Page 12 of Possessed By the Mountain Man
She kicks. “Put me down!”
“No.”
“I’ll bite you.”
“Try.”
Her fist smacks my back. “You can’t manhandle me into obedience.”
I slap her ass. “Already did.”
She gasps. Freezes. And yeah—I feel the way her breath stops. I feel the way her body reacts to mine.
So I keep walking.
She stops shouting when we reach my room. Probably because she notices the fireplace—the only other source of heat in this place. The stacks of quilts. The size of my bed.
She stiffens. “No.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not sharing a bed with you.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“I always have a choice.”
“Not when that choice is hypothermia.”
She crosses her arms. “I’ll sleep in the bathtub.”
“Frozen pipes.”
“The kitchen.”
“Colder than outside right now, temperatures dipped below freezing last night and the wind coming off the peak keeps knocking out the pilot light–the old boiler can’t keep up.”
She throws her hands up. “The floor near the fire then.”
“You’re fucking high,” I say. “Get in the bed.”
“No.”
She tries to stomp past me. I catch her wrist. She jerks, but I don’t let go. My grip is firm, not cruel. Her breathing changes instantly. Mine does too.
Slowly, deliberately, I step closer. “Do you think I’m the kind of man who asks the same thing twice?”
Her pulse flutters. She hates that it does. Hates that she likes this.
She tilts her head, eyes gleaming. “Do you think I’m the kind of woman who follows orders?”
“Yes,” I say. “Mine.”
She sucks in a breath.
For a second—one long beat—we don’t move.
Then she yanks her hand back and glares. “You’re insane.”
