Page 15 of My Fearless Mountain Man
I pause, tracing it lightly.
I don’t care how it got there.
All I care about ishim. Here. Now. Wanting me like this.
When my nails graze his lower back, he pulls away, panting. I stretch to kiss him again, but he pushes me away.
“Go home, Nora,” he says, voice sharp even though it’s thick with something he won’t let me name.
I touch my lips, still swollen from his kiss, and lean toward him. “But—”
“Now.”
Not a suggestion. A line drawn. A rejection.
The chill sets in fast. My skin still hums from the heat of his mouth, his hands, his body pressed against mine—but now, he’s gone. Retreating like it didn’t mean anything. LikeIdon’t.
Why? What did I do wrong?
Did I misread everything? Did he kiss me just to prove a point—show me that no matter how close I get, he’ll never let me have all of him? Was it guilt? Pity? Did he think I was pushing too hard, that the letters and being here were some attempt to trap him?
My eyes burn, but I blame the rain. I just need to get back to the cabin. To put space between us before I say something I regret. Before I beg for something he never offered in the first place.
I didn’t come here to force anything—not a relationship, not sex. I never wanted to make him feel cornered. If he didn’t want the kiss, if he doesn’t wantme, I need to respect that.
“I’ll cool off for a few days,” I murmur, hurrying back to the car, swallowing down the ache in my throat.
Even if I want answers—even if Ideservethem—I need to be patient. I need to take a step back and figure out whatIwant too. Not just from him, but from all of this.
And when I get back to the cabin, that’s exactly what I do. I decide to stay quiet. Give him space.
If he wants me—if hefeltanything—he’ll come back.
And if he doesn’t, then it’s better to know now before I let myself fall any further into something that was only ever mine.
I cross my fingers. But I don’t chase him.
Not this time.
Chapter 8 - Calder
Why the hell did I kiss her? Why did I stop her from leaving? I could’ve avoided all of this if I’d just let her go.
Now I’m stuck with the memory of her lips on mine. As good as she tastes, it feels like a failure. I was doing the right thing by keeping my distance. I’ve been told enough times—I’m not relationship material. I’m not the kind of man worth waiting for. I’m half a person still figuring out how to function alone, let alone with someone else.
I don’t agree with that last part. I’m fine on my own. I have structure. I’m stable. I take care of myself, and I trust my ability to do so. It’s the connection beyond the physical—that’s where things fall apart. That’s where the real trouble starts.
My emotions are mine. My thoughts are mine. I handle them in silence, and sharing them feels wrong. Giving someone access to my fears, my doubts, my vulnerabilities—only ever gave them the power to cut deep. I learned that the hard way, early on. There’s no reason to test a theory that’s already proven true.
I knew all of this before I kissed Nora.
So why the hell did I do it?
And worse—why does one taste of her, one solid feel of her pressed against me, knowing she wants me just as much—make me want more?
Obviously, I want more because I’m a man, I snort. A man who’s gone too long without getting laid.
“Stop thinking about her,” I mutter, jaw tight.
