Page 4 of Naughty With The Mountain Man
“Micah,” she says slowly, “are you always this broody, or is it a holiday thing?”
I don’t answer. I can’t. My jaw’s already locked, and my hands are fists on my thighs because if I relax even a little, I might reach for her.
She’s fire and softness. She’s everything I gave up on a long time ago.
But damn if I don’t want to touch her.
“You don’t have to act like I’m made of glass,” she says, her voice low now. “You can talk to me. I don’t break easy.”
“I know,” I say, and the words come out rough.
She shifts, slowly uncurling herself, until she’s sitting closer. Too close. Close enough I can smell vanilla and whatever floral thing clings to her sweater.
“You keep looking at me like I’m a problem,” she says.
“Youarea problem,” I answer.
Her breath hitches. I catch it. Track it.
But I don’t move. Not yet.
“You want me,” she says. No fear. Just fact.
“I’m trying not to.”
Her gaze drops to my mouth. Then rises again. Her cheeks are flushed—not from the fire.
“Don’t,” I warn, but it’s broken. Useless.
“Why not?” she whispers. “Because I’m sunshine and you’re all thunderclouds?”
“Because if I kiss you,” I growl, “I’m not going tostopat kissing.”
Her lips part. She doesn’t flinch. She leans in.
I’m going to hell for this.
My hand is in her hair before I know it, tilting her head up as my mouth crushes hers. She gasps, and I take it. Takeallof it. Her lips are soft, her body warm, and when she presses into me, I forget every reason I had to stay away.
I pull her into my lap, her legs straddling mine, and she fits like she was made for this. Made forme.My hands roam her waist, her back, sliding under her sweater just to feel the heat of her skin.
She’s not backing off. She’s meeting me move for move, tongue for tongue. When she moans, I lose control.
But she pulls back first, just enough to catch her breath.
“We’re not supposed to do this,” she says, eyes dark and wide.
“No,” I say, gripping her hips. “We’re not.”
“Should we stop?”
I stare at her, heart thundering.
Eventually, I say, “Probably.”
But I don’t let her go.
And she doesn’t move.
