Page 8 of Summer with the Mountain Man (Mountain Man Summer #16)
Chapter Eight
Luca
I hadn’t meant to pour out my heart to her.
I was trying to be subtle, trying to discover if her line of work could allow her to live in Australia, and then I went and blurted out all about my accident and Jade’s death, and fuck, I must sound like a weak-arse baby.
I’m pretty certain she only kissed me to shut me up.
And yet she’s still kissing me. And I’m kissing her back. I’m already addicted to her lips, her mouth on mine, her smell. Her body pressed to mine.
Without tearing my lips from hers, I wrangle with the buttons of her shirt and peel it from her body. Seek out the fly of her shorts.
She helps, her lips and tongue still mating with mine, and then she moves her hands to my fly.
With a fumble of hands and arms and legs, we’re naked, and without a word, I pull her onto my lap, burying my cock into her wet heat with a single thrust.
I want to spend the rest of my life making love to her. Giving her orgasm after orgasm. Giving her pleasure, making her feel cherished, wanted, loved.
Fuck, I love her.
We come together, her body taking every drop of seed I pump into her, our gazes locked.
As the pulses of her inner walls slowly fade, I nibble a line of soft kisses up to her ear.
Stay with me forever , I want to whisper.
“You are incredible,” I whisper instead.
Gutless. I’m gutless.
She tangles her hands in my hair, her pussy squeezing one last time. “So are you,” she murmurs back.
Getting dressed a few moments later, we keep looking at each other. There’s a question in her eyes I want her to ask. Is it the one I’m feeling in my heart? Or am I deluded? Maybe. But this connection between us is powerful. I’m sure of it.
I take her hand as we begin walking back to the Whitmores’ house. She smiles up at me, entwining her fingers in mine and bumping her shoulder to my biceps. “So,” she says, lips curling, “what’s your favorite movie?”
“Oh, that’s a tough one.” I pull a face. “I think I’m meant to say something like The Godfather or Gladiator .”
She lifts an eyebrow. “Meant to?”
“Y’know, the whole macho-male thing?”
Her lips twist. “I see.”
I grin. “But if you chucked me on a desert island with only one movie to watch, I’d have to pick… Hmm… Mamma Mia .”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”
Laughing, I shake my head. “No. It would be either the first Star Wars movie or Batman Begins .”
“You’re a geek?”
“Probably.” I nudge her shoulder back. “Your turn.”
“ Oppenheimer .” She nods. “Although anything by Christopher Nolan is required viewing. So I approve of your Batman Begins .”
The thought of curling up on a sofa with Riley tucked into my body as we binge a Nolan movie marathon sends a warm ribbon of aching joy through me. How do I make it happen?
We continue walking hand in hand, falling between relaxed and contented silences and chatting about the bush, Australia, anything and everything.
She takes a shower while I make lunch—roast chicken and salad subs—and when she struts into the kitchen naked and asks me if I’m hungry, I abandon the food, spread her out on the dining table, and lose myself in her sweetness, her thighs soft against my ears, her hands tight in my hair.
We’ve just finished eating—food, this time—and are sitting in the living room, our legs stretched out together on the chaise, the air con cooling our skin but not my desire for her, when my phone bursts into life on the coffee table.
“Whatever you’re doing, brother,” Ethan says when I answer it, an urgency cutting the words blunt, “stop and get your arse to the station. We’ve got a fire on the south side of Mount Kissingpoint, and it’s threatening Lily Andrew’s studio.”
Detangling myself from Riley’s arms, I shove myself from the sofa. “Okay, I’ll be there in twenty.” If I speed. Thank God, I came up in the brigade’s 4x4. It’ll be tricky, but I should be able to get around the down tree. With some luck and skill.
“Everything okay?” she asks, worry swimming in her eyes as she looks up at me.
“Everything is perfect,” I tell her, dipping to brush a kiss on her lips. “I’ve gotta go be a firefighter.”
Her eyebrows knit, and then she nods. “Okay.”
I hurry for the front door even as the desire to stay burns through me. But I have to go. It’s what I do. Who I am.
Opening the door, I turn to tell her I’ll be back ASAP. And the words die on my lips.
She’s still sitting on the sofa, head in her hands, shoulders hunched. “Why did you do that, Diaz?” The granite floors of the Whitmores’ house reverberate her whispered words to me, and a cold knife stabs into my chest. “How could you be so stupid?”
Gut clenching, I step through the door and close it.
Well, fuck.