Page 6 of My Bossy Mountain Man (Summer in the Pines #9)

Dallas

What have I done?

I kissed her. I kissed Tulip—really kissed her—and now my world is unraveling at the seams.

It wasn’t just a brush of lips. It was fire and hunger, the kind of kiss that rewires a man’s brain, that makes every other touch before it feel like a lie.

Now, kissing isn’t enough. I want more. Her skin against my palms, her breath against my throat, the soft, broken sounds she’d make if I dropped to my knees and—

Shit. I can’t.

This has to be wrong. It has to be. Because every second I spend near her, the last shreds of my control fray thinner, snapping one by one.

The air between us crackles with something dangerous, something inevitable. How long before I lose the fight? Before I pin her against these damn boxes and take what I’ve been starving for?

I don’t know how we do it, how we continue working.

Somehow, I don’t drag her back to me. Don’t pin her against the nearest wall and finish what we started. Instead, we keep sorting—pretending—like my pulse isn’t hammering loud enough for her to hear.

But every time I catch the flush on her cheeks, every time her words trip over themselves, I can feel my resolve unraveling. She’s a live wire under my skin, and I’m losing the fight to stay grounded.

There’s only so much a man can take before he snaps.

Every accidental brush of her fingers against mine—every time she leans in to take something from my grip—pushes me closer to the edge. My muscles lock, and my jaw clenches so tight it aches. How much longer can I last?

The pile of junk grows. My restraint doesn’t.

Finally, all that’s left is filling the dumpster with everything we no longer need. I just have to survive a little longer.

When Tulip pauses to rest between boxes hitting the pit of the dumpster, she drags the back of her hand across her forehead, leaving a smudge of dust on her skin. Then she tilts her face up—toward a sky now stripped of daylight, painted only in the deep, endless blues of night.

Her breath catches like it’s a sight she’s seen for the first time. I suppose it’s the first time we’ve ever been together this late in the night.

It’s a sight that brings a smile to her lips.

Not just any smile—the kind that steals the air from your lungs. The kind that makes the stars themselves seem to burn brighter, just to catch her attention. She watches them like they’ve spun the universe just for her, lips parted in quiet wonder.

I pretend I’ve stopped working to catch my breath. Not to memorize the way the moonlight traces her throat. Not to count every freckle the dark hasn’t swallowed yet.

There’s no doubt how deep I am. So deep, there’s no going back. That kiss of ours has done nothing but destroy my ability to love again unless it’s Tulip on the other end.

“Let’s finish this up.” Dusting her hands off, they move to her hips. “Just a few more boxes, and then tomorrow, maybe we can start hanging up some of those posters.”

Nodding along to her suggestion, I know there’s no point in wondering what we should do or shouldn’t. I trust her to make the right calls. Especially since she’d already done so much for the place I love.

Nodding along with her, I guide her back inside, unable to help myself when it comes to avoiding touching her again. As soon as my palm finds the middle of her back, it feels right.

Moving the last of the boxes feels like a blur. It’s not long before I’m the one locking up the library and leading us both to my truck.

I’d promised her a ride home, but now I’m wondering if it was a good idea or not.

Right now, the only thing I want to do is take Tulip up to the mountain and keep her there with me. Even if we did share a few kisses, I’m not sure she’d enjoy getting kidnapped.

So, I ignore the urge to whisk her away, instead following her directions to her apartment complex. Once we arrive, I’m not sure whether I should shut off the engine. I don’t know if I should bid her goodnight.

Tulip’s not making it any easier by hopping out. Instead, she’s squirming against the seat, hesitating like she’s unsure of what she wants to do.

While I know I’ve been out of the game for years, I don’t think I remember something like this being so complicated.

Just as I turn to break the silence, she moves too—our bodies mirroring each other in the dim light.

She beats me to it.

“Would you like to come inside?”

Her voice wavers, stripped of its usual surety. The shadows swallow her expression, but I don’t need to see her face to know what this costs her—the hitch in her breath says enough.

For a heartbeat, I just stare. The offer hangs between us, so far from the goodnight I expected that my mind blanks.

Then she backtracks, words tumbling out in a rush. “I get it if you don’t want to. But with the library opening late tomorrow, there’s still plenty of time—”

I don’t let her finish.

“Yes.” It’s rough, barely more than a whisper. “There’s nothing I would like to do more.”

I hear another hitch in her breathing, a soft gasp that catches in the back of her throat.

I kill the engine before the truck even settles.

No hesitation. No chance for her to rethink this—to rethink us. I’m out of the cab in a heartbeat, boots hitting the pavement with a thud that echoes my racing pulse.

By the time I wrench her door open, my breath is ragged. Not from the sprint—from the anticipation.

“Let me,” I murmur, offering my hand. A flimsy excuse to feel her skin again, but I’ll take it. I’ll take anything.

Her fingers slide against mine, warm and sure. A sigh escapes her, soft as moonlight, and it undoes me. Because that sound? The way she leans into my touch?

She’s just as starved for this as I am.

As soon as she’s out of the truck, all it takes is ten steps and the twist of her key before I’m getting the opportunity to see more of Tulip than I ever have before.

Pastel paint colors her walls, and she’s happy to lead me deeper into her home so I can see what else there is to discover.

The coffee-themed curtains and decor surprise me when we reach the kitchen; I’ve never caught the scent of grounds on her clothes, nor have I ever seen her with a cup in her hands.

Yet here, surrounded by the scent of grounded beans and ceramic mugs with witty slogans hanging on hooks, it feels like discovering a secret side of her.

Does she wake up early and have herself a cup, or does she brew herself a pot after her shift whenever she’s feeling restless?

There’s still much I have left to learn.

She catches me studying her collection of glass canisters, each filled with different roasts. “Would you like a cup? I can make some.”

Her offer comes soft, hesitantly, as her thumb absently strokes my knuckles. Then she freezes. Her eyes drop to where our hands remain entwined, and I watch realization bloom across her face that we’ve yet to separate.

“I don’t want coffee, Tulip. I want… I want whatever you want.”

Her breath catches when I squeeze her hand—a silent plea to stay connected. For a moment, the kitchen disappears. There’s just the pulse thrumming where our skin meets, the way her lashes flutter as she processes my words.

Finally, she nods. Meeting my gaze, she eliminates the space between us by taking all but one step forward.

“I want you to kiss me again.”

Now that’s something I can do.

My grip on her hand loosens—not to pull away, but to cradle her face instead. My thumbs trace the blush heating her cheeks as I drink in the way her eyes darken with want. There’s no hesitation this time. No stolen moment to second-guess.

When my mouth finds hers, it’s not just hunger fueling the kiss—it’s certainty. Her fingers twist into my shirt, anchoring me to her as she sighs into the kiss, sweet and surrendering. It’s a blissful few seconds I never want to end.

She pulls back before I can lose myself in her, her eyes wide and earnest. “I want you, Dallas.”

The words hit me like a punch to the chest. How many nights had I spent imagining that exact confession? Too many to count—too many to admit without sounding pathetic.

But then her brow furrows. She worries her bottom lip between her teeth, and the sight sends a spike of concern through me. Whatever this is, it’s serious enough to make her hesitate.

I give her space to breathe, cocking a brow in question as a nervous laugh escapes her.

“You totally stole my first kiss. Second and third too. I just… I know some guys wouldn’t want to deal with someone who’s…

well, completely inexperienced. With you, I don’t want to mess this up.

I really like you, Dallas.” Her cheeks burn hotter beneath my thumbs, and suddenly her fingers are twisting in my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll bolt.

The world narrows to static.

She’s never done this before. Never been touched. Never been wanted—not like this. And yet here she is, offering me everything with shaking hands and honesty.

The right thing would be to take this slowly. To be careful with her. But as I cradle her face between my hands, all reason evaporates.

No one else has touched her like this. No one else ever will. The thought coils tight in my chest—a possessive ache that burns hotter when her lashes flutter against her cheeks.

“There isn’t a single thing I’d change about you,” I murmur against her skin.

My lips trace the curve of her cheekbone, tasting the salt of her skin while breathing in the faint sweetness of her shampoo.

When I reach her temple, she shivers. “If you want me even half as much as I want you, Tulip, we’ve got nothing to fear. ”

Her laugh comes breathless, barely there—until my mouth finds the delicate hollow spot beneath her ear.

Then it dissolves into a gasp that vibrates against my tongue.

I don’t miss my chance. I press closer, flattening my tongue against the frantic flutter of her pulse as her fingers scramble at my shoulders.

“Dallas—” My name fractures in her throat as she arches, offering more. Always more. Her surrender is sweeter than any victory I’ve ever known.

“Tell me where the nearest bed is, and I’ll do everything. You won’t even have to lift a finger.” With hunger fueling my words, I nip at her throat as that very same hunger grows into something bigger.

When she takes my hand this time, it’s to guide me deeper into her home. Unlike the start of my visit, I won’t be trying to take in the small details of her bedroom. Instead, I’ll be able to take her in.