Page 2 of My Bossy Mountain Man (Summer in the Pines #9)

Tulip

The doorbell chimes, and I’m already halfway across the living room, bare feet skimming the hardwood in a rhythm just shy of a sprint. By the time I wrench the door open, my grin is wide enough to rival the mailman’s—a man who’s seen me like this more times than either of us can count.

“Third package this week,” he announces, holding out the cardboard box like a trophy. A few flyers and junk mail cling to it, doomed for the recycling bin the second I’m alone. Right now, they don’t exist.

I take the parcel, fingers curling around the edges. “Might be more to follow if I can’t help myself.” The words tumble out before I can stop them, but his chuckle tells me he gets it. I’m sure there are some folks out there who see him every day.

I’m not that bad. Yet.

With a wave, I retreat into my apartment, the door clicking shut behind me. The box weighs nothing and everything at once. All but skipping to my kitchen, I’m clawing at the strong tape, thankful that my package came right on time.

Pushing the flaps open, I’m pulling out one of the cutest summer dresses I’ve ever seen. It’s a two-piece that’ll show off a sliver of skin, hinting at what’s beneath. The fabric is so thin that it’ll easily withstand the summer breeze.

As much as I love Willowbrook Ridge, there isn’t any place here to get something cute that fits me. So, if it risks seeing the mailman every day, then so be it. Anything to get me toward my goal in life.

That goal being the task of making the grumpy librarian notice me. One of these days, I’m going to succeed. I can feel it deep in my bones.

Even if Dallas is way out of my league, and I risk losing the coolest job a woman can ask for, something in my stomach demands that I try.

I’ve never been near a person who just feels right. As soon as I stepped into his library and saw him, I knew I had to meet him properly. I had to get to know him and uncover the secrets no one else knew.

Who am I kidding? As soon as I met those steel-colored eyes, I accepted that I’d met my future husband. That’s how confident I am.

Have to say, it’s only his face that’s scary. The rest of him? He might as well be a stuffed teddy bear. So soft and warm. One I’d kill to get my arms around. Thighs, too, if he’d let me.

A giggle escapes me at the thought, but the clock yanks me back to reality. Shoot. Time to move. I’ll slip into this new piece, parade it past him like a dare.

Maybe this one will be the one to hook his attention and make those narrowed eyes linger just the way I want them to.

Or, even better, maybe he’ll scold me for wearing something so daring.

Most people fear the outcome of their boss being displeased with them. Me? I’m happy to soak in whatever new side of Dallas I can get my hands on.

With how good this dress is going to look, I know there’s no chance he’ll be angry. In fact, I’m willing to bet he’ll start drooling before whisking me somewhere we can both get plenty of privacy.

A sigh leaves me as I clutch the dress tightly.

A woman can only dream.

* * *

Pushing my way into the library, I’m thankful for the air conditioning hitting my flushed skin.

It turns out there’s a heat advisory going on, and I’m not the only one hoping for some relief from the heat wave happening outside. While warnings blare about staying indoors, I made the mistake of walking the whole way here with the thought of my crush fueling each step.

Now I think I’m ready to keel over and die. I’m too sweaty to be sexy. A few minutes under the cool air will get me right back to normal.

Arriving a little early, I take in my surroundings before I hunt down Dallas. Drifting toward the front desk, I dig around and hope to find something to drink. Thankfully, I forgot a bottle of water from my lunch a few shifts ago.

Every gulp makes it taste more delicious than the last.

A few of the tables are occupied with families, some by loners. All flipping through books to help pass the time while the sun beams up in the sky. Some of them send friendly glances, and I return with quick waves.

I truly adore this place. I love books. But I love the person in charge even more.

Tearing my eyes away from the view, I search for the man who enjoys putting all of his time into this place. Seven days a week, I don’t think he ever gives himself a day off.

Most people would be stressed holding a record like his. Dallas treats this place like a hobby. It’s one of those jobs where work doesn’t feel like work.

Personally, I think the guy deserves a vacation. Now that I’ve got the whole thing down, I could work a few long shifts so he can prop his feet up and enjoy himself. But knowing him, he wouldn’t dare let me even breathe the idea.

He should really look into hiring more help and give himself some time off. One of these days, I’ll succeed in convincing him. For now, I’ll appreciate how often we work together.

I eventually find Dallas skimming his fingers over a few books in the Sci-fi section.

My steps feel weightless as I make my way over toward him.

I steal a glance while he’s distracted, his broad shoulders flexing slightly as he reaches for a book on the top shelf. As his height helps him, the whole length of his body works in his favor.

The faded cotton of his t-shirt stretches across his back, clinging just enough to outline the hard lines of muscle beneath. There’s the little slip of skin right above his tailbone that makes me feel heated all over again.

Unfortunately, no amount of air conditioning can cool me down once I get worked up over a peek of what he looks like beneath his usual wear.

I am terrible.

He’s always like this—unaware of how effortlessly he commands the space around him, how the simple act of browsing books makes my pulse skip. How easily I drool at the view, and how often my fingers twitch to touch him.

His jeans are worn soft, hugging his hips in a way that makes my fingers itch to trace the seams. Dark hair falls slightly over his forehead as he tilts his head, scanning the spines with that focused intensity that always seems glued to his expression.

His jaw is shadowed with stubble, strong and stubborn, and I wonder what it would feel like beneath my fingertips.

I should look away before he catches me staring. But I don’t. Can’t, actually.

While people struggle to maintain eye contact with him, I struggle to tear my eyes away.

“What are you looking for?” Moving my hands behind me, I step closer, hoping for the excuse to brush against him.

Dallas jerks, his focus broken as those gray eyes move in my direction. If I didn’t know him, I’d think I’d upset him by the frown on his lips.

Upon realizing it’s just me, his gaze drops, slow and deliberate. Taking in the way my new dress clings to every curve, I feel every inch his eyes roam over.

His throat bobs as he swallows hard, and my smile widens.

“New dress?” His question comes out in a rasp like he’s got something caught in his throat.

“Just got it today.” I nudge closer, watching the way his knuckles whiten around the book in his grip as I tilt my head. The air between us feels charged, thick with something unspoken. “What do you think? I don’t normally get something like this. If you can’t tell, I’m working on my look.”

My fingers drift up, grazing the sliver of bare skin just beneath my breasts—and his eyes follow, darkening.

Maybe I shouldn’t tease the guy who signs my paychecks. But the thrill is too sweet to resist, especially when his brows knit together like I’ve handed him an unsolvable riddle. His jaw tenses, his throat working as if he’s physically holding back words.

“It looks…” He tears his gaze away, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “…fine, Tulip.”

Fine. The word lands like a dull blade, and I swallow back the sting of disappointment before it can take root.

He clears his throat, suddenly very interested in the book in his hands. Once his eyes settle on the cover, I know there’s no pulling it away. Dang it.

“Someone called looking for a title, so I came to see if we had it.” He thrusts the book between us like a shield. “I should get back to them. Oh, and there’s a cart of returns that need to be put away.”

Just like that, he’s gone—retreating behind that infuriating, unreadable mask of his. But not before I catch the way his fingers flex at his side, like he’s stopping himself from reaching for something.

Or someone.

At his escape, I watch him coast across the library to attend to the desk. It’s his favorite location, after all. The best place for him to hide behind when he’s not in the mood to deal with people.

Once I’m all alone, I let out a soft sigh. I fight the urge to thump my foot against the wooden shelf. Poor thing is older than me, and I’m willing to bet it can’t take much of a hit.

Maybe I’ve got this all wrong. Maybe I’m not Dallas’ type, and no matter what kind of changes I make to my appearance, he won’t be interested.

What would Brook do?

I don’t want to have to ask my sister for any advice in the love department, but I feel like I’m going in blind here. I really like Dallas.

When I’m not here, I don’t just think about climbing shelves.

With an imagination like mine, it’s a miracle I get any real work done. Virgins who’ve never even seen a cock in person shouldn’t be able to conjure one up so easily—let alone his—but here I am, biting my lip hard enough to sting as my mind supplies far too many vivid details.

I’ve imagined doing the deed here, of all places, more times than I can count on both hands. Heck, earlier, I fantasized about him plucking off both pieces of this dress. No, not plucking. Tearing it off .

A shiver runs through me, and I catch myself standing there like an idiot, my skin too warm under this dress.

Get it together. I’m supposed to be his aide, not some daydreaming nuisance who spends too much time flipping through steamy romances during her breaks.

Forcing myself to move, I drift away from the science fiction section like a coward, toward the promised cart of returns. Weekends always leave us with a mountain of finished reads, and today’s pile is no exception.

One by one, I slot the books back into place, my fingers tracing familiar spines without really seeing them. The quiet of the library presses in, and with it comes the nagging doubt—should I have said something else? Done something different?

My gaze drops to the dress clinging to my curves, the way it dips and hugs in all the right places. And yet…

He thinks it looks… fine.

A humorless laugh escapes me. I am so out of his league. Maybe this dress, this boldness, is just wishful thinking.

But then I remember the way his grip tightened on that book. The way his throat worked when he looked at me…

My poor heart flutters, struggling to get with the program.

The next book left on the reshelving cart catches my eye—a book on the autonomy of the human body. Belonging to the non-fiction section, I coast over there next. Thick and heavy, it belongs on the top shelf where the rest of the dusty books belong.

I glance around for the step stool, but it’s nowhere in sight. Of course.

That’s fine. I can reach it. I’m sure of it.

I stretch onto my toes, my fingers barely grazing the book’s edge. The fabric of my dress rides up just a fraction, the cool air brushing against the exposed skin of my waist. The book teeters between my fingertips—almost there—when suddenly, it slips.

My reaction time is too slow.

A sharp crack—not the book hitting the shelf, but the hard corner of it striking the bridge of my nose. Pain flares white-hot, radiating outward, and for a second, all I see are stars. Then warmth spills over my lips, dripping onto my chin.

Oh no. No, no, no—

A sharp inhale. The sudden thunder of footsteps behind me. Then—heat.

Dallas is there in an instant, his hands gripping my shoulders as he spins me toward him. He rarely curses out loud, but the moment he sees the blood streaking my face, the heavy book at my feet, he lets out a low, vicious string of colorful words.

“Jesus, Tulip—” His voice is rough, strained. One hand cups the back of my head, tilting me forward slightly, while the other grabs my hand to guide it toward my face. “Pinch it. Hard. And tilt your head forward, not back—you don’t want to choke on it.”

Staring at him, it takes a moment for my brain to catch up with his instructions. I mean, he never touches me. Yet, look at him now.

I’d giggle if my face weren’t currently throbbing.

His fingers are firm, almost trembling—whether from adrenaline or anger, I can’t tell. His eyes dart over my face, assessing, and for the first time, I see emotions flooding behind his eyes.

“ Ouch. ” Groaning as he makes me pinch my nose hard, the groan comes out nasally.

“Does it feel broken?” he demands. “Do you need an ambulance?”

I try to laugh, but it comes out as a wet, muffled sound. “Dallas, it’s just a nosebleed. I’m not dying.”

I hope not. Worst case scenario, there could be some swelling, or I might get a black eye. Maybe two.

Shoot. I’m going to need a lot of makeup to get through these next few days.

“You could’ve been hurt worse. That book weighs five pounds. It could’ve hit your eye, your temple—” He cuts himself off, jaw clenched so tight I swear I hear his teeth grind.

Then my gaze drops to my dress—the delicate fabric now splattered with crimson—and I grimace. “Oh, come on—”

A fresh drop of blood falls, adding another stain to the pretty fabric.

Dallas exhales sharply through his nose. He’s still holding me, his thumb brushing absently against my shoulder—like he’s forgotten he’s doing it. Like touching me is as natural as breathing.

“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up before you traumatize the kids in here.” Gliding his palm to the space between my shoulder blades, he guides me toward the storage room.

With the thought of this man taking care of me, I don’t even mind the mess I’m going to have to clean up later. Even if the library looks like a crime scene, I’m pretty sure I’ve just hit the lottery.