Page 12 of The Mountain Man's Mail Order Temptation
Anson watches me with hooded eyes. His chest is delightfully bare, showing off the hard planes I just felt. The muscles of his chest and abs are everything I remembered from that first brief glimpse and so much more. Dark hair dusts his skin, arrowing down to where the sheet lies over his waist. His hair is mussed from sleep, and his eyes burn in the morning light.
Gaze locked on mine, he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean of my essence. “Mmm. Morning.”
Spontaneous combustion = activated.
My body goes up in flames at that sexy, shameless mumble. I’m going to die from wanting this man. I know it.My thighs clench and I grip the sheets to keep from pouncing on him.
The moment stretches out, full of promise and hesitation. I don’t know what changed from last night. I’m afraid to ask. To break the spell.
He lifts his other hand and traces my cheek with his fingers.
I can’t help but lean into his touch.
Shadows shift in his eyes. He sighs and sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed until I’m staring at his back.
What is happening? Is he changing his mind? Or getting ready to ask me to leave? I pull the sheet up to my chest, holding it close. Like it will protect me from whatever he’s about to say.
“Tell me about Grant Chamberlain.”
Somewhere in the back of my mind, a record screeches. Out of all the things I expected, this was never on the list. “What?”
Anson looks at me over his shoulder. “Grant Chamberlain.”
Ice slides down my spine. “How? I meanwheredid you hear that name?” Does he know Grant? Was Perfect Pairings some weird set up I fell into to get me in his clutches? No. That doesn’t make sense. From the very little I know of Anson, I’m certain he’d never participate in some catfishing game. Dottie on the other hand clearly has no qualms about it.
My stomach makes a slow roll. I feel ill.
Anson takes my cell phone off the nightstand and hands it to me. “You had a nightmare.”
The case is cool, but my hands feel colder. A nightmare. Last night. I remember running through the woods being chased by computers while Grant laughed and jumped out from behind trees to grab me. Anson must have heard and come in to help. It’s a sweet thought. I only wish it was because he cared about me.
I scramble from the bed and dig through my suitcase for clothes, then shut myself in the bathroom.
“Ellie,” Anson says from the other side of the door. “Tell me why you’re afraid.”
Because he knows where I am, and he won’t leave me alone. Because he might be the only one who will ever want me.
I blink away the moisture brimming my eyes and struggle into a pair of jeans and a sweater I thought looked cute at home. Looking in the mirror, I just see a frightened woman with no options. Not cute.
He knocks on the door. “Ellie. Come out, or I’m coming in.”
I don’t want to let him in, but it’s not like I can live in his bathroom for the rest of my life. I open the stupid door.
He’s leaning against the doorjamb, arms folded across his chest, wearing just a pair of boxers like every female fantasy come to life. It’s not fair.
I carry my pajamas out and drop them in my suitcase. Normally I’m neater than this, but right now, all I want to do is bake something. It sounds dumb, but stress baking has gotten me through a lot of things. Like parents who are too busy for their daughter. And high school. There’s no mystery where all these extra pounds came from.
I march into the kitchen and start opening cabinets, looking for anything that might make muffins or even cookies. I find an even scarier looking knife than his Ka-Bar thing. Because the man doesn’t have food, he has weapons. Apparently, his diet consists entirely of iron. Between the knives, the rifle propped by the door, and the fancy security system on the wall, I’m starting to think he might also be paranoid. Who would break in when the man can be scarier than what’s hiding in the woods?
Strong hands grip my shoulders, pulling me back against a solid wall of muscle. “Stop,” he orders.
I freeze.
Anson slowly turns me in his arms until I’m facing him. All half naked, six foot plus of him. He scans my face, then pulls me against his chest until I’m nestled in his arms.
I don’t understand. Yesterday he wouldn’t look at me. Today he’s all tenderness and smoldering sex. One nightmare can’t make that kind of change in someone, can it?
He tucks a strand of my messy bed head hair behind my ear and traces my cheek.
