Page 2 of Marrying the Mountain Man

I hesitated only seconds before wisecracking, “I’ll bet you get pretty thirsty.”

Those plump pink lips of hers spread into a smile. It was like the sun peeking out from behind a cloud after a rain. Shit. When had I gotten so poetic? I sounded like a pussy.

“Virgin margarita,” Cherry said.

“Huh?”

I stared at her like a complete dope. All I heard was the word “virgin.” She’d mentioned on one of our late-night calls that she’d never been with a man before. It’d gotten me worked up for a full two days. I lost count of the number of times I had to rub one out as thoughts of her untouched body raced through my mind.

“A margarita with no alcohol in it,” she said.

“Right. Margarita. Virgin.”

I was going to have to pull it together if I expected to convince this woman to go through with marrying me. I pushed away from the table and stood. As I passed her, though, I felt her checking me out. I held back a smile as I continued toward the bar.

2

CHERRY

Iwas here in Blackbear Bluff. I was seated at a table in a sports bar I’d obsessed over for the past two weeks.

The original agreement was that Phoenix Carter and I would marry in name only. I’d hide out in Blackbear Bluff for a while, staying at this guy’s cabin in his guest bedroom. Eventually, once my parents grasped that I was an adult who made my own decisions, I’d return to Charlotte.

That was the agreement. But somewhere along the way, things had gotten a little murky. Our late-night conversations had turned flirtatious, then deeply personal. It’d seemed so easy to talk to him. Maybe because I wasn’t staring him in the face.

“One margarita, minus the tequila,” Phoenix Carter said, setting the drink in front of me.

He walked around and plopped down in his chair, not even bothering to scoot back up to the table. He sat back in it, just as he’d been positioned when I walked into the place.

“There a reason you don’t drink?” he asked.

That was kind of personal. What if I was an alcoholic or it was against my religion? That last part was probably why he was asking. If I had some personal objection to drinking, maybe he wouldn’t feel comfortable doing it around me.

I shrugged and removed the paper from the straw. “I just don’t like it.”

Did he notice my hands were trembling? Did he know he was the one making me nervous? Something about the guy’s piercing blue eyes seemed to look right through me. The clenched jaw, the lips that looked utterly kissable…

And then there was his body. His thin T-shirt did little to conceal the solid wall of muscle beneath it. His arms, his chest, and even his butt when he stood up…all crafted to perfection.

Mostly to still my wandering thoughts, I took a big sip from the glass. The virgin margarita was amazing. Putting alcohol in this sweet concoction would have ruined it. And that was the simple reason I didn’t like alcohol. It didn’t agree with my tastebuds. If he was looking for something more dramatic, he’d be disappointed.

“I probably shouldn’t have suggested we meet in a sports bar,” he said. “They have really good food, though. Are you hungry?”

“Starving.” I blurted out the word before thinking through what I was going to say. “I snuck out before breakfast and drove straight here.”

It was silly when I thought about it. I’d driven like someone was chasing me. Like at any second, I’d look in my rearview mirror and see the familiar front end of my dad’s town car.

“It’s after lunch.” He frowned. “You haven’t eaten since last night?”

I shook my head. “Didn’t even stop for coffee. I just wanted to get here.”

There. That would explain it without making me seem like a child running from my parents. I was a grown woman. I should have been able to stand up to my parents a long time ago, but my dad was the ultimate gaslighter. He could make anyone feel bad about anything. It was an art.

“Let’s get you some meat, then.”

I nearly choked on the liquid I’d sucked through the straw. I would swear this guy was doing this stuff on purpose. When he said, “get you some meat,” my mind immediately went to the bulge I spotted when he stood to return to the bar. Was it wrong to check out that area of a guy?

I lowered my stare to my drink. I’d just keep my attention there. That way, I wouldn’t be caught checking him out.

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