Page 5 of Her Mountain Boss (Honey Ridge #3)

Three

Sophia

It’s the end of my first week here at Blackwood Lodge, and I’m in the resort’s massive kitchen, which is all gleaming stainless steel and spotless white walls.

I spent the first day getting to know the property, receiving an extensive tour from a friendly woman named Heather, who’s the director of guest experiences.

I’d been hoping Ford would give me the tour, but I’m sure he was busy with other things.

I spent the second day shadowing at the front desk, learning the software the resort uses, answering phones, and showing guests to their rooms or cabins.

Today, I’m hanging out in the kitchen and restaurant, where I’m currently helping Gus, the head chef, re-organize his impressive collection of spices and dried herbs.

So far, everyone has been friendly and welcoming.

I’d been expecting a bit of push back or stink eye, given that I’m the owner’s step-niece, but everyone seems to be happy to have me on board.

“I’m going to go inventory the pantry,” says Gus, and I nod at him. “You’re okay here?”

I shake a jar of cumin seeds at him. “All good. I’ll have everything perfectly organized for you, no problem.” After removing everything, we carefully wiped down the shelves, checked everything for freshness, and now it’s my job to re-organize everything the way Gus wants.

“You’re a gem, Sophia. Thanks.” He winks at me, swiping a hand over his shiny bald head as he walks down the short hallway that leads to an impressively stocked pantry of dry goods.

I’m about to pop my earbuds in and start listening to my audiobook while I work when I catch sight of movement out of the corner of my eye.

At the front of the kitchen, there’s a small, sleek pass-through window that allows kitchen staff to easily slide dishes to servers.

I move towards it, peering out into the empty restaurant.

Breakfast service ended ninety minutes ago, and the prep for lunch won’t start for another hour, which is why Gus and I are working on cleaning and organizing now.

I freeze, the jar of cumin seeds suspended mid-air.

It’s Ford. His back is to me and he’s several feet away, but there’s no mistaking him.

I’ve barely seen him since he snapped at Carter the other day, and I drink in the sight of him.

His deep voice rumbles through the empty restaurant, making me shiver slightly.

Making my toes curl in my sneakers. He paces toward the bar, his shoulders tight, and then grips the back of a chair.

He’s irritated. I can tell from the hunch of his shoulders, his white-knuckled grip on the phone pressed to his ear.

He turns slightly, giving me a glimpse of his profile.

His brow is furrowed, his mouth a thin line.

“Are you asking me on a date?” His words are gruff, abrupt, and I feel like I’ve just been punched in the stomach.

I wrap my hands around my waist, curling in on myself as unexpected pain ricochets through me.

Nausea churns my stomach, and I suddenly feel lightheaded and cold.

Who is he talking to? Who is he going on a date with?

And why does the thought of that make it feel as though my heart’s being ripped into shreds?

I set the jar down as quietly as possible, not wanting to draw any attention to myself.

Gus saunters back into the kitchen, whistling as he starts to chop onions at lightning speed.

He doesn’t even look at me, remaining completely oblivious to the chaotic swirl of emotions inside me.

I strain my ears, desperate to catch more of Ford’s conversation.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he says, his voice low.

My heart hammers painfully in my chest. What’s not a good idea?

The date? Why? Who is he talking to? A friend?

A former lover? A guest? The questions pile up in my brain like one of those 20 vehicle collisions, each one slamming into the one before it.

I clench my jaw, jealous heat burning a path up the middle of my chest.

I edge closer to the pass-through, needing to hear more.

He turns, his back to me again, his shoulders so tense that my palms tingle with the urge to rub them.

I want to soothe him, take care of him. He rubs a hand over the back of his neck, and I wonder if the phone call is making him uncomfortable.

After all, he doesn’t seem all that happy about it.

“I’m not interested, Amanda.” His voice is firm, almost cold. It definitely doesn’t leave any room for argument or misinterpretation. The relief that washes over me is so sudden and sharp in its sweetness that it actually takes my breath away for a second. He’s not interested.

But wait. Why? Is it because he already has a girlfriend? Or someone else he’d rather date? And who is Amanda? How does he know her? She clearly knows him well enough to have his number.

He ends the call, sliding his phone into his pocket.

I quickly turn back to the spices, my heart pounding wildly.

My cheeks are on fire, my skin hot and tingling.

I’m not even sure what I’m feeling right now—relief, jealousy, confusion, hope.

What I do know is that the thought of Ford with another woman has cement churning in my stomach.

How did my crush spiral so far out of control so quickly? We’ve barely spoken. And yet…I can’t deny this pull I feel towards him. It’s crazy, but it’s like I’ve been waiting for him. I don’t know how to explain it. All I know is that it’s there, and I can’t seem to ignore it.

I don’t want to ignore it. Which is crazy, because he’s my step-uncle.

He’s probably twice my age. He’s technically my boss.

I have no idea what he feels for me, if anything.

There are so many reasons why I should ignore it.

And yet…I can’t. Ignoring these big, complicated, confusing feelings is next to impossible.

I can’t stop thinking about the way he looked at me when he showed me to his cabin. I can’t stop wondering if this is one sided or if he feels drawn to me, too.

And I’ve always been a curious girl. Not curious as in weird (okay, maybe a little) but curious as in the kind that killed the cat. Which is fitting, because I’m wondering if Ford wants to ruin my pussy just like I want him to.

I hear his heavy footsteps approaching the kitchen, and I keep my back to him, pretending to be engrossed in my spice jars.

I don’t want him to think I was eavesdropping.

But every single nerve ending in my body is tuned to him, and I can feel him standing in the doorway, his gaze on me.

He brushes past me, and I can smell him, that cedar and pine and smoke scent that makes me feel completely discombobulated.

“Hello, Sophia.” His voice is a low rumble, and my back arches involuntarily. I turn to face him, fighting to keep my expression neutral. But I can feel the heat in my cheeks, the shaky tension in my limbs. Maybe he won’t notice that I’m honestly a bit of a mess around him.

He stares at me, his blue eyes flashing with something I can’t read. I bite my lower lip in an effort to keep myself from asking who he was talking to, and his gaze drops to my mouth. For a moment, the world stands still. There’s electricity in the air around us, a tension that’s almost palpable.

At least, that’s how it feels to me. He might feel nothing at all. But the way he stares at me, the way he says my name…it doesn’t feel like nothing. I’m not an expert, but it feels like the polar opposite of nothing.

And I know I’m not going to be able to leave that alone.

He clears his throat, looking away. “Heather said you did an excellent job on the front desk yesterday,” he says, and I lean back against the counter.

I smile. “She was an excellent teacher.”

“And you’re a quick learner, from what I’ve been told.”

I tilt my head. “I’m eager to please.”

At that, his gaze snaps back to mine, his icy blue eyes now sparkling with warmth and something else.

Something that my intuition—because it’s sure as hell not my experience—is telling me is lust. He’s staring at me again, his shoulders rising and falling slightly as he breathes.

My body goes haywire under his stare, my nipples beading to hard, aching points, every nerve ending in my body unfurling, stretching, snapping with electricity.

He’s standing several feet away, but I feel his gaze like a touch.

I’m all tingling skin and butterflies in the tummy from that stare.

God, I want him to do so much more than stare, and I’m really starting to think he wants to do more than just look, too.

“Do you need anything, Sophia?” His voice is low, a gravelly hint to it now, and of course, my thoughts wander off to the dirtiest corners of my mind.

Images of him pressing me against the counter, caging me in as he kisses me, slowly and thoroughly, explode through my brain, making me blush.

I lick my lips and blink quickly, trying to push the thoughts away.

Later, when I’m alone with my toys, I’ll allow myself to go there.

“Is everything in your cabin okay?” he asks when the silence stretches on for just a beat too long.

“I’m good. The cabin is perfect. Very comfortable and cozy. And the food in the staff dining lounge is so good. Everything’s good. I’m good.”

Oh my god, stop saying good.

I clear my throat and swallow, forcing my mouth to stop moving. But then, the corner of his mouth quirks up, a tease of a smile, and I’m talking again.

“I have to say, Ford, I’m really impressed with the resort.

You’ve done an incredible job with it. I know I’m not an expert by any means, but we did have to do a lot of case studies while I was getting my hospitality degree, and this resort is the best of the best, both in terms of guest experience and staff experience. ”

His eyebrows inch up his forehead in surprise, and a flicker of something deliciously soft crosses his features.

He instantly looks ten years younger, the lines in his forehead and around his eyes easing.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

I can’t tell if I’ve made him uncomfortable or he’s pleased.

“That’s, uh…” He clears his throat and tries again.

“It’s been a lot of work, but it’s worth it. ”

Gus leaves the kitchen again, muttering something about heading to the walk-in freezer in the basement.

And then it’s just me and Ford, alone together in the quiet kitchen.

My mind immediately bounces back to the phone call I accidentally (okay, sort of accidentally) overheard.

Before I can think better of it, my curiosity takes over. Curiosity, and okay, fine, jealousy.

“Does it get lonely?” I ask in a rush, exhaling the words. “Living here and dedicating your life to the resort? It must not leave much time for…for…” My face goes hot and I bite my lip.

Ford’s eyes narrow slightly, as if he’s trying to read me. Figure me out. “You asking if I’m single, Sophia?” His voice is so, so quiet, like we’re exchanging secrets. Talking about forbidden topics. And given who he is, maybe we are.

I bite my lip again, nodding. “Yeah. I…I guess I am.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Why do you think I want to know?” I toss back. Is this flirting? Am I doing it?

He takes a step closer, his eyes not leaving mine. “I am,” he says, his voice low, gritty. “Been single for a long time.”

I can’t ignore the way my heart does a little happy dance at his admission.

I edge closer to him, and he takes another step, stopping an arm’s length away. I can feel the heat radiating off his body, can smell the woodsy scent of him. He leans in slightly.

“And what about you? You got a boyfriend waiting for you back in the city?”

“Why do you want to know?” I ask, smiling up at him.

“Why do you think I want to know?” Yes. I think this is flirting. I’m flirting, and he’s flirting back. I’m not crazy, and I don’t think this is one-sided. Right?

I shake my head slowly. “No. I’ve never had a boyfriend.”

“Ever?” he asks, frowning, his eyes bright and intense.

“Nope.”

He exhales shakily, his mouth opening as if he’s about to say something, but then Gus returns, bustling back into the kitchen with his arms full, still whistling the same tune from earlier.

Ford steps back abruptly, his expression shuttering. Without a word, he turns and leaves the kitchen, leaving me standing there, heart pounding and face on fire.

But I know that what just happened between us wasn’t nothing. I see the way he looks at me. He thinks I don’t notice him skulking in the shadows, watching me work. But I do. I see how easily he flirts with me, as long as I’m the one to start it.

It all points to one simple fact: my step-uncle wants me.

Which leaves me with one simple question: what am I going to do about it?