Page 10 of Healing with the Mountain Man
Alani isn’t mine. She shouldn’t be.
So, why have I sped back to my cabin like I’ve got the intention of locking her away on the mountain so another man can’t get the chance to share the same air as her?
We’re both silent even after we’ve slipped inside. As she drifts off to stick our leftovers in the fridge, I try to figure out away to word my behavior. It’s out of line, and if I don’t get my shit together now, she’s going to put two and two together.
She came here because Lewis led her to believe I’m a safe space. If I keep heading down the same path, then I’m going to be the one who paints him as a liar.
Hell, I’m going to mess everything up if I don’t dosomethinghere.
If I could have it my way, I’d pull her into my arms, tell her that I’m sorry for acting like some possessive boyfriend, and then ask her if there’s anything I can do to make her feel better.
I should make her something to snack on since I ruined our lunch.
I don’t have much time to figure out how to make up for this afternoon.
When Alani returns, she doesn’t drag herself over toward the couch to make it her own or drift to her room to take a nap. Doesn’t crack open her laptop so she can work on her assignments.
No, she makes her way toward me, keeping too many feet between us.
I don’t move to do anything. Hell, I can barely breathe while I’m worrying why her expression is twisted with something I don’t recognize.
She’s going to call me out for my out-of-line behavior. Tell me I have no right to get upset. Can’t get jealous over someone who isn’t mine.
Nothing can prepare me for the next words that leave her lips.
“I am so sorry.” Her lips pinch together, her hands curling and uncurling at her sides. “I shouldn’t have taken this long to realize what I was doing.”
What?
“I can fix this, though.” Her brows come together, and she moves to hug herself. “But you have to let me. I need you to give me something to do so I can pay you back for what you’re doing.”
Can’t she see that I don’t want anything?
“Alani—” Something claws at my chest, something that makes me panic at the thought of her trying to do something drastic to make me happy.
“Dean, I can’t just keep taking. I need to start giving. Otherwise, it’s not fair for me to stay.” She hugs herself tighter. “I don’t want to be a pain for you, but I don’t want to leave.”
Her words are too much, the final shove over the edge.
“I don’t want you to leave, either!” The words tear out of me, ragged and unplanned. A confession that never should’ve seen the light of day. “Fuck, I want—”
Her face fractures—lips parted, eyes filled with the same hope gnawing at my ribs at the start of revealing something I shouldn’t. One step, then another, until she’s close enough that I feel the heat of her breath. Her fingers twist into my shirt, anchoring me to the moment.
“Tell me.” Her voice is a plea, desperate to keep me talking. “Please.”
I’m drowning in it. In her. The line between right and wrong dissolves the second her body brushes mine.
My hands rise on their own—rough palms cradling her face, thumbs tracing the flush on her cheeks. Her skin is so damn warm. I tilt her chin up, and she doesn’t even have time to gasp before I crush my mouth to hers.
A shudder races through her. She fists my shirt so hard the fabric strains, knuckles pressing white-hot against my chest. But she doesn’t push me away—no. She drags me closer, until there’s no space left between us.
And that sound—that broken, breathless whimper—it undoes me completely.
I’m a bastard for this.
Her lips are soft. Too soft. Untouched. And yet she doesn’t pull away—fuck, she tilts her chin up, presses closer like she’s starving for it. Her inexperience is obvious in the way she hesitates, then mimics me with clumsy, eager determination. It’s enough to make my hands shake.
I tear myself away before I take more than I could ever deserve.
