Page 28 of Christmas With My Mountain Man Landlord
"I could write for a few hours," I suggest finally. "Then maybe we could do something this afternoon?"
Relief crosses his features. "Sounds perfect."
"Any suggestions?"
He considers this, head tilted slightly. "There's a trail around the lake. Not too strenuous. Good views."
"A walk sounds nice." I find myself already looking forward to it, to spending more time with him outside the house. "Meet back here at one?"
"It's a date." He says it casually, then freezes, as if suddenly uncertain whether the term applies.
"A date," I confirm, reaching up to press a quick kiss to his lips. "Our first official one, I believe."
His arms slide around my waist, keeping me close. "Unless you count the tree lighting."
"That wasn't planned." I rest my hands on his chest, feeling his heartbeat strong and steady. "This is intentional."
"Very intentional," he agrees, bending to kiss me more thoroughly.
What begins as a simple goodbye escalates quickly, his hands tangling in my freshly combed hair, my body pressing closer to his. When we break apart, we're both breathing harder.
"At this rate, neither of us will get anything done today," I murmur against his lips.
"Would that be so terrible?" His eyes have darkened to that stormy gray that makes my insides melt.
"Tempting," I admit, forcing myself to step back. "But I really do need to write. My editor would kill me if she knew I was prioritizing incredible sex over my deadline."
His laugh is warm and rich. "Incredible, you say?"
"You know it was." I smooth my hands down his chest. "Which is why I need to focus on work for a few hours, or we'll never leave this kitchen."
"Fine." He sighs dramatically, though his eyes are bright with humor. "Be responsible."
"I'll make it up to you later," I promise, the boldness of the statement surprising me.
"I'll hold you to that." The look he gives me promises all sorts of delicious retribution.
We part reluctantly, Tom heading to get ready for his station run while I set up my laptop in the living room. After he leaves, the words come easily, my fingers flying across the keyboard as I channel the emotions of the past twelve hours into my characters. My heroine, once hesitant and wounded, now blossoms with newfound confidence. My hero, initially closed off and wary, gradually reveals his tender heart.
Art imitating life, or perhaps the other way around.
Two hours and nearly three thousand words later, my phone chimes with a text. From Mason, not Tom as I'd hoped.
Mason:How's the writing going?
I smile,imagining my brother's reaction if he knew exactly how well things were progressing, both professionally and personally.
Me: Better than ever. Almost 20k words in a week and a half.
His reply comes quickly.
Mason:That's fantastic! The change of scenery must be working wonders.
I debate how much to share. Mason is my brother, but he's also Tom's therapist. There must be professional boundaries I shouldn't ask him to cross.
Me: Scenery is beautiful. Whisper Vale has been exactly what I needed.
A slight evasion,but not untrue. Before he can respond, another text comes through.
