Page 3 of Maple Kissed by the Mountain Man

“I heard you the first time.” She planted a hand on her hip, undeterred.

“Then you know I’m not asking to throw a party up there. It’s just me, one camera bag, and a tripod. I won’t touch a thing. I won’t leave a trace. You can hike up with me and guard the trees yourself.”

The image hit me before I could block it out.

Maggie walking ahead of me on a narrow trail. Those hips swaying rhythmically inside those tight jeans. Me reaching out to drag her back by the waist when she lost her footing on a steep climb. Then kissing her so thoroughly she forgot why she was on my mountain.

My knuckles turned white against the wooden handle. My groin grew heavy and tight against my denim. “I have work to do.”

“I’ll help.”

“Chopping wood?”

“I’m stronger than I look.”

My gaze dragged slowly over her before my brain could stop me.

The belt of her red coat had loosened while she’d been moving, the heavy wool hanging open to reveal a fitted cream sweater beneath. The knit stretched taut over heavy, generous breasts. The chill in the air had turned her nipples into tight, hard points against the fabric.

Or maybe it wasn’t just the cold.

Maggie caught the exact direction of my glance and her pouty lips parted slightly. The sudden rise and fall of her sweater drew my attention right back to those rigid peaks. A dark flush swept up her throat, blooming across her cheeks. But she didn’t cover herself up. She didn’t look down. There was nothing shy in the way her gaze locked onto mine.

It had been a hell of a long time since I’d been this attracted to a woman. A woman, who I doubted knew the score when it came to men like me.

Her dark eyes narrowed, a slow flame lighting behind them as if she was fully aware of what she was doing to me. “I said I’m stronger than I look.”

“I heard you.” I set the axe aside, stepping away from the chopping block, but I didn’t head for the gate just yet. I stood my ground, looming over the yard as I looked her up and down once more.

“The grove is three miles up,” I grunted, finally walking closer. “Steep trail. You’re wearing fashion boots and a coat that belongs on a city street.”

Her eyes flared. “I can handle a hike.”

“Not today you can’t. The light’s already dying, and I’m not hauling you down the mountain after you twist an ankle in the dark.”

Maggie froze, her breath catching in her throat as the meaning of my words hit her. “Wait... are you saying...?”

“I’m saying you go home.” I stepped closer to the iron fence. “You come back tomorrow morning at six sharp. Wear real hiking boots, proper layers, and clothes you don’t mind getting dirty. The morning light on the ridge is the best anyway.”

A blinding, gorgeous smile broke across her face, lighting up her dark eyes so bright it hit me right in the chest. “Tomorrow? At six?”

“Six sharp,” I ordered, keeping my expression stoic. “My trees. My rules. You show up five minutes late, you don’t go. You step out of line, I bring you right back down.”

“I’ll be here at five-fifty-five,” she promised, her voice breathless with excitement.

In her excitement, she wobbled on the loose gravel, her boot heel catching on the uneven ground. She started to fall. I stepped to the gate, reached through the iron bars, and caught her hard around the waist. My fingers dug deep into her soft flesh as I tried to catch her. Her front slammed into the metal. Mine did the same from the opposite side.

Maggie’s hands flew up, clutching my forearm, her fingers digging through my shirt into my flexed muscle. Her lips parted, letting out a ragged, shaky exhale that brushed hot against my neck.

The iron gate kept our lower halves apart, but I was rock-hard and throbbing, inches from where her thighs parted. My grip on her waist tightened, dragging her higher against the metal until she was standing on her tiptoes. I wanted to grind myself against her through the damn bars. Better yet, I wanted to tear the damn gate off its hinges.

I could feel the give of her stomach against the iron. If the gate hadn’t been there I would have hauled her up, wrapped those thick thighs around my waist, and shown her exactly what weeks of her standing at my fence had done to me. My cock strained so hard against my zipper it hurt. I wanted her to feel it. I wanted her to know.

Slowly, reluctantly, I forced myself to let go.

Maggie took a long, shaky second to release my arm, her fingers dragging over my wrist as if she didn’t want to break the contact either.

“Watch your step.” The words were grunted because of the pain I was feeling. My jeans were so damn tight I knew I couldn’t walk away yet.