Page 18 of Possessed By the Mountain Man
Then he looks up.
Slowly.
At me.
And he doesn’t smile.
He doesn’t evenblink.
“You,” he says.
“Me,” I confirm sweetly.
“What,” he asks, gesturing at the ceiling, “is that?”
“Atmosphere.”
“What kind of atmosphere needssevenbat strands?”
“A sexy one.”
His jaw tics. “You call this sexy?”
“I call this victory.”
He stalks toward the breaker panel.
“No!” I launch myself down the stairs to block him. “Uh-uh. No way. You don’t get to kill the mood twice in twenty-four hours.”
“Mood?” He gestures toward the massacre of plastic bats. “You mean the electrical hazard?”
“They’re UL certified.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means safe for indoor chaos.”
We stare each other down. Heat crackles. I lift my chin, feeling that reckless dare roll off me again.
“Say it,” he growls.
“Say what?”
“That you’re doing this to get a rise out of me.”
“I would never,” I gasp dramatically. “I respect you and your control issues.”
He closes the distance between us, crowding me back against the wall by the panel. “Control issues?” he asks softly.
Intensity radiates off him—hot, consuming, too much. But I don’t move. Don’t breathe.
Don’t blink.
“Thorne,” I say carefully, “if you shut those lights off, I swear—I will hex your beard.”
His eyes drop to my mouth. “Hex my—what the hell does that even mean?”
“It means I’ll braid tinsel in it while you’re sleeping.”
