Page 40 of Craved By the Mountain Man

Her eyes follow the reaction.

I drag in a breath through my nose.

She looks up.

There is nervousness in her face, but there is want too.

A lot of it.

Her palm slides lower, across my chest and down my stomach, and she takes her time doing it.

Every inch costs me another piece of control.

I catch her wrist before she reaches the waistband of my sweatpants.

Her gaze jumps to mine.

“That’s enough.”

“Why?”

A rough laugh leaves me.

She really wants the answer.

“Because if you keep putting your hands on me like that, I’m going to stop trying to behave.”

Her pupils widen.

“I didn’t ask you to behave.”

Fuck me.

I stare down at her.

Pink cheeks. Wild curls. Brown eyes fixed on mine while her wrist is still wrapped in my hand.

She has no idea what she is doing to me.

Then again, judging by the look on her face, maybe she’s starting to figure it out.

I release her.

She could drop her hand.

Instead, she puts it right back on my stomach.

Deliberately this time.

Her fingers curl against me, and my abs tighten beneath them.

She watches it happen before lifting her eyes to mine with a small smile full of nerves and trouble.

“That seemed effective.”

That’s it.

I’ve spent two years staying away from this woman. Since she walked through my door, I’ve told myself I can protect her without touching her and stand this close without finding out what she tastes like.