Page 30 of Possessed by the Mountain Man

Damien ended the call and sent the photograph to O’Shea while I called Laurie from beside the kitchen counter.

“I’m home,” I told her. “Damien’s staying in the spare room tonight. I promised I’d let you know, and I love you both.”

“We love you too, sweetheart. Pam’s right here, and we’re glad you’ve got someone with you. Call when you wake up.”

I set my phone down after we said good night. Damien had carried his bag into the spare room, and I joined him there to move the sample boxes onto the shelving beside the desk. He held the quilt out of the way while I straightened the sheet beneath it, then set his bag against the wall instead of leaving it in the narrow space beside the bed.

I brought him a towel from the hall cupboard. Without his field jacket, he looked broader in the little room, his flannel pulling across his shoulders as he turned toward me. The lamp lit the dark hair falling past his collar. I stopped in the doorway with the towel held against my chest, reluctant to hand it over and go to my own room.

He came closer and took it from me. His fingers brushed my wrist, and I wanted to lean against him, to feel his beard against my hair and the weight of his arm around me.

“Will you sit with me for a while?” I asked. “I’m not ready to try sleeping yet.”

Damien put the towel on the bed and followed me into the kitchen. I sat at the table, pushing a folder aside to make room for him. He pulled out the chair beside mine, and I reached for his hand before he could settle back.

He covered my hand with his, and I moved closer until our knees touched beneath the table. I’d given him the spare room, but I wanted him in my bed.

Chapter Four

Sybil’s hand stayed beneath mine on the kitchen table.

I should have let go.

The cottage was locked, the windows were secured, and my overnight bag was waiting in the spare room. I had already done everything I could reasonably do before morning except sleep.

Instead, I sat beside her with my knee pressed against hers and my thumb resting along the side of her hand.

The house had gone quiet around us. The refrigerator hummed in the kitchen, and wind moved dry leaves across the porch outside. Every few seconds, Sybil’s gaze drifted toward the curtained window before returning to me.

“You should try to sleep,” I said.

“I will.”

She made no attempt to move.

Neither did I.

My attention dropped to her mouth before I could stop it. Her hair had loosened from whatever she’d done to contain it through the shift, and one chestnut strand rested against her cheek. I wanted to tuck it back.