Page 35 of Possessed By the Mountain Man
“I won’t.”
“I know.”
“And that doesn’t scare you?”
His gaze burns. “Nothing scares me the way you do.”
The words steal my breath.
I open my mouth to say—what, I don’t know—but a crash from the front door cuts between us like a shotgun blast.
We both turn.
Boots thud. Cold wind screams in.
And then a voice calls out, “Yo Maddox! You alive or chained in the basement or—holy shit.”
Thorne grunts. “Aspen, meet Zane Warner—Devil’s Peak local, best friend to disaster, notorious shit-stirrer.”
My eyes dart between the two men, packed with muscle, mischief sparkling in their eyes. “Perfect.”
Zane takes in the room: tinsel, fog machine, a dozen fallen glitter bats—and Thorne standing shirtless withEMOTIONALLY UNAVAILABLEwritten across his chest while I stand in ripped fishnets and smeared lipstick.
He grins like Christmas came early. “Well damn,” he whistles. “Looks like I walked in on foreplay.”
Thorne growls. Like actually growls.
I smile brightly. “We’re filming a contest!”
Zane tips his chin at Thorne. “Is that what we’re calling stroking your rage-boner on camera now?”
“Leave,” Thorne orders.
“Nope,” Zane says cheerfully. “Brought your supplies. Winter said you needed—” he squints “—holy shit, are those bats on your ceiling?”
“Don’t ask,” Thorne grinds out.
Zane tosses him a canvas bag. “Supplies. And before you thank me—don't. You owe me beer. Or a kidney. Depends how tonight goes.”
He heads for the kitchen like he owns the place.
The interruption breaks the spell—and I hate it. Hate that I feel his absence like cold against skin. Hate how much I already want the tension back.
But Thorne just scrubs a hand over his jaw and mutters something like a curse under his breath.
When he looks at me again, there’s steel back in his eyes.
“We’re done here for tonight.”
“No we’re not,” I say.
“Yes. We are.”
“Then warn me next time before you come at me like—like that.”
He steps closer again. “You wanted war.”
“I didn’t ask for psychological torture.”
