Page 9 of Mountain Man’s Curvy Girl (Summer In The Pines #4)

Ethan

The rain has slowed, but the wind still howls around us, shaking the truck like it’s trying to remind me just how dangerous this storm is.

I glance out the windshield, the faint glow of streetlights barely visible through the heavy drops.

It’s letting up, but not enough for me to feel good about leaving Chloe out here.

I glance at her, and she’s watching me, her brown eyes wide and unsure, her lips still swollen from my kiss. Her sweater, back in place, slightly rumpled, just like my shirt and jacket, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths that make me want to forget the storm entirely.

“We’re going to my place,” I say, my voice rougher than I intended.

Her brows lift, surprise flickering across her face. “Your place?”

“It’s closer than yours,” I explain, gripping the steering wheel tightly as I try to focus on the road and not on the way her thighs are pressed together like she’s still trying to calm the heat I left simmering inside her. “And it’s safer.”

She nods slowly, her fingers twisting in the hem of her sweater. “Okay.”

The word is soft, hesitant, and it makes something inside me twist. She’s nervous—I can see it in the way she keeps glancing at me, like she’s trying to figure out what I’m thinking. Like she doesn’t realize I’m already thinking too much.

I start the truck and ease it back onto the rain-covered road. The drive is slow, the storm still fierce enough to demand my full attention, but I can feel her beside me, her warmth radiating through the cab, pulling me back to her every time I try to focus on anything else.

She doesn’t speak, and neither do I. The silence stretches between us, heavy and charged, until we finally pull into the driveway of my cabin.

* * *

Chloe

His place is exactly what I imagined—rugged, cozy, and undeniably masculine. A log cabin tucked into the trees, the soft glow of lights from the windows casting long shadows over the drenched yard. It’s nothing like my tiny house, but it feels… safe. Warm.

Ethan kills the engine and turns to me, his jaw tight, his blue-gray eyes searching mine. “Stay close to me,” he says, his voice low and commanding. “The path’s slick.”

I nod, my throat too dry to speak, and he’s out of the truck before I can blink, circling around to open my door.

His hand is warm and solid as it closes over mine, helping me down, and the second my boots hit the wet ground, he’s pulling me close, his arm wrapping around my waist like he’s afraid I’ll slip.

The walk to the cabin is short, but every step feels loaded, his body pressed against mine, his warmth seeping into me through the layers of my coat. By the time we reach the door, my heart is pounding so hard I can barely hear the heavy rain.

He unlocks the door and pushes it open, guiding me inside. The cabin is dimly lit, the faint smell of wood smoke lingering in the air, and the warmth hits me immediately, chasing away the last of the cold.

“Sit,” he says, nodding toward the worn leather couch near the fireplace. “I’ll get the fire going.”

I do as he says, sinking into the cushions as he moves around the room with a quiet efficiency that’s almost hypnotic.

His broad shoulders and strong back flex with every movement, and I find myself unable to look away, my eyes tracing the line of his jaw, the way his hands work so confidently, so effortlessly.

The fire roars to life within minutes, casting a soft, flickering glow over the room, and he turns to me, his gaze dark and unreadable.

“Better?” he asks, his voice softer now, but no less commanding.

I nod, swallowing hard. “Yeah. Thank you.”

He steps closer, his hands on his hips as he watches me, and the tension in the room thickens, wrapping around us like the heat from the fire. “You should take off your coat,” he says after a moment. “You’ll overheat.”

I fumble with the zipper, my hands shaking slightly, and he’s there in an instant, his large hands brushing mine away as he pulls it off for me. His fingers linger on my shoulders, and I can feel the heat of his touch through my sweater, searing into my skin.

“You’re nervous,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, like gravel under my skin.

“I’m not,” I lie, my breath catching as his hands slide down my arms.

“Liar,” he says softly, his lips twitching into the faintest smirk. “You don’t have to be. I told you, Chloe. I’ve got you.”