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Possessed by the Mountain Man

Page 77

by Annee Jones

I kissed his cheek, just above his beard, and left him with the lipstick mark.

He made no attempt to wipe it off.

***

We left The Sugar Basket a little after eleven.

Laurie tried to send us away with enough food for three days. Pamela intervened before the bag reached emergency-rations status, and Damien carried it to the SUV while I hugged everyone good night.

Outside, Woodbridge Falls had gone silver and blue beneath a thin layer of snow. Storefront lights reflected across the wet road, and holiday garlands still hung between the old brick buildings. The river was mostly hidden beyond the buildings, but I could hear water moving beneath the colder hush of the night.

Damien opened my door.

I paused before getting in. “You know you don’t have to do that anymore. I can open a vehicle door.”

“I know. I’ve seen you operate several.”

I narrowed my eyes. “So this is just how you are?”

He leaned one arm against the roof of the SUV. “You’ve had ten weeks to file a complaint.”

I stepped closer instead.

His free hand settled at my waist beneath my coat.

“I’ve been busy,” I said.

“With all those clients.”

“And you.”

His gaze dropped to my mouth.

The kiss lasted long enough that I became aware of snow landing in my hair only when a cold flake touched my cheek.

Damien brushed it away with his thumb.

“If we keep doing this,” he said, “we’re going to miss midnight.”

I climbed into the SUV. “That sounds like a scheduling problem.”

He laughed under his breath. “I knew dating an event planner would become complicated before the first date.”

He shut the door before I could answer.

The drive into the mountains took us away from the town lights and onto roads edged with snow-covered pines. I had made the trip enough times now that I recognized the turn before Damien took it.

His house appeared through the trees several minutes later, warm light shining from the windows.

The first time I had come here, I had spent far too much time pretending I wasn’t curious about how Damien lived when he wasn’t attached to somebody else’s emergency.

Now my spare gloves occupied a basket by his front door.

There was a pair of my boots beside his.

A bottle of the shampoo I liked sat in his shower because after the third time I brought it back and forth, Damien had asked why I was making my own life difficult.

I had a drawer upstairs.