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Call me crazy, but it seems like Mountain Man is struggling to remember our romance is a mere business transaction.
“You will be the end of me,” he mumbles as he draws me even closer, breathing in at the nape of my neck and brushing his lips gently over my skin.
“Blurring some lines again, soldier?” I manage to say as his hot hand trails down my bare back.
“Blame it on this dress, Little Bird.” He lifts my chin to him. “Just a little taste, that’s all,” he growls, pressing a smoldering kiss on my lips.
The champagne bubbles dancing in my head make me want to be reckless. I part my lips and let his tongue explore me.
But as the final notes of “Blessed” fade out, Jack clasps my hand, pressing a swift kiss to my knuckles.
“We made quite the impression tonight, I’d say. I better get you home before midnight.”
Although his tone is playful, I can sense tension lurking beneath the surface as he pulls me behind him. The abrupt shift confuses me. Weren't we getting along famously just moments ago?
I trail him silently through the ornate lobby toward valet parking, the click of my heels oddly loud. As we pull away toward the city, I peek at Jack's profile, his attention focused intently on winding country roads.
“So . . .” I start, “was everything okay back there?”
Jack's gaze stays locked straight ahead down the dark tree-lined road. “I’d say it was just fine. My father ate it up.”
I wilt slightly, unsure how to interpret his aloofness. “Right, of course. The whole point of this act.” I don’t allow my mood to be dampened despite his abrupt shift. “We were definitely convincing.”
Jack makes a noncommittal noise low in his throat, and we drive on in increasingly tense silence. The skies seem to echo the moody vibe, angry clouds rolling in and plunging the tree-lined road into inky blackness. Without warning, fat raindrops splatter the windshield.
Within moments a full-blown deluge opens up, sheets of rain nearly blinding as Jack struggles to navigate the winding turns. The storm's ferocity alarms me—jagged lightning flashes followed instantly by teeth-rattling thunder.
“Hold on, we’ll stop somewhere,” Jack grits out, squinting to see beyond the furiously swiping wipers. I notice his white-knuckled grip straining on the slick steering wheel.
He veers the car sharply toward a barely visible lookout point, brakes maneuvering us to a gravelly stop.
Trees surround us, rain pounding relentlessly on metal and glass.
“Jack . . .” I start tremulously. Instantly his hand covers mine.
“It's alright, Little Bird, just a bad storm. It will pass quickly. We'll wait here until the rain settles.” His tone is gentle, coaxing me to meet his steady green gaze, glinting silver in the sporadic dashboard light. “Trust me. I won’t let anything bad happen to you, Maddie.” Light and shadow lick his face as he takes my hand in his and stares into my eyes.
“So, we just wait here, then?” I manage to ask, mesmerized by his look. He has transformed into a predator watching his prey and waiting for the right moment to pounce. It’s equal parts unsettling and hypnotizing, as if he is still deciding whether he should devour me or protect me. From bears, fans, the rain, or from himself. His eyes are dark slits raking over my face and dress.
“How long do you think the storm will take?” I ask, just for the sake of breaking the silence.
But he doesn’t bother to respond, tugging on my hand gently, seemingly still weighing his decision. Pulled in by his gravity, I unbuckle my seat belt, and as if reading my mind, he grabs me by the waist and pulls me into his lap. A shudder escapes me. A frantic pulse is thundering in my throat. As much as I wanted him to decide to have me, I’m now terrified of what that will feel like.
“The universe is dead set on making this as difficult for me as possible,” he grumbles as he pushes the driver’s seat backward, giving us more space.
I’ve never wanted to be touched so bad in my life. Awareness ripples through my system, the tiny cords of my femininity pulling taut like a violin string.
“You might as well have been ringing the dinner bell in that dress,” he murmurs against my lips, his calloused hands pulling it down my shoulders and leaving my breasts bare. His fingers trail down from my collarbone and cup one in his palm. Cold air peaks my painfully hard nipples.
As I press against the swell in his pants, he hisses a breath and leans down to take a bead in his mouth, twirling his hot tongue around it and pulling a moan from me.
I grind against his bulge, desperate to feel him, and he snakes one of his hands under my dress, pushing my silken panties aside and finding my clit, while his other hand fists my hair.
His touch is not gentle like the first night we spent together. There is frustration, desperation, almost anger in his harsh movements, an understanding that he lost in whatever tug of war we were involved in.
“These tits have featured in my dreams for days.” His voice is a rumble, a thunder that rolls over my skin and shoots straight to my core.
Frantically, I pull down his fly and unbutton his shirt, pushing it off. The corded muscles in his arms ripple as he slides his hand down and grabs my pussy. He dips his head and runs a hot trail down to my breasts.
