Page 23 of Snug with the Mountain Man
Ford kisses me like he’s sealing it, threading his fingers into my hair and pulling me closer until there’s not an inch between us. No fear, no doubt. Just love, raw and honest.
We lie there for a long time, tangled up in each other, hearts thudding in sync.
And when sleep finally takes us, it’s with his hand over my heart and his breath warm against my neck.
Chapter twelve
Ford
Maisie hums under her breath as she stirs something in a pot on the stove, her back to me. She’s wearing that oversized sweatshirt again, the one that falls off one shoulder and brushes the tops of her thighs like it’s daring me to do something about it. Bare legs. Pink toenails.
Maisie Carter is a mess of contradictions. Wild and sweet. Smart and impulsive. Tough and heartbreakingly soft. She walked back into Pine Hollow like she was stopping by, like she didn’t mean to turn my world inside out.
But she did.
And now, weeks after that first knock on the door, she’s here. In my life. In my space. In my head. And I don’t want her anywhere else.
She glances over her shoulder at me, stirring a wooden spoon through whatever she’s making.
“You gonna keep hovering in the doorway or come in and tell me how good this smells?” she teases.
I move behind her and slide my hands around her waist, tugging her back against my chest. Her hair smells like apples.
“I was just watching you work,” I murmur, kissing her neck.
She leans into me for a second, then turns with a wicked grin and presses a spoonful of soup to my lips. “Taste.”
I do. It’s spicy and perfect.
“Good?”
I nod, but I’m not really thinking about the food. I’m thinking about how right it feels to have her in this kitchen. To have her cooking dinner while I throw another log on the fire, and we move through this small space like we’ve been doing it for years.
She bumps my hip with hers and smiles up at me. “You’re quiet.”
I’m always quiet, but this silence feels different. Heavy in a way I want to put words to, but haven’t yet.
“You remember that night I saw you dancing in this kitchen?” I ask.
Her cheeks pink, just a little. “You were creeping through my window.”
“Checking on you,” I correct. “You were the one putting on a show.”
She laughs, then lets the sound fade into something softer. “I wasn’t thinking about anything. Just letting the music fill up the quiet. I didn’t know you were watching at first.”
“I couldn’t look away.”
Her breath catches.
“I’d told myself I wasn’t going to get close, that I was too old, too set in my ways. That you were visiting, that you didn’t really want to stay. But when I saw you dancing like that, smiling to yourself, I knew I was already in trouble.”
Maisie turns in my arms slowly, eyes wide, like she’s afraid that if she blinks, this moment will slip away.
“You never said that before,” she whispers.
“I didn’t know how,” I admit. “I’m not used to feeling like this.”
She bites her lip, blinking fast.
