Page 16 of Snug with the Mountain Man
I smile faintly. “You keep saying that.”
He doesn’t answer. Just leaves.
The cabin feels bigger without him in it. I can still feel his hands on my skin, his voice in my ear. Maybe I’m imagining it, but I swear the man’s truck doesn’t start for a few minutes before he finally drives off.
Chapter nine
Ford
I wake up with Maisie curled against me, her hand flat on my chest like it always belongs there. The cabin’s quiet, except for the soft patter of rain on the roof and the faint creak of the stove settling. The fire’s gone out, but she’s warm.
I should get up.
I should leave.
Instead, I stay, staring at the ceiling, feeling her breath against my skin. My body’s already reacting to hers, and I curse under my breath, shifting slightly so she won’t notice.
“Are you already awake?” she murmurs, voice still rough from sleep.
“Yeah.”
Her fingers slide lower on my stomach. “Good.”
I turn my head. She’s smiling at me, eyes still heavy-lidded.
“You’re trouble,” I growl.
She smirks. “You keep saying that, but you never sound mad about it.”
I roll onto my side, one arm braced above her head, pinning her in the blankets. “Maybe I’m not.”
“Then show me,” she whispers.
I groan and kiss her, tasting her mouth until she sighs. My hand slides under the blanket, over her hip, up to the small of her back. She arches into me, soft and warm.
It would be so easy to lose myself right here.
But I force myself to pull back, breathing hard. “Coffee,” I mutter. “We need coffee.”
She laughs and sits up, the blanket falling to her waist. “You’re the one making this complicated.”
“Trying to be decent,” I grumble, getting to my feet.
“Don’t hurt yourself,” she teases, following me into the kitchen, wrapped in the blanket like a makeshift dress.
I busy myself at the counter, measuring coffee grounds, anything to not look at the curve of her bare shoulder, the edge of her thigh peeking out.
“Ford?” she says, sweet as sin.
I glance up. “Yeah?”
She’s leaning against the counter, watching me with a small, knowing smile. “You’re grumpy when you’re trying not to touch me.”
“I’m grumpy because you’re impossible,” I mutter.
She crosses the kitchen slowly, every step deliberate. “Impossible, how?”
“You know how.”
