Page 3 of Mountain Man’s Corn Maze Cutie (Wildwood Valley Harvest #3)

CECELIA

I nsomnia sucked, especially when it came while traveling.

It wasn’t like I could just leave my bedroom and hang out in my living room, watching whatever show I’d been streaming.

Of course, I could do that very thing from my bed in my room at the inn, but this restlessness had me practically bouncing off the walls.

I needed to get out of here, get some fresh air, maybe clear my mind.

And that was how I ended up in my SUV, driving around town in the middle of the night.

Most of my stuff was still at my table at the grounds where the Harvest Market was taking place.

Supposedly, Wildwood Valley was a small enough town that criminals didn’t dare set foot here, but mostly, I just didn’t want to haul all my stuff back into my SUV and pull it back out tomorrow.

So I’d crossed my fingers that it was all still there. Maybe I should go check on it. Yes, I definitely should.

By the time my car pulled into the oversized patch of dirt they called vendor parking, I’d just about convinced myself that was all I was doing. It wasn’t the corn maze calling me, begging me to find a way to get closer to the hot mountain man running it.

No, I was just doing a quick security check.

I’d barely passed the entrance when I spotted it up ahead—a large truck. Gigantic, actually. The kind of truck mountain men drove.

There’d been no other vehicles around when I parked, so I’d assumed I had this whole place to myself. What if that was security? No big deal. I’d just tell them I was checking on my booth.

And that’s exactly what I did. I made a beeline for it, trying to ignore the fact that the truck was just feet away. I couldn’t help but glance over to make sure nobody was inside.

My booth was exactly as I’d left it. They’d provided tarps, and I’d covered mine.

As if a determined criminal couldn’t just lift it and grab some things.

But criminals didn’t want popcorn. They wanted money and assets they could sell.

At the very least, they’d take my retro popcorn maker, but I’d gotten it at a steal, so I wouldn’t mind replacing it.

I should leave, but what I really wanted to do was head into the corn maze. It was the kind of move an idiot in a horror movie would make. That truck could belong to a mass murderer, for all I knew.

I was drawn to the truck like it was a magnet and I was steel.

After a quick glance inside the cab showed only a disposable coffee cup in the cupholder, I peered into the truck bed and my fears evaporated.

It was filled with maze supplies—extra stakes, rope, a toolbox, and what looked like replacement signs.

This wasn’t some random vehicle. This belonged to someone who worked here.

The personalized license plate caught my eye as I walked around to the back. FOWLER, it read. That was Marc’s last name.

My heart started beating faster, and it had nothing to do with fear this time. If this was Marc’s truck, then he was here somewhere, probably doing one of those security checks he’d mentioned.

I should get back in my vehicle and leave. That would be the smart thing to do. Instead, I found myself walking toward the maze entrance.

The moon was nearly full, casting everything in a silver light that made the corn stalks look like they were glowing. I could hear the rustle of leaves in the evening breeze, and somewhere in the distance, the faint sound of footsteps.

Marc was definitely in there.

I should call out, let him know I was here. But something stopped me. Maybe it was the magic of the moonlight, or maybe it was the way my pulse quickened at the thought of seeing him again, but I found myself stepping into the maze without making a sound.

The pathways looked completely different at night. Mysterious. Almost romantic, if I was being honest. I moved carefully, following the main path I remembered from earlier, when we’d been searching for Oliver. I turned a corner and?—

“Oof!”

I slammed directly into a solid wall of muscle, strong arms automatically wrapping around me to steady me. For a heart-stopping moment, I thought it might be a stranger, but then I caught that familiar scent of sawdust and pine, and I knew.

Marc.

“Cecelia?” His voice was rough with surprise. “What are you doing here?”

I looked up at him, and in the moonlight, he was like something out of a dream. His hair was mussed, and there was a heat in those storm-gray eyes that made my breath catch.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I whispered, suddenly very aware that his arms were still around me, that my hands were pressed against his chest, that I could feel the steady beat of his heart under my palms.

“So you came to my maze.”

The way he said “my maze” sent a shiver through me. There was something possessive about it that should have bothered me but didn’t.

“I saw your truck. I thought… I don’t know what I thought.”

We stared at each other for a long moment, the air between us crackling with tension. I could feel the heat of his body through his shirt, could see the way his gaze kept dropping to my lips.

When I opened my mouth to say something—anything to break the spell—he shook his head slightly. “Don’t. Don’t talk. Not yet.”

And then his mouth was on mine.

The kiss was everything I’d imagined and more. Soft at first, tentative, giving me a chance to pull away. But when I melted against him instead and my arms wound around his neck, he deepened it, and I felt like I might die from the intensity of it.

I’d been kissed before, but never like this. Never with this much heat, this much need. My entire body came alive under his touch, every nerve ending singing.

His hands tangled in my hair, and I heard myself make a soft sound that should have embarrassed me but didn’t. Nothing had ever felt this right, this perfect. When we finally broke apart, both of us breathing hard, I looked up at him with wonder.

“Cecelia,” he said, and my name sounded like a prayer on his lips.

“I know,” I whispered, even though I wasn’t sure what I was agreeing to.

His hands found the hem of my T-shirt, and I knew I should stop this, should think about what I was doing. But when he looked at me with those stormy eyes, asking permission without words, all rational thought fled.

I nodded. But then, as his warm hands skimmed across my skin, reality crashed back in.

“Wait,” I said, my hands covering his. “Marc, wait.”

He stilled immediately, his eyes searching my face with concern. “What is it? Did I hurt you?”

“No, it’s not that.” I took a shaky breath, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. “It’s just…I’ve never…I mean, I haven’t…”

Understanding dawned in his eyes. “You’re a virgin.”