jack’s tomorrow.” I tilt my head toward the wall. “Flyer’s over there. Are you going?” I shift slightly, purposely touching his knee with mine, and flash a playful smile, hoping he can’t hear my heart hammering.
Slade’s brown eyes lock onto mine, intense and unreadable. “I wasn’t planning on it.” He pauses, and I hold my breath with anticipation. “But maybe I will.”
My brows lift, and I lean forward, attracted to the sparks flying between us. “Well, wouldn’t that be fun?” I bite my lip, holding back a big smile, still attempting to play it cool. “Just because we’re not getting married doesn’t mean we can’t dance together, right?”
He sends me a devastating smile, and he leans closer. “But is a dance really all you want from me, Eva?”
Chapter six
The air in Timber Jack’s hums with the kind of restless energy that only comes when Wren Cutler’s name is scrawled on the chalkboard stage sign. It’s the only bar within fifteen miles of Passion Pines, and tonight, it’s bursting at the seams.
I lean against the worn oak beam, nursing the ache in my bones from a brutal schedule. There’s only one woman who could drag me out of my cabin on a Saturday night after the week I’ve had, and I haven’t spotted her yet. The place reeks as it always does—a faint whiff of cigars clings to the walls, with a mix of aftershave and perfume. Laughter and clinking glasses ricochet off the low ceiling, and the jukebox sputters out a last country tune before the live band takes over.
“Oh my goodness, well if it isn’t Slade Stone!” The voice is as pleasant as a splinter wedged under my fingernail. I turn, and there’s Luanna, her red lipstick shines under the dim bar lights like a warning sign.Great.I’m trying to keep a low profile and I’m discovered after ten minutes. She’s perched on a barstoolwith one leg crossed over the other; her tight denim skirt rides up her thigh to make it clear she’s on the prowl.
We went on one date last year, and five minutes in, I knew she was batshit crazy, but I suffered through two hours of her complaining about her ex.
“Hey, Luanna. How’ve you been?” I keep my tone neutral and shove my hands in my jacket pockets to avoid any accidental touching. She twirls a strand of her long dark hair around a manicured finger, her eyes narrowing like a cat spotting a mouse.
“Same ole, same ole,” she drawls, leaning forward just enough to make her low-cut top strain. “And I sure wouldn’t mind mixing it up a bit with you, handsome.” I force a flat smile, the kind that says, not a chance without saying it out loud. “Sorry, sweetheart. I’m meeting someone tonight.” My eyes flick past her, scanning for an escape route. This is exactly why I avoid bars like this. I’d bet a hundred bucks every woman I’ve dated in the last five years is crammed into this sweaty room, ready to pounce.
Luanna holds my gaze a beat too long, with a stare halfway between defiance and desperation. “Such a shame.” She slides off the stool, closing the gap between us, and runs a hand from my shoulder to my forearm, her nails grazing the flannel. She gives my arm a playful squeeze, her perfume is a syrupy mix of musk and emptiness. “If things go south, or if you ever get lonely, I’m still here, Mountain Man.”
