Page 23 of Craved By the Mountain Man

His expression does not change.

Obviously, me.

I briefly consider pretending I was looking at a bird.

Then I remember there are no birds directly in front of Gavin’s abdominal muscles.

I go to the door, shove my feet into my boots, and step outside.

The morning air hits my bare legs, cold enough to wake every cell in my body that Gavin has not already activated.

I cross the short stretch of damp ground to the covered platform and climb the two steps.

Gavin watches me approach.

And watches.

My confidence lasts approximately three seconds.

His gaze travels over the T-shirt and shorts before returning to my face.

Nothing about his expression changes.

That somehow makes it worse.

“Morning,” I say.

“Morning.”

His chest rises and falls hard.

I try very hard not to watch it.

I fail immediately.

“You were staring.”

My eyes snap to his.

“I was observing.”

“From behind a window.”

“It offered an excellent observational platform.”

One corner of his mouth moves.

“Come here.”

I look around.

“I am here.”

“Closer.”

That one word lands somewhere low in my stomach.

I walk toward him.