Page 10 of Possessed By the Mountain Man
“You’re not quiet around me?” I ask, barely above the whisper of the fire.
He steps close, crowding my space on purpose, forcing me back until my hips bump the table and the entry card flutters to the floor. He palms the edge beside my thigh, leaning in, heat and cedar and danger surrounding me like a cloak I asked for.
“No,” he says. “You make everything loud.”
I should push him off. I don’t.
“You hate loud.”
He shakes his head once. “Not yours.”
My pulse misbehaves. “Define ‘loud.’”
His mouth tilts, wicked. “The kind that happens when you finally stop pretending you’re here for a prize.” His gaze drops, lingers, returns to my eyes like a promise. “The kind you make when you’re done playing nice.”
My breath shivers out. “You think I play nice?”
“I think you’re deciding if I’ve earned bad.”
We hover there, suspended, one breath from ruin, when the back door rattles in a gust and the porch light flickers to life again before the breaker trips with a clunk. The lamps die. The fireplace stays.
Dark wraps the room.
His body remains, shadow-solid, near enough that if I lean an inch I’ll touch him.
“Power’s delicate,” I whisper.
His laugh rumbles against my ribs. “So are some men.”
“Are you?”
“No.” He straightens, gives me space like it’s a gift and a punishment. “Lock the porch. I’ll check the generator. No more candy left out.”
I nod, throat dry.
He pauses in the doorway. Looks back. “Red looks good on you.”
“My lipstick?”
“My rules,” he says, and vanishes into the dark.
The room exhales. I sink onto the chair, heart rioting, mouth tingling, the taste of poison apple clinging to my tongue. Through the window, I catch the barest flash of his body in the snow as he checks the shed, breath steaming, shoulders carved out of shadow.
Loud, I think, pressing two fingers to my pulse.
I’m not quiet either.
And tomorrow, I’ll hang every last bat light in this place and dare him to cut the breaker again.
Let the game continue.
Chapter 4
Thorne
The storm hits like the mountain decided to swallow the world. No warning. No build-up. Just rage—wind screaming through the pines, snow slamming sideways, air turning violent. I’ve seen war zones quieter.
Being trapped doesn’t bother me. Being trapped with her does.
