His hand tightened in my hair and for a second I thought he might kiss me again. I could see it in his eyes—the want, the need, the desire fighting with whatever demons were telling him this was a bad idea.
But instead, he let go of me, took a careful step back and put distance between us that felt like miles. The evening air rushed in where his warmth had been, and I had to resist the urge to pull him back.
“Get in the truck, Emily.” His voice was strained, barely controlled.
I bent down to gather my scattered apples and medical bag, grateful for the chance to hide my flushed face. My hands were shaking. My whole body was still humming with want. And when I stood back up and caught him staring at me—at the way my scrubs pulled across my curves, at the way my lips were swollen from his kiss—I saw the same hunger reflected back at me.
Down, girl. You’ve already broken the grumpy mountain man once tonight. Don’t push your luck.
As I climbed into the passenger seat, I could still taste him on my lips, feel his hands on my body. With shaking hands, I fastened my seatbelt and watched him slid behind the wheel. He was close. Too close. I knew he felt it too, the tension between us. I was breathing hard, and his knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel. Without a word, he pulled the truck back onto the road.
Silence stretched between us, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was charged. Heavy. Thick with everything we’d just done and everything we weren’t saying. I could practically hear him thinking, see the war happening behind his eyes.
I watched him drive, watched the muscle in his jaw tick, watched his hands flex on the steering wheel like he was fighting the urge to reach for me again.
“For what it’s worth,” I said softly, “I’m glad you stopped. For the flat tire and... you know. Everything after.”
He didn’t look at me, but his hands relaxed fractionally on the wheel.
I smiled and looked out the window, watching the trees blur past. My car was still sitting back there on that mountain road, but I’d deal with it tomorrow. Right now, all I could think about was the way Tucker Barrett had kissed me.
We reached the edge of town, and I gave him directions to my house—the small place with the peeling paint and the yard that was more weeds than grass. When he pulled into the driveway and killed the engine, neither of us moved.
We just sat there in the gathering dusk, and I tried to figure out what to say. How to acknowledge what had happened without making it weird, without pushing too hard.
“Thank you,” I said finally, turning to look at him. “For the ride. And for catching me before I gave myself a concussion on your truck. That would’ve been embarrassing.”
His lips twitched. Almost another smile. “You would’ve blamed me anyway.”
“Absolutely. Your truck is a hazard.” I reached for the door handle, then paused. “Tucker?”
He turned to face me, and the intensity in his eyes made my breath catch all over again.
“This was real,” I said quietly. “What just happened. And I’m not going to pretend it wasn’t.”
His jaw worked, and for a second I thought he might argue. But then he just nodded, once, sharp and decisive.
I climbed out of the truck before I could do something stupid like crawl over the console and kiss him again. I grabbed my medical bag and the apples and headed for my door, painfully aware that he was sitting there, watching me.
When I finally got the door open and turned back, he was still there. Still sitting in my driveway, hands back on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead like he was having an argument with himself.
I stood in my doorway and watched him, this complicated, damaged, beautiful man who’d kissed me like I was salvation and damnation all wrapped up in one curvy package.
After what felt like forever but was probably only a minute, he started the engine. Backed out of my driveway, turning his truck back toward the mountain. I watched his taillights disappear around the corner, then closed the door and leaned against it, my heart still racing.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I must have gotten service back now that I was in town. I pulled it out and saw a text from Mandy. Besides being the mainstay of town gossip, she was somewhat of a mother hen and always checked on me after I’d made deliveries.
How was the house call? Mrs. K behaving herself?
I stared at the message, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. How exactly did I explain that I’d gotten a flat tire, been rescued by the town hermit, and then been kissed so thoroughly that I was pretty sure my entire understanding of the laws of attraction had been rewritten?
I typed back.House call was fine. Got a flat tire. Tucker Barrett gave me a ride home.
Simple. Factual. Completely leaving out the part where his tongue had been in my mouth and I’d almost melted into a puddle at his feet.
Three dots appeared immediately. Then:WHAT. Calling you in 5 minutes. Don’t you dare leave anything out.
I smiled despite myself, and headed for the kitchen, my fingers brushing my still-tingling lips. While I waited for Mandy’s inevitable interrogation, I thought about Tucker. About the way he’d kissed me like he was starving. About the way he’d looked at me afterward—hungry and desperate and terrified all at once.
