Page 7 of Her Grumpy Mountain Man

His mouth curves, but he doesn’t laugh. I let my shoulder rest against his arm—a small, deliberate move he can’t mistake for the swing tipping. He settles back beside me.

I can feel the warmth of his skin through my sleeve. The swing sways gently as he pushes off the porch with one boot.

“This morning,” I begin, turning my face toward him, “when you said you wanted to kiss me.”

“I meant it.” He meets my gaze.

My fingers clench around the edge of the quilt. “I wanted you to.” I force myself to hold his gaze. “I still do.”

His hand rests beside mine, and for a few seconds I watch his fingers. I remember them against my cheek, and it takes effort to keep my own hand still.

“I’m trying to be careful with you.”

“I know.” I turn my palm up. He looks at it before taking my hand. That tiny pause nearly undoes me. “I like that you’re careful,” I say. “But you don’t have to keep guessing what I want. You can ask me.”

His thumb moves over my knuckles. “All right.” He turns a little more toward me. “Can I kiss you, Ava?”

“Yes.” I barely get the word out before I lean toward him.

He meets me halfway. His lips brush mine, and I close my eyes. There’s no sudden retreat this time. His hand stays around mine as his other settles along my jaw, holding me with a gentleness that makes my chest ache.

I lift my free hand to his shoulder and feel his warm skin beneath my palm. The faint roughness of his beard against my cheek. His mouth moves slowly over mine as I forget the book, the yard, and every clever thing I’ve imagined saying to him.

When he lifts his head, I follow him a little. He notices—of course he does. His forehead rests against mine, and I feel his smile before I open my eyes.

“Better than the book?” He strokes my cheek with his thumb.

I glance at the abandoned paperback. “I’ll let you know when I manage to finish a page.” I slide my hand toward the back of his neck, and this time I kiss him first.

five

Maddox

Ava kneels by the fireplace, shaking out another blanket, while I stand at the kitchen counter, drying the same plate long after it is dry. She has already pushed the coffee table aside. Two pillows rest against the couch, and a thick quilt covers the rug near the hearth.

“What are you doing?” I set the plate in the cupboard.

“Making somewhere comfortable to sit.” She glances over her shoulder. “You said we should talk.”

“We have a couch.”

“I know.” She settles on the blankets and tucks her feet beneath her. “You can sit there if you want.”

I look at the empty couch, then at her. There’s room beside her—she made sure of it.

I leave the towel on the counter and cross the cabin. Before I sit, I check the front door. The lock is secure, and I turn back to find Ava watching me.

“You do that every time.” She draws a finger along the quilt stitching.

“Habit.” I lower myself beside her and get comfortable before we have the talk. “I’m your bodyguard.”

“I know.” She turns toward me.

“You came here because you needed a safe place.”

“And you’ve made it safe.” Her knee brushes mine.

“This shouldn’t happen while I’m responsible for you.” I rub my palms together. “I keep telling myself that. But when you sit beside me or take my hand, I want to stay right where I am.” I pause, gathering my courage. “I can stop kissing you,” I admit. “I can give you space. But I don’t know how to stop wanting you.”