Page 6 of Mountain Daddy (Mountain Men #2)

Kendra

Isn’t that the fucking question?

“Passing through.” It’s a partial lie since I am moving here. But here is still twenty minutes away.

And I can avoid this particular flannel-themed wet dream in the future if it means I can have him tonight.

The man holds his hand out. “Luther.”

I noticed how large his hands were the first time we touched.

I noticed their roughness.

Noticed their warmth.

I slide my palm against his. “Kendra.”

His fingers close around mine, firmer this time. “Hi, Kendra.”

Good god.

His deep voice saying my name… It melts my insides.

“Hi, Luther.” His name comes out breathy.

His grip tightens on my hand. “I’ve never met a Kendra before.” He keeps his eyes on mine.

Why is my heart beating so fast?

“I’ve never met a Luther before,” I admit.

I feel like I’ve heard that name in a movie as the bad guy, but who needs superheroes if this is what the villains look like?

He keeps watching me. Eyes locked with mine.

And I can feel it in my chest.

I can feel the intensity.

The desire.

It thrums against my bones.

His fingers tighten around mine, just a little, then he loosens them.

The slide is slow, skin against skin, as he drags his hand away from mine.

I try to fight the shiver, but it’s impossible.

Goose bumps break out up and down my arms.

His fingertips skim against my palm.

My nipples harden.

Then the contact is broken.

My lips part, and I fill my lungs.

This man, Luther, had me holding my breath.

“Grab your shot, Doll,” Luther tells me as he reaches for his own.

I feel like I’m already drunk, but I do as I’m told and pick up the shot glass.

Salt rims the edge, and a lime wedge sticks out of the beer bottle.

I pluck the lime out of the bottle, and Luther does the same.

He holds his glass out. “Salud.”

I raise my glass with a smirk. “Cheers.”

Then I lick the rim.

There’s no way to avoid it.

It’s part of the drink.

But the act feels lewd. Pornographic. And I accept that my blush is going to be permanent tonight.

I can’t take it.

I know literally nothing about this man, but the tension between us is so thick it’s hard to inhale.

I press the glass to my lips and tip it back.

The tequila is smooth, but it still burns a path down my throat.

As I swallow, I pull the glass away from my mouth and replace it with the lime.

Luther leans forward. Toward me. Like he can’t help himself.