Page 13 of Possessed By the Mountain Man

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“Maybe,” I say. “Get in the bed anyway.”

She barricades herself under two quilts and faces away from me, like that’ll save her. Good luck with that.

I throw another log on the fire, strip off my shirt, and lay down. The mattress dips under my weight. She goes rigid like I’m a hungry bear and she’s covered herself in honey.

“You’re—why are you—no,” she sputters.

“What?”

“You can’t be shirtless.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“You’re doing it on purpose.”

“Existing? Breathing? Sleeping? You tell me, witch. Which is the problem?”

Her voice goes tight. “All three.”

We lie in silence for a few minutes. The storm claws at the windows. She shivers.

I ignore it.

She shivers again.

I swear, she’ll drive me to violence.

I drag the quilt back an inch. “Come here.”

“No.”

“It’s colder on your side.”

“I’m fine.”

I reach back without looking and find her arm. Goosebumps cover her skin. She jerks back.

“I said I’m fine.”

I move closer until my back warms hers. I feel every point of tension inside her snap like brittle twigs.

“That better?” I ask.

“No,” she lies.

I shift anyway. Closer. Enough body heat to thaw her bones.

Minutes pass. Our breathing syncs. I feel her shoulder blades brush my chest with each inhale. Feel her thighs tremble under the quilts.

She thinks I’m falling asleep. I don’t sleep easy. She’ll learn that eventually.

She shifts once. Then again. Then, so quietly I almost miss it?—

“Do you always radiate this much anger when you have a woman in your bed? Or is it just me?”

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