Page 7 of Restored by the Mountain Man (Eden Ridge: Hunter Brothers #3)

Nodding, she softly grins. “Good.” Her voice remains soft. “What day is it?” I frown, which only has her smiling. “Humor me.”

“Thursday.”

“Okay. I’m gonna grab you a glass of water.” She steps away, and I want to grab her and pull her back.

After pouring ice water from the pitcher Cynthia refills throughout the day, Zoe returns, handing me the glass.

I wrap my fingers around it, touching her.

I hold the cold glass and her a moment longer.

Her skin is more grounding than anything else.

She wraps her other hand around both of ours, looking deeply into my eyes.

She’s speaking to my soul without saying words out loud. Gently squeezing, she raises the glass to my lips before letting go. I take a large gulp, the ice-cold liquid coating my throat, waking me up.

I drain the entire glass before we stand, staring at the other, communicating. When tension bleeds from my body, Zoe grabs my forearm again, smiles, then nods.

“You’re good. We’ll talk later.” She turns and leaves me watching her, trapped in this moment I want to stay in.

More of that mask fell, telling me something that not many, unless they knew firsthand from experience, would know.

She got it. Like she was in my head, seeing the hit of instant grief.

She has intimate knowledge of the wave that hits you out of literal nowhere.

She saw through my soul and anchored me back to the now.

That wasn’t someone who has helped a loved one through it. That was something only someone who’s been in it can recognize and guide through.

As if I needed another reason to feel pulled to this unexpected woman.

The last thing I needed tonight was to be alone. In three years, I’ve learned my triggers. For the sake of my brothers and all the people who count on me at the distillery, I manage the lows.

I drive to Nash’s for dinner. He knows what my showing up at his remote cabin means. I appreciate never having to answer questions, feel his judgment. We eat in companionable silence, sit outside afterward with our whiskey, and watch the night around us from his front porch.

“You can’t go disappearing on her,” he says after I tell him about the trip this weekend.

I give a gruff hum and sip the whiskey, welcoming the caramelized smooth burn.

“There’s no timeline to grief,” he says, and I know him and our brothers know this as fact. “But watching Beckett this last year has me thinking.”

I know where this is going. I’ve had the same thoughts.

“Perhaps, letting people in, little by little, could surprise us.”

I scoff, draining my glass. “You’re one to talk.”

“Hence, I’m talking, you shit,” he chuckles. “This town, I love it, but bless their small-mindedness sometimes.” He shakes his head.

Nash’s ex created a clusterfuck that caused the dirty PD to keep too close of an eye on him the last two years. For Nash, he leaned into playing their villain, isolating himself at the farthest point of Hunter land.

I don’t answer, just hand him my empty glass and get up. Squeezing his shoulder, I head to my pickup and make my way home.

Lost in thoughts and memories, I almost miss the familiar figure walking on the side of the road. Instantly, I know the curve of those hips and how they sway when she walks.

“The fuck?” I growl, sharply turning toward her and parking.

She advances her pace, not looking back. I get out of the truck, slamming my car door.

“Zoe,” I bark.

She jumps but exhales when she sees me.

“Jesus, Ezra. You scared the shit out of me.” I’m stunned at seeing her not wearing her professional mask.

“What are you doing?” I ask, baffled.

She gives me a sarcastic nod, presenting her arm to the road. “Walking?”

I march over to her, assessing her body for injuries. “Something happen? Where’s your car?” I look around.

“Everything’s fine. I’m walking back to the cabin from Laurel and Grayson’s.”

“You’re walking,” I emphasize, “from their place? Why? Grayson was okay with that?”

None of my brothers would be okay with letting a woman walk by herself at night. Eden Ridge is fairly safe, but you always have the outliers. Don’t get me started on wildlife.

“This isn’t a hike on a man-made path in the city. This is pure forest area, Zoe. It’s dangerous.”

She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms. “First of all, ‘is Grayson okay with that?’,” she mocks my tone. “He’s not my keeper. Hell, he isn’t even Laurels. She’d nut punch him before ever requiring his permission.” She’s getting riled up.

“That’s not what I meant,” I mumble, but she’s too deep in her rant now.

“Second? Just because I grew up in the city doesn’t mean I’m ignorant of nature, Ezra.

My best friend is practically a tree hugger.

And three,” her voice escalates as she hops on her toes to get in my face.

“I’m literally a couple miles away. The sun just set.

I have pepper spray and bear spray, and my phone has signal.

” She huffs a breath. “Grayson wasn’t home anyway. ”

Of course. Over his dead body would he allow the love of his life’s favorite girl walk alone.

“Zoe, please get in the truck.” This argument is pointless. And the more fired up she gets, the more turned on I’m getting, and this can not happen.

“Excuse me? Look, I get it. You mountain men, turns out, are actually pretty spot on to Laurel’s romance book boyfriends, but this is real life. Ordering a woman to do anything, unless you’re both consensually naked, is never a good idea.”

I swear, my balls tightened with a vivid image of ordering her around. In bed. Both of us naked, wrestling in sweat.

“Fuck.” I run my hand through my hair. “Zoe. Please. I’m taking you home.”

“For the love of…” she scoffs, turns, and stomps away.

“Zoe,” I call.

“I’m a strong, independent woman, Ezra. So, I can’t hear you,” she sings.

“Mother–,” I clench my jaw, catch up to her tiny strides.

Tomorrow, I’ll analyze my behavior. Right now, pure adrenaline runs through my veins.

I lift her up and toss her over my shoulder.

“Ezra,” she squeals. “Bro, put me down.” She slaps my ass.

My. Ass.

“This is so much hotter in books,” she grunts as I purposely adjust her body, her stomach digging into my shoulder.

Opening the passenger door, I gently place her in the seat. Her face is flushed, her long, dark waves wild around her face. Shit . This is what she might look like after getting fucked.

“You did not just do that.” Her brows shoot to her hairline.

Afraid to speak, I don’t trust what will come out of my mouth right now, so I lean in and buckle her seatbelt. My arm brushes her full, soft breasts. Her gasp at the touch is the final straw that takes me from half-mass to full-on hard as a rock.

When was the last time I’ve gotten hard other than morning wood?

The blood has left my brain. I snap the seatbelt in place, then lean my arms on the doorframe.

It’s a face-off. Her breathing has accelerated, as has mine.

Her chest rising reveals her plump cleavage over her blouse.

I close my eyes and groan involuntarily.

Stepping away, I shut her door harder than I mean to. I cross the truck, get in my seat, and turn on the ignition.

We drive in thick silence. The tension fills the cab with an energy I don’t ever recall experiencing. Thankfully, my flannel covers my lap because the sexual need pulses a steady heat. From the corner of my eye, her hands grip the seat, her knuckles white.

If I don’t get this woman home and drive away as soon as possible, I fear our next move.

And I invited her to spend a weekend out of town. Just the two of us. In this same damn truck.

Fucking masochist.

I park outside Laurel’s old cabin she rented after the Cedar Solutions bullshit. Neither of us makes a move. Only the moon and her porch light illuminate inside the truck. I finally turn to face her. She inhales deeply before looking at me.

“Will you be in tomorrow?” she asks.

It’s whiplash, which takes me a minute to clock onto what she is asking. No, I won’t be. I need to mentally prepare for this trip. I need to go home right now and fight doing something I can’t remember the last time I did. And I’m already anticipating the self-loathing that’ll follow.

“Depends.” That’s all I give her.

She nods, unbuckles her belt, and opens the passenger door. “If not, I’ll see you bright and early, Saturday.”

I nod.

We both search for unspoken questions, neither willing to go there. Professional. This needs to remain professional.

“Please lock the door when you get in,” I say, keeping my voice low so she can’t hear what’s lying beneath, dying to crawl out.

“Will do, Mr. Hunter.” She salutes, then hops out.

A vivid image of her tied to a bed, edging her pleasure for sassing me has me almost coming in my pants. I want to peel out of her driveway, but I refuse to leave until I know she’s safe inside.

She unlocks her door and looks over her shoulder.

God help us both this weekend.