Page 9 of Maple Kissed by the Mountain Man

Ford turned and continued down the mountain, carrying my pack as if it weighed nothing at all.

I rubbed the red maple leaf tight in my hand, my body thrumming with a fiery, dangerous anticipation. I hadn’t gotten my winning photograph today.

But I had gotten another morning alone with Ford Burke.

And tomorrow, I wasn’t just going to get my shot. I was going to make this mountain man see what was right in front of him.

Chapter Three

Ford

Letting Maggie Bennett back on my land was a fatal mistake.

I knew it when I checked the weather at midnight. I knew it when I woke before dawn and checked it again. I damn sure knew it when she stepped out of her vehicle at five twenty-five in the morning, wearing jeans that cupped her ass like the way I wanted to.

She’d braided her dark hair again, but thick, unruly curls were already escaping the weave, bouncing around her shoulders as she hurried toward my locked fence. Her green jacket ended right at her waist, giving me an unobstructed view of every lush curve below it.

I’d thought about those curves all night.

I’d laid awake in the dark, staring at the timber rafters of my ceiling, my hands clenched behind my head, imagining what those thick thighs would feel like wrapped tight around my waist, and how hard I’d drive myself into her tight, wet heat. That was another mistake.

“You’re late,” I grunted, resting my forearm against the top bar of the gate as she approached.

Maggie checked her watch, her dark eyes flashing with immediate sass. “It’s five twenty-seven. That makes me early, Burke.”

“You were earlier yesterday.”

“You complained yesterday.”

“I didn’t complain.”

“You said my excitement sounded exhausting.”

“It is.”

She stopped on the other side of the iron, tipping her head back to look at me. Her mouth was unpainted, that natural berry color enticing me.

I’d spent way too much time wondering how that mouth tasted, and how she’d sound whimpering into my mouth.

“Good morning to you, too, sunshine,” she purred, her eyes dancing with mischief.

I jammed the key into the brass padlock, the heavy iron chain clanking loudly as I unhitched it.

Maggie pushed through the moment the gap opened, deliberately brushing close enough that the soft, heavy curve of her breast dragged across my bicep.

It could have been an accident.

The slow, wicked curve of her lips told me it damn sure wasn’t.

“Behave,” I growled, stepping into her space.

“I haven’t done a thing.”

“You’re considering it.”

She looked up at me through her thick lashes, her voice dropping into a dangerous lilt. “You said you notice every tiny shift in a person, Ford. Am I making you nervous?”

I slammed the gate shut harder than necessary and locked it.