Page 9 of Harvest Brew With the Mountain Man
There’s that dangerous-to-my-libido grin again. “You practically leaped into my chest, Nyx.”
“I was running for my life, one, and two, what’s with this Nyx business?”
He hesitates for a second, then says, “You’re like a dark little pixie. Feels appropriate.”
“I prefer goddess over pixie.”
His shoulder shrugs. “Why can’t you be both?”
A thrill of goosebumps materializes as the idea of West seeing me as a goddess of the night settles in.
Is he attracted to me? No way. Can’t be. Right?
The longer we stand facing each other in silence, the more charged the air between us feels. My eyes go to that mouth surrounded by his short beard. His naturally dark pink-stained lips and that lower lip, specifically, larger, more plump. I literally had dreams where I sucked and nibbled that lip. Then woke needing my vibrator after.
“Nyx,” his deep voice grumbles.
My eyes stay on that lower lip. “Hmm?”
“I need you to stop looking at my mouth like that.”
I’m slightly panting as my core tightens. Am I getting my period? I get extra horny during the first phase of my period.
“Shit,” he groans, tucking his finger under my chin and forcing my eyes back to his. “Little Pixie, you’re being a brat. You’re my best friend’s sister.”
“Nyx, Little Pixie. Which is it?” I ask, needing this interaction like I need air. Anything to cast out tonight’s darkness.
That finger still holds my head as he includes his thumb at my chin. “Nyx, all the time,” he says quietly, like it’s a sacred secret between just us. “Little Pixie, when my hand itches to redden your ass for tempting me.”
My breath hitches, shock rushing through my body.
Holy shit.We just massively walked over an invisible line I didn’t even know we were anywhere near. His eyes wage war.I see the flickering between heat and worry that he’s said too much.
Desperate to keep us in this existence a while longer, I grow brave. I take the one step that kept our bodies from touching. He sucks in a breath when my chest meets his torso. I rest my hands low on his hips, digging my fingers in slightly, just enough that even through his jeans, he feels the pressure.
“We need to stop,” he says all of a sudden, but I refuse to break this momentary spell.
Looking for anything in my arsenal, I light up inside when I find it. “Remember the summer after my eighteenth birthday, when I wore that light blue bikini at the lake?”
His eyes close, torture edging his features. “You were eighteen, Camille. I wouldn’t look.”
“I was legal, West, it’s okay if you admired my ass in my thong,” I tease.
Something snaps. One second, I’m standing toe to toe with him, the next instant, his arm wraps around my waist, lifts me off my feet, turns us, and sets my ass down on his desk, bringing my face a little higher.
Then, he rests his fists on the desk and leans in so we’re face to face. “Quit it. This isn’t a game, Camille.”
“What happened to Little Pixie?” I challenge.
“That was out of line. Forget I said it.”
“Like hell I will.” I grab the collar of his flannel and pull him closer. So close, our lips are a touch away. “I’m not a kid, West Hunter. I’m a woman in her late twenties. Our age difference was stark as children. Now, we’re equals. So, don’t treat me with kid gloves. Be honest. Say what you mean or don’t say anything at all. Got it?”
I have no clue what is happening between us right now, but what I do know is, if he feels like flirting and it’s just a fleeting thing, then fine. I can handle that. Hell, I’ll even flirt back. But,I’ve had enough of men lying, manipulating, or just filtering what they mean because to them, I’m lesser.
The fists on the desk flatten out. One hand comes to rest on my cheek. His thumb caresses my skin by my temple, where I got banged up. His eyes focus there. The idea that he may revert to babying me sparks my annoyance.
Then he speaks.
