Page 2 of My Forbidden Mountain Man (Summer in the Pines #1)

Logan

She shouldn’t be here.

Fuck. No. I never thought I’d see her again, not in person.

What happened?

She smells like cigarette smoke has tangled between the threads of her outfit. A tank top and plaid skirt, making her look like a cosplaying catholic school girl after a busy weekend.

The holes in her pantyhose only make me wonder what she’s been up to since the last time I’ve seen her.

Six years is a long time, and despite the different hair color and the added curves to her figure, she carries the same brown eyes I remember.

The only difference is that the last time I saw them, they were full of life. Now, they’re empty. Void of anything.

“You have no idea how much I appreciate this.” Following close behind me, my back flexes when I feel the light touch of her fingertips. “Seriously.”

Grunting, I lead her deeper into my home. I don’t think I’ve changed much over the years she’s been away. If anything, my home feels emptier.

Jaclyn took more than half of my belongings in the divorce. I just wanted her out. Living by myself, I never minded the bare walls or empty shelves. All I wanted was quiet, and that woman made sure to give it one way or another.

Violet’s looking around, her curiosity blooming. I can see it in her eyes, the way she’s trying to figure out what she’s missed out on.

The short answer is a lot, but at the same time, hardly much at all.

Once Violet left to follow her dreams, a glaring hole formed in my relationship with Jaclyn, and it got shaky. The divorce was messy, but not as bad as it could have been.

If Jaclyn knew what I’d been doing…

I told myself I was keeping a close eye on Violet because I was a caring stepfather. She was a shy bird taking her first flight out into the cruel world. Initially, I showed my support by attending a handful of her nearby shows.

Over the years, I watched her turn into the woman she is now.

I watched videos of her performances once I could no longer attend, paying close attention to nothing but the motion of her fingers against the guitar strings and the beaming smiles on her face.

Fuck, the reminder does nothing but bring up all the wrongings of my previous marriage. I’ve blamed myself for the falling out of the divorce.

The unraveling began when Jaclyn stopped reaching for me.

First, it was the absence of her touch—no more sleepy morning kisses, no more hands slipping under my shirt just to feel my skin. Then came the empty bed, the turned back, the slow, suffocating withdrawal of her love.

I was starving and suffering, all while she looked for her next relationship.

That’s how it happened—desperate, thoughtless, a man reduced to base need. Watching one random livestream of Violet performing, something primal overrode every boundary. My zipper hissed open, my hand moved, and the forbidden thrill of it seared through me like a brand.

Maybe I’m twisted. Maybe I was just that fucking lonely.

But the orgasm split me apart—the first real release in years, shame and pleasure fused into one white-hot strike. After that, I tracked Jaclyn’s indifference like a roadmap. Every cold shoulder, every night alone, became permission. Violet’s face, her body, her existence—my only relief.

It cost me my marriage. Jaclyn found someone else to kiss her awake, to want her openly.

And me? I had Violet. A ghost I could never hold. A forbidden existence I had no right wanting.

Now she’s here—flesh and breath and within reach—and I know exactly how dangerous that is. It’s not just her physical appearance I find attractive. It’s the sultry tone behind her words, the quip of a smile on her lips.

I’ve always cared about her. I just don’t know when it turned into this . A magnetic pull that’s turned into an impossible-to-ignore hunger.

I take her belongings from her hold, electricity shooting up my limbs the moment our fingers make contact.

“Need to set up a room for you. Relax for a few minutes.” Jerking my chin toward the couch, I tell myself to add a few logs to the fire when I’m done.

The mountain isn’t like the town at all. Even during the summer months, it gets cold up here. With what she’s wearing, she’ll need all the help she can get.

I’ve got a guest room with her name written all over it. Hell, it’s the same room she stayed in the last time when she lived here. The only difference is the layer of dust collecting on the blankets.

Not like I get many guests. People don’t go out of their way to see me. That’s what happens when I’m one of the less welcoming ones living on the mountain.

Once I’m pulling out fresh blankets and sheets, wiping down surfaces, and tucking her few pieces of luggage in the corner of the room, I’m pausing long enough to wonder if all of this is enough.

Fuck. If she had just sent me a text, or even called, I would’ve had the time to prepare for this and feel less like I’m teetering on an edge here.

This’ll be fine. It has to be.

Heading back to grab her so she can take in her new surroundings, I stop dead in my tracks when I reach the doorway.

There she is—sprawled across my couch like she still belongs there, figure splayed against the cushions like she’s testing their memory of her. Eyes shut, those long lashes of hers brush her stained cheeks.

Five minutes back in my life, and she’s already asleep, breathing slow and deep like the years she’s spent away never happened.

My feet move without thinking, and soon, I’m hovering over her behind the couch.

My hand drags down my face, rough against my beard, but my eyes won’t stop drinking her in. Through a screen, she’d been pixels and distance.

Now—now I can see the plump of her lips, the way her collarbone rises with each breath, the faded ink painted across her skin I don’t recognize.

The tank top she’s wearing clings like a second skin now that she’s ditched her leather jacket, dipping low enough to tease more than it reveals—every curve a calculated provocation. Her skirt rides high, the kind of hemline that’s an invitation for bastards like me to look as they please.

But it’s the torn pantyhose that tells a story. I can’t decide whether it’s careless or calculated. Snagged on a fence? Ripped off in a hurry? Either way, she wears the damage like an accessory.

I shouldn’t be looking this hard. Shouldn’t be memorizing.

Fuck.

Violet may no longer be my stepdaughter, but I’ve got no right looking at her the way I am. My body can’t tell the difference.

My cock is already stirring to life, thick and insistent, as if it remembers the rhythm of my hands all too well—the same desperate pattern I fall into, over and over.

It hardens against my thigh, a slow, relentless pulse beneath my jeans, the denim rough and unforgiving as it drags against my skin.

I grit my teeth, squeezing my eyes shut as my fingers dig into my thigh. Fuck. It’s not enough. The need coils tighter, a hot, insistent throb that demands attention.

My hand twitches, torn between shoving into my pants right here and forcing myself to wait—to prove I still have some fucking control left.

My body isn’t listening.

Before I can stop myself, my palm presses down, hard, over the stiff outline of my cock, and I hiss at the jolt of pleasure-pain that shoots through me.

My grip tightens, almost punishing, as if I can strangle the want out of me.

It doesn’t work. If anything, the pressure just makes it worse—the ache sharper, the need more desperate.

Then Violet sighs in her slumber, rolling onto her side so she can get more comfortable.

Gritting my teeth, I tear myself away from the couch and move toward the woodpile I have stacked next to a dimming flame.

Once I’ve stuffed enough pieces inside to barely leave me satisfied, I use the need to go outside and get more wood as an excuse to put some distance between us.

Fresh air will do me well. Help clear my clouded thoughts and make me a better man.

I have to be a better man.

* * *

My arms burn with the next swing of my axe. A sharp grunt escapes me as the blade bites into the wood, splitting it cleanly in two.

It turns out that hard labor is the perfect distraction.

Doesn’t hurt that I’ll need every last piece of firewood to keep my cabin warm. Even if the pile is growing bigger than it needs to be, it’ll be less to cut in the future.

The familiar thump of the front door gives my next swing more added force than needed, sending the two pieces flying.

I try not to pay her any attention, but I feel her gaze burning into my back as I reach for another log. She stays silent, watching, letting me split three more pieces before I’m the one who finally turns.

She leans against the rail, unflinching when our eyes meet. Instead of looking away, the corner of her mouth quirks up, her body shifting with the same quiet amusement.

Her face is scrubbed clean now, though her skin still glows—flushed, as if she’d rubbed it raw.

Not having a clue about the distance I’m trying to keep, she carelessly hops down each step before joining me. One hand cradles her hip while the other digs through the dark roots of her hair.

“Sorry for passing out on you there, but thanks for letting me sleep. Needed it more than I care to admit.” She sniffs before finally looking away. “Need any help? Least I can do since you’re helping me out.”

I need to tell her to go back inside, to do whatever the hell she wants as long as she isn’t in the same room as I am.

Instead, I grunt. My muscles ache as I drop the axe and jerk my chin to my impressive pile. One that would be a good size if I were preparing for winter, not the middle of summer.

“Grab an armful and help me take some inside.” As the words leave my lips, I move to lead by example.

Once my arm is full, I’m shoving my way forward, not lingering long enough to discover what she sounds like when she’s doing hard labor.

I don’t need to worry about what a grunt or groan sounds like falling past her lips.

With the two of us working, we gather enough firewood for the day in no time. Her pale skin flushes—partly from labor, partly from the wood’s rough bite. She brushes off her chest, fishing out flecks of bark that slipped beneath her collar.

Jesus . She has to know what she’s doing.

“Cool, we’re done.” Her eyes flick up, nearly catching me staring. “Got any food? I haven’t had a decent meal in days. Tell me you’ve got something to stuff my mouth with.”

My body betrays me in an instant. All that exhaustion from chopping wood? Gone. My blood surges south, eager and inconvenient.

“Sure. Check the fridge. You’ll find something in there.” Moving to wash my hands, I cup a palmful of ice-cold water to douse my face with. While it’s helpful not where it needs to be, the cool water against my flushed cheeks is a welcome relief.

Something needs to help control the fire burning in the pit of my stomach.

If it goes unchecked, I’m going to end up sandwiching her body against the counter as I cave to this hunger to get my mouth on her. My hands, too.

With how far my fantasies have gotten me on my loneliest nights, there’s an entire catalog based on the things I’d want to do with her.

Things that are out of question.

“So—” She tugs out a container of sliced fruit nearing the end of their life before easily remembering where I kept the forks, “—what have you been up to since… you know…?”

If she doesn’t want to say it, I will. Call it a vocal reminder of why I need to make some distance.

“Since the divorce?” Drying my hands, I motion around with them. “You’re looking at it.”

All quiet and solitude up here once there isn’t anyone occupying the spare bedrooms.

“Seems boring.” Nudging me with her elbow in passing, she teases me with a smile. “I thought you used to be fun? You seem like a whole different person now.”

“The same could be said about yourself.” Meeting her scoff with a grunt, I follow her like a magnet to metal. Sitting across from her at the table, I flick my fingers toward her appearance. “Want to tell me what led you to my front door? Last I checked, you were in Washington—”

The moment her brows lift, I know I’ve said too much. Now the information is out there, impossible to stuff back into my mouth.

“ Logan.” Teasing me with my name in that same tone that makes my knee bounce, her smile seems more genuine.

“I’m flattered that you’re keeping up with me.

You’re right, I was in Washington. Newport, specifically.

But, sometimes you can’t control which way the wind blows and what assholes decide to give you the boot. ”

As her words register, she jabs her fork into a chunk of cantaloupe before bringing it to her lips.

“They kicked you out?” Staring at her, she raises and lowers her brows in confirmation before sinking her teeth into the fruit.

Violet got out of her comfort zone to follow some snot-nosed punk when he promised her a life on the road. Now what, their band is landing hits, and they can suddenly be successful without her?

It’s not until I feel the light touch of her fingertips against my aching knuckles that I realize just how angry I’m getting for her.

“Hey, I’m sour about it too, but it is what it is.

I’m just writing this off as a mini-vacation.

I’ll give that dick some time to realize he’s made a mistake.

When that time comes, I’ll go back with my list of demands.

No worries, I’ve had plenty of time to think of a lot of them.

” The smile she gives me is outright mischievous, and her thumb traces the vein pulsating along the top of my hand.

“Think you can put up with me until then?”

My throat grows tighter by the second. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you need. I don’t think you’ll have to wait for long. Whoever it was is a dumbass to begin with.”

Pleased by my words, her smile softens before she pulls away to eat the fruit. From the way she devours every chunk, it’s like she’s starving.

“My diet consists of junk food and beer. Sometimes coffee, too, if we have to stop to get fuel. Being on the road constantly sucks . So this? Yeah, this is a godsend. Don’t judge me, old man.”

For a moment, my scowl cracks at the core. As she insults my age with a grin of her own, it’s impossible to be offended. Rather, the pull I feel on myself toward her only grows stronger. All I can do is avoid fanning the flames.

It will take some time to get used to life returning to this cabin.

Can’t let myself grow too comfortable. If I start liking the company, I’ll accidentally try to keep her around.

Not as my ex-wife’s kid, but something else entirely.