Page 10 of Moody Mountain Man
Annie
The first thing I notice when I wake up is warmth. It’s not coming from the quilt or the left over heat from the fire we had last night. It’s Cal.
He’s wrapped around me like he was built for this. Arm heavy across my waist. His chest warm against my back. His breath stirring the little hairs at my neck. I could stay like this forever. I feel safe, anchored, wanted.
Then my thighs ache, and the memories slam back. His mouth. My moans. The wall at his cabin, rough against my spine while he had his hands and lips everywhere.
Heat floods my face. My body thrums like it remembers every second. I shift carefully, trying not to wake him. His arm tightens.
“Stop wiggling,” he mutters into my hair, voice rough with sleep.
“I wasn’t—”
“You were plotting an escape.”
I grin into the pillow. “And if I was?”
“I’d drag you back.”
The honesty in his tone makes my heart flutter. I roll over, and his eyes, half-lidded but alert, are on me. His gaze is dark and hungry.
“You regret it?” he asks.
“Not a bit.”
Relief softens his features before he hides them again. He leans in, kisses me slowly, then rolls away to grab his jeans.
“Good,” he says, pulling them on. “Because once was never gonna be enough.”
I tug his shirt over my head, smirking. “Then you’d better start training for endurance, Redmond.”
His groan follows me into the bathroom, and I laugh so hard my knees go weak.
By the time we head into town, I’m buzzing. Still awkward, sure, every time our eyes catch, I think about how thoroughly he ruined me last night. I double down on the flirting. If I pretend it’s easy, maybe he won’t look for an exit.
The fall festival is in full swing. Orange lights strung across the square. Music from the bandstand. Kids darting between stalls with sticky fingers. The air smells like apples and sugar and woodsmoke. My happy place.
I know I should be more upset about missing this time for the bakery. It’s one of my yearly moneymakers, and missing will definitely hit my bottom line. The repairs are done, but the state inspector couldn’t come until next week.
There’s just one thing keeping me from being too sad. Cal stalks beside me, tall and scowling, clearly uncomfortable.
“You’re supposed to relax,” I tease, bumping his arm.
“Crowds aren’t my thing.”
“Then why’d you come?”
“You asked,” he answers with a wink.
And just like that, my insides melt.
We weave through the booths. People wave, chatter, and ask about the café reopening. I laugh, hug, smile. Cal hangs close, protective without even realizing it. His hand brushes the small of my back more than once. I pretend not to notice.
Until Mark Henson shows up.
“Annie,” he says smoothly, leaning a little too close. “You look incredible tonight. Save me a dance at the bonfire?”
I open my mouth to decline politely, but Cal’s hand clamps around my waist. Hard. Possessive.
