Page 5 of Possessed By the Mountain Man
And maybe I like natural disasters.
Maybe I’m stupid enough to stand in their path.
The wind cuts cold.
But I’m burning now.
And this—whatever the hell this is—I know one thing.
It’s only going to get worse.
Much worse.
Chapter 3
Aspen
The lodge has three rules posted on a chalkboard in the entry like commandments for sinners:
1) No candles near the curtains.
2) No food left out.
3) No fun after 10 p.m.
“Wow,” I murmur, dragging a manicured finger down the list. “Look at all this joy.”
Thorne’s voice rumbles from behind me. “They keep the place from burning down.”
I turn, flashing my brightest fake smile. “I’ll try not to ignite anything but your temper.”
He doesn’t bother to hide the way his eyes drop to my mouth. “You’re doing fine.”
“Good.” I uncap my lipstick—danger red—and paint my mouth slow, a dare disguised as routine. His gaze tracks every stroke like he wants to smudge it with his thumb. Or his mouth. “Where’s the Wi-Fi?”
“Down.” He folds his arms over his bare chest like a bouncer for the outdoors. “Storm knocked the tower out last week.”
“Okay, what about the plumbing?”
“Works if you don’t take forty-minute bubble baths.”
I cough out a laugh. “So, limited water, no internet, and a rule against fun.” I clap once. “Great. I’m thriving.”
“You look like you’ll survive.” His gaze drifts to the glitter-stuffed crate I wheeled in. “What’s in the box of doom?”
“Seasonal happiness.” I flip the lid and he actually recoils.
Inside: velvet stockings, skull garland, a string of bat fairy lights, a bundle of black tapers, two velvet pumpkins, synthetic spiderweb, and a pre-lit strand labeled BLOOD ORANGE GLOW.
“You’re not hanging that,” he says, chin jerking toward the lights.
I clutch them to my chest like a child with a stuffed animal. “Watch me.”
“Don’t.”
I plant a foot on the arm of the couch, climb, and stretch toward a timber beam. “You threatening me or flirting?”
“Both.” He moves closer, voice low. “You going to listen to either?”
