Page 8 of Craved By the Mountain Man

My arms fall to my sides, tingling where his fingers held them, but he does not immediately step away. He only shifts his thigh back, leaving barely a foot between us.

That should make breathing easier.

It does not.

I become aware of the wall against my back, the heat coming off his body, the faint scent of soap, and the water still sliding over skin that has absolutely no business being this close to me while my life is falling apart.

His gaze moves to the backpack on the floor, then to the front door.

“You picked my lock.”

“I did.”

His brows draw together.

I lift my chin because that feels more dignified than admitting my knees are shaky for several unrelated reasons.

“I locked it again.”

His eyes flick toward the deadbolt.

“After breaking in.”

“I feel like breaking in is unnecessarily hostile when nothing was actually broken.”

His jaw flexes, and the look he gives me suggests I am not helping my case.

It should probably make me nervous.

Instead, it reminds me of being twenty-one and watching him across a kitchen while Kaden talked about something I no longer remember because Gavin had rolled up his sleeves.

My traitorous gaze drifts downward again.

A drop of water runs over the center of his chest, crosses the hard ridges of his stomach, and disappears beneath the towel.

I follow it.

It is genuinely remarkable how quickly the human eye adapts to darkness when properly motivated.

I hate myself immediately.

When I force my eyes back up, Gavin is watching me.

His gaze holds mine for a second too long.

Something changes there, so faint and fast I cannot name it.

Then his expression locks down again.

My cheeks burn.

“I’m having a difficult evening.”

The corner of his mouth threatens to move.

It is barely anything, but I remember how rare even that almost-smile was two years ago.

Then he looks at me properly.