Page 12 of Maple Kissed by the Mountain Man

She shoved her camera into the padded bag and zipped it shut with a firm yank. “I didn’t hike up a damn mountain at five in the morning to turn around because my feet might get wet.”

“It isn’t your damn feet I’m worried about. It’s that stubborn head of yours cracking open like an egg against a rock.” The words tore out of my throat before I could stop them.

Maggie stilled.

The impatience on her face vanished, her brown eyes widening as she searched my expression. “You are worried about me.”

I clenched my jaw. “I don’t feel like hauling a half-drowned, stubborn photographer out of a creek.”

“That sounds almost like affection, Burke.”

“It sounds like common sense.”

She took a deliberate step toward the slippery, submerged rocks at the edge of the water.

I didn’t think. I lunged forward, my hand snapping out to grab the back of her coat collar, hauling her backward onto higher ground.

“Ford,” she gasped, spinning around.

“You have two choices.” I crowded into her space until she was forced to look straight up at me. “Either we turn around right now, or I carry you across.”

She blinked, her gaze dropping to my wide chest, then traveling back up to my face. “Carry me how?”

“On my back. Like a sack of flour.”

Her dark eyebrows lifted, a sudden, wicked spark of heat flaring in her eyes. “You want me to ride you?”

The raw phrasing hit my brain like a shot of high-proof whiskey.

An image flashed behind my eyes so vivid, so filthy, it almost brought me to my knees—Maggie straddled, bare-legged over my hips, those thick, gorgeous thighs spread wide around me, her wild dark curls spilling over her shoulders as she gripped my chest and rode me down into the mattress.

I could feel the weight of her.

The slick, tight heat.

The breathless moan she’d make when I drove up inside her.

My dick went rock-hard so fast it was a physical ache, straining violently against the rough denim of my jeans.

Maggie’s gaze dropped to the heavy ridge below my belt. Her lips parted on a soft, sharp intake of air.

“Is riding me going to be a problem, Bennett?” I rasped, my voice sounding like grinding stones. I knew what I was saying and what I really wanted it to mean.

Her dark gaze caught mine, heavy and smoky with a heat that matched my own. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether we’re still talking about crossing the creek.”

The air between us snapped tight, thick enough to choke on. She wasn’t unaffected. Not even close. The flush on her neck had spread down into the open collar of her sweater, and her breasts were heaving under her jacket.

I wanted to rip that green jacket off her.

I wanted to see if those nipples were the dark pink I’d envisioned and as thick as they looked. I wanted to sink my mouth over her throat and find out how loud a woman who never shut up would scream my name when I took her.

Instead, I took off my backpack and slung it over one shoulder before turning my back to her and crouched low.

“Get on,” I ordered.