Page 50 of Possessed By the Mountain Man
I stare down at her mouth, fighting the urge to bite. Claim. Mark.
“You really want this war, Aspen?”
She rises on her toes, lips a breath from mine. “I’m not scared of war.”
My chest rumbles. “Then get ready to lose.”
Her smile is pure sin. “Ladies first.”
Jesus Christ.
I need to get space. Now. Before I do something I can’t take back.
I step away—rough, fast. Like pulling teeth out of my own ribs.
She stares, confused. “You’re walking away?”
I don’t turn. “Before I throw you over that table and make decisions for both of us.”
Silence.
Then—voice low, threaded with pure trouble—“Who says I don’t want you to?”
I stop walking.
Every muscle locks.
I look back.
Her head is tilted. Hands behind her back. Lip caught between teeth. Watching me like a dare.
I stalk toward her again—slow. Heavy. Predatory. She doesn’t run.
“You keep pushing,” I warn.
“Maybe you like it,” she whispers.
I crowd her against the table—no space, no escape—and murmur against her ear: “You think I need excuses to want you?”
She trembles. “No.”
“Good.” My voice drops lethal. “Then stop giving me reasons to hold back.”
Her breath shudders.
I step back again. Just enough to clear my head.
Her eyes narrow. “You’re infuriating.”
“You’re reckless.”
“You’re control-obsessed!”
“You’re climbing me like a tree every time trouble hits!”
She throws up her hands. “Maybe you’re just available real estate!”
Oh, that does it.
