Page 24 of Mountain Man in my Stockings
"The sex?"
"This whole trip. Meeting you. Feeling like this." She propped herself up on one elbow. "I came here to hide. Instead I found—"
"Found what?"
"I don't know yet." She smiled. "But whatever it is, I like it."
I tucked her hair behind her ear. "I like it too."
We stayed wrapped around each other, talking about nothing and everything until desire built again. The second time was slower, more exploratory—learning what made each other gasp and moan, taking our time.
Eventually we dozed off, tangled together.
I WOKE TO WINTER SUNLIGHTstreaming through my window and Eve's warm body pressed against my side. Her hair was a mess, makeup smudged, and she'd never looked more beautiful.
She stirred, eyes opening slowly. "Morning."
"Morning." I kissed her softly. "Sleep okay?"
"Best I've slept in forever." She stretched, the sheet slipping down to reveal her breasts, and I felt myself harden again. She noticed, raising an eyebrow. "Again?"
"Can't help it. You're in my bed."
"Well," she said, rolling on top of me with a wicked smile, "we can't let that go to waste."
The third time was playful—lots of laughter mixed with gasps and moans. She rode me, and I watched, hands on her hips, both of us grinning like idiots until pleasure overtook us.
Eventually hunger drove us out of bed. I made coffee while she borrowed one of my t-shirts—an old Denver PD shirt that hit her mid-thigh. We settled at my small kitchen table with scrambled eggs and toast.
This was what got me. Not just the sex, though that had been incredible. This. The easy way she fit in my space, the comfortable silence as we ate, how right it felt having her here.
"So," I said, trying to sound casual, "what are your plans after Christmas?"
She looked up from her coffee. "Haven't thought that far ahead."
The answer was vague, but I didn't push. She was here now. That was enough.
"Makes sense. You're on vacation."
"Yeah." She fiddled with her mug. "Just trying to enjoy the moment."
"Good plan." I reached across the table, laced my fingers through hers. "See you at the bar tonight?"
She squeezed my hand. "I'll be there."
We finished breakfast talking about her favorite bad Christmas movies and whether Die Hard counted as a Christmas film (she said no, I said absolutely). She kissed me goodbye at the door, and I watched her walk to her car, my t-shirt peeking out from under her coat.
After she left, I stood in my apartment, looking at the rumpled sheets, the coffee mugs on the table, the small signs and scent of her everywhere.
Less than a week. I'd known this woman less than a week, and she'd already worked her way under my skin.
I thought about my Christmas wish at that market booth. The one I hadn't told her about.
Maybe dreams could come true after all.
I grabbed my coffee and headed downstairs, whistling "Jingle Bell Rock" completely off-key.
Tonight couldn't come fast enough.
