Page 6 of Getaway with the Mountain Man
The band transitions into a slower song, and without conscious decision, we move together again. This time there's no pretense of teaching dance steps. This is simply two people drawn together by something neither of us fully understands.
Her head comes to rest against my shoulder, and I feel the last of her tension melt away. We sway together in an easy rhythm, my hand spanning the small of her back, hers resting on my chest where she must feel the rapid beating of my heart.
"This is nice," she murmurs against my collarbone, her breath warm through my shirt.
Nice is a completely inadequate word for what I'm feeling. Holding Lottie in my arms, breathing in her scent, feeling the soft press of her body against mine. It’s like finding a place I didn't know I'd been searching for.
"Lottie," I start, not sure what I want to say but needing to acknowledge what's happening between us.
She pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, and I see my own confusion and attraction reflected in her dark gaze. We're strangers, separated by geography and lifestyle and a dozen practical considerations. This should be nothing more than a pleasant evening's diversion.
But it doesn't feel like nothing.
"I know," she says softly, as if reading my thoughts. "This is crazy."
"Completely insane," I agree, not loosening my hold on her.
The song ends, and reality intrudes as other couples brush past us, the moment broken by laughter and conversation. Lottie steps back, smoothing her dress with hands that aren't quite steady.
"I should probably get some food," she says, not quite meeting my eyes. "I haven't eaten since breakfast."
"The barbecue really is excellent," I manage, trying to match her casual tone despite the way my body protests her withdrawal.
We make our way to the food vendors, the easy intimacy of dancing replaced by careful politeness that makes my chest ache. As we wait in line, I catch her stealing glances at me, and I know she's feeling the same confusion I am.
This is moving too fast, defying every rational thought in my head. But as we sit together at a picnic table, sharing plates of barbecue and talking about everything and nothing, I can't bring myself to care about rationality.
All I care about is the way she laughs at my stories about small-town life, the way her eyes light up when she talks about her work, the way she keeps unconsciously leaning closer to me as the evening progresses.
By the time we're walking back to the lodge, the festival winding down behind us, I know with absolute certainty that Lottie Smith is going to turn my world upside down.
The question is whether I'm brave enough to let her.
five
Lottie
Ishouldgobackto the lodge.
It's past eleven, the festival is winding down, and I have an early morning planned. A sensible woman would thank Jakob for a lovely evening and retreat to her room to process this unexpected attraction in solitude.
Instead, I find myself walking beside him through Silver Ridge's quiet streets, our hands occasionally brushing as we move through pools of streetlight and shadow. Each innocent contact sends electricity shooting up my arm, and I'm hyperaware of his presence beside me—the way his long stride easily matches my shorter one, the subtle scent of pine and something uniquely masculine that clings to his skin.
"Thank you for tonight," I say as we approach the lodge's front steps, my voice slightly breathless despite the slow pace. "The dancing, the food, the company—all of it was wonderful."
"Thank you for coming," he replies, stopping at the base of the steps. In the dim light from the lodge's porch, his eyes look darker, more intense. "I wasn't sure you would."
"Honestly? I almost didn't." The admission slips out before I can censor it. "This isn't exactly my usual scene."
"Small towns and festivals?" There's amusement in his voice, but no judgment.
"Dancing with handsome strangers." I pause, realizing what I just said. Heat floods my cheeks. "Did I mention you're handsome? Because you are. Very handsome."
His laugh is warm and genuine, the sound doing things to my insides that should be illegal. "I think you might have had more beer than you realized."
"I had exactly one beer," I protest, though my cheeks burn with embarrassment. "I'm just not usually this forward."
"I like forward," he says, stepping closer until I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. "And for the record, I think you're beautiful. Since the moment I saw you watching me yesterday."
