Page 3 of Naughty With The Mountain Man
Too much.
And now she’s in my cabin, moving around like she’s lived here for years.
She’s currently sitting on the edge of my couch in a ridiculous Christmas sweater that saysNever Sleigh Never, sipping cocoa from the mug I gave her because I didn’t know what else to do with my hands.
I didn’t evenhavecocoa until she unpacked.
Apparently, she brought her own. Withmarshmallows.
I’m watching her.
I don’t mean to, but I am.
The way her lips wrap around the edge of the mug. The way her lashes lower when she blows on it. She hums when she drinks.Hums. Like some little human comfort engine.
Jesus.
“Something wrong?” she asks, catching me mid-stare.
“No,” I grunt, turning back to the fire. “Just thinking.”
“About which part of me annoys you the most?”
She’s teasing, but it lands closer than she thinks.
“All of it,” I say.
She snorts. “Charming.”
I try to ignore the way her laughter slips under my skin like heat. Like it belongs there.
“You want to explain the marshmallows?” I ask.
“They’re emotional support marshmallows.”
“Of course.”
“Don’t judge,” she says, kicking off her boots and curling up on my couch like it’s hers. “You strike me as the type of man who eats canned chili in silence.”
I do. And now I’m annoyed that she’s right.
“You sure you’re safe here?” she asks, suddenly serious. “Whoever’s been leaving those packages—I don’t think they’re just trying to scare me. They know too much.”
I watch the way her fingers grip the mug. The way her smile slips.
“I’m sure,” I say. “I checked the perimeter twice. You’re locked down tight.”
“And you?” she asks, voice a little softer. “You do this often? Babysit people like me?”
“No,” I say. “Just the ones Nate guilts me into.”
“Lucky me,” she mutters.
She sets the mug down and leans back against the couch, her head resting on the arm. I shouldn’t look. I shouldn’t let myselfseethe way her shirt rides up just enough to show the smooth skin of her hip. But I do.
Her eyes flick up and catch mine.
Something in the air tightens.
