Page 6 of Snug with the Mountain Man
“Maisie.”
She lifts a hand, stopping me. “Don’t Maisie me.”
The way she says it, low and teasing, makes heat roll down my spine.
The wind kicks hard outside, rattling the windows. The candle flames dance, their light catching the edge of her hair. She shivers.
“Cold?” I ask.
She shrugs, pulling the sweater tighter. “A little.”
I stand, cross to the wood stove, and throw another log on. Sparks rise, the fire catching fast. I can feel her watching mewhile I work. When I turn back, her eyes drop quickly, but not fast enough to hide where they’d been.
“What?” I ask.
She smiles, slow and unbothered. “Nothing.”
I can hear the rain pounding on the roof and smell the heat of the fire mixing with her sweet scent.
“You should put on socks,” I say, because it’s the only safe sentence left in my head.
“That’s what you came up with?” she says, laughing softly.
I run a hand through my hair, trying to shake off the tension building in my shoulders. “Just trying to keep you from catching a cold.”
“Sure.” She stands, sets her wine down, and crosses the room toward me. “You’re always trying to save me from something. The porch. The storm. The dangers of bare feet.”
“I’m not saving you.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
I don’t have an answer she’ll believe. The real one,because I can’t stop thinking about you, isn’t something I can say out loud.
She stops close enough that I can feel the heat coming off her skin. Candlelight catches the edge of her smile.
“You really going to stand there and pretend you haven’t been looking at me since you walked in?” she whispers.
“Maisie—”
“Say it,” she says, voice soft and sure. “Tell me you haven’t thought about it. Tell me you don’t want to.”
I don’t move. I don’t breathe.
Lightning flashes outside, followed by a crack of thunder that shakes the floor. She flinches, instinctively pressing into me. My hand lands on her waist, steadying her. Her breath catches.
The world outside is nothing but storm and dark. Inside, everything slows: the rain, the fire, my heartbeat.
Her hand slides up my chest, fingers curling in my shirt. Her eyes search mine, wide and certain.
I could step back. I should. But my thumb drifts over the soft skin at her side, slow, deliberate. She trembles.
“See?” she whispers. “You do want.”
She looks up at me, lips parted.
I stare at her mouth, at the faint shine from the wine she’s just had. My pulse pounds hard enough to feel in my throat.
She rises onto her toes, barely a breath away.
