Page 10 of Mountain Man's Christmas Gift
Then, careful and sure, he slid away from me, anchoring my wobble as I pushed myself upright. That had us dissolving into laughter as we got to work.
We moved in a fast, clumsy choreography—pulling up clothes, smoothing hems, fingers grazing damp skin and sending tiny shocks through both of us. He tucked himself back into his pants, and there was something so tender in the ordinary act of watching him dress. It left me feeling warm and dizzy in a way I hadn’t expected.
He crouched to find my underwear and handed them to me with a cocky smirk that flushed me from the scalp to the soles of my feet. Once we were decent, he drew me close and kissed me slow—deep and lingering, tasting of us and of whatever shift had just happened between us.
“Ready to face the music?” he murmured, thumb tracing my heated cheek.
I nodded. Words felt ridiculous compared to the thud of my heart. He threaded his hand through mine—simple, grounding—and opened the door.
We stepped into the quiet hallway. Silence surrounded us, masking the activity on the floor below. He kept his thumb moving on my palm, his shoulder bumping mine, and instead of fear, a delicious thrill uncoiled in me.
Let them wonder. Let them gossip.
The best secret I’d ever kept was walking right beside me.
