Page 8 of The Mountain Man's Curvy Trick-or-Treat

“We were not made for halfway,” he says. “Perhaps my best and worst quality.”

I grab another Star-honey; he laughs. “You’re really not scared of me, are you?”

“Are you scared of me?” I counter. “Intimidating French maid costume and all.”

“The truth? You terrify me.” His tone is heavy, then he licks glowing honey from his finger. I can only imagine what else that mouth could do.

“You don’t seem scared,” I tease.

“Ishouldscare you,” he grumbles. Then, his voice softens. “Well, at least should have.” He thinks for a long moment. “I’m different now. Finally thinking for myself. Taking my life into my own hands. Maybe that’s the gift I’ve learned here.”

“Here?”

“Earth, as you call it.”

The words hang between us, too serious for candlelight and cider, but I laugh anyway.

He’s shimmering again. A whisper of light ripples through him—white, lavender, gold. It’s like watching sunrise trapped under his skin. I touch his forearm; the room tilts.

“I still don’t get how you’re doing this. It’s amazing.”

“Actually,” he murmurs, fingers brushing the hem of my too-short skirt, “thiscostume is what’s amazing. Makes me believe the resonance can cross species.”

“How romantic,” I tease.

A deep vibration rolls from his chest. The hum slides through my bones, rearranging the air inside my lungs.

He frowns.

“Would that really be so bad?” I ask.

He nods. “Sedition. Death penalty. But only iftheycome back.”

“They?”

He points to the sky.

“Of course.”

“Too much?” he asks. “I know your kind can have trouble processing all of this, though we’ve been here all along.”

“Are you always this funny?” I arch an eyebrow.

“Is funny a good thing?”

I trace lazy circles along his arm, mesmerized by how the luminescence swirls beneath my touch—like a faint, living heat-map. “Most women like a man who can make her laugh.”

“And feed her well,” he says gruffly. His hand climbs higher until his thumb grazes my upper thigh. Sparks dance; I inhale sharply. “And protect her with my life, my honor, the mark of my clan.”

Okay, definitely not normal dirty talk—but somehow, my body hasn’t gotten the memo.

“You’ve really got this alien thing down.”

“And you’ve got this French-maid thing down.”

“Not sure if that’s a compliment.”

His eyes meet mine, intent. “Never thought the pull would be this strong. The need. After hundreds of years of loneliness, would it really be so wrong?”