Page 4 of Possessed By the Mountain Man
“You’re still here.” A part of me was hoping she’d seen the rustic guest room and bailed. It’s hardly winterized; no fireplace and an old, finicky boiler means the room is hardly cozy, which is why the hunting lodge never hosts guests—it used to rent to crusty old fly fisherman in the summer but it’s just the caretaker’s lodge now. Definitely not what this city girl is used to. This woman has complication written all over her pretty face.
“Oh my God!” She throws her hands up and spins toward the fake tombstones like she needs backup from her plastic undead army. “Why do men always go straight for the dramatic bullshit?” She lowers her voice to mock me: “‘You don’t belong here.’ ‘I’m too dark and broody for human connection.’ ‘Nobody understands me.’”
I glare. “I don’t talk like that.”
She points. “Youfeellike that.”
“I feel nothing.”
“Liar.”
I close the distance again, getting right in her face. “Sounds like you should pack your shit, city princess.”
“No.”
“You’re leaving.”
“I’m staying.”
“You’re a menace.”
“You’re a coward.”
My jaw locks. “Say that again.”
She does. Slower. Deadlier. “Coward.”
Wind howls through the trees, whipping snow between us. Dead leaves skitter across the iced ground. My pulse slams.
I step forward.
She doesn’t move.
“You don’t know me,” I bite out.
She lifts her chin. Fearless. “Then show me I’m wrong.”
What she doesn’t understand—what she shouldn’t—is that I can’t.
Because she’d be right.
And I’d rather die than let her see everything buried under my ribs.
I exhale slowly. Controlled. Dangerous. Then I pull back.
“Stay out of my way,” I say.
“No,” she fires back.
“We’ll see how long you last.”
“I’ll outlast you.”
“You won’t.”
“Try me.”
She turns and stalks up the steps like she didn’t just declare war. I watch her go because I can’t help it. Because she’s a fucking natural disaster in thigh-high socks.
