Page 36 of The Mountain Man's Mail-Order Mafia Princess

I crossed the small space between us, caught the front of his work shirt, and kissed him.

For one suspended second, Jonah didn’t touch me.

Then his hands settled at my waist.

He kissed me back with a restraint that lasted exactly long enough to make me angry.

I pulled him closer.

His chest pressed against mine. The rough edge of his beard scraped my skin, and his mouth opened over mine.

Heat rushed through me.

Jonah tasted like garlic and the wine he’d poured with dinner.

His hands tightened at my waist.

I slid mine beneath his shirt and found hot skin and hard muscle.

He broke the kiss.

His breathing had deepened. His eyes had darkened until the brown near the center nearly swallowed the green.

“I need to ask you something,” he said.

“That sounded like a warning.”

“It’s a question.”

“Ask it.”

“Is this what you want, or are you trying to prove something again?”

I released his shirt.

The pressure between my thighs worsened.

“I’m not kissing you because of my father.”

“Or the account at Mabel’s.”

“No.”

Jonah kept his hands at my waist without pulling me closer. “You don’t owe me anything for the clothes, food, ride, or bed.”

“I know. I’m here because I want you.”

“Tell me if that changes.”

“I will.”

“What do you want?”

“You.”

I curled my fingers into his shirt again.

“I want you to kiss me without treating me like I’ll break,” I said. “I want your hands on me. I want the bed to stop being a logistical problem.”