Page 15 of Maple Kissed by the Mountain Man

“Hold this.” She grabbed the thick end of her braid and thrust it back toward me without looking.

I stared at her hand.

“Hold my hair,” she snapped. “I need both hands free.”

I stepped forward and took the braid.

The thick, woven hair was cool from the wind and silk-soft against my rough palm. My gaze followed the dark strand up to the pale, sensitive nape of her neck.

Fine, soft curls were lifting off her skin in the breeze.

A sudden, terrifying urge swept through me—a desire to wrap that thick braid around my fist, yank her head back, and kiss her until we were both out of breath. Then I would turn her around and watch as she took every inch of me against one of her damn maple trees.

The sheer violence of the hunger shocked me.

Maggie looked over her shoulder, her eyes widening as she caught the dark, wild look on my face. “You... you can let go now.”

I dropped the braid, stepping back.

She checked the digital screen and let out a frustrated groan. “It’s blurred. The wind ruined it.”

“Time’s up,” I grunted, reaching down to grab her backpack.

“No,” she protested.

“Forty-five minutes, Bennett. Deal’s a deal.”

“I didn’t get the shot.”

“That doesn’t alter the agreement.” I didn’t want to think why I was being such an ass. Because I knew why. If she didn’t get her shot. I’d have to bring her back up tomorrow.

“I need five more minutes.”

“We need to go.”

“The sun is right where I need it.”

“The wind isn’t going to stop.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do.” I hauled her heavy backpack off the dirt. “We’re leaving.”

Maggie lunged forward, her hands snapping onto the top strap of the bag. “I am not moving.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

We stood locked in the middle of the crimson grove, the backpack stretched tight between us.

“Let go, Maggie,” I warned, my voice dropping into a low rumble.

“You let go.”

“My mountain.”

“My backpack.”