Page 77 of Mountain Man’s Mystic Touch

Neither of us moves.

A voice reports normal activity near the lodge. No sighting. No disturbance.

Rocco lets out a breath against my mouth, then closes his eyes and rests his forehead against mine. His body remains pressed to mine, and his hand is still beneath my sweater.

For several seconds, neither of us pretends he is ready to leave.

“You need to go,” I whisper.

“Yes.”

“You don’t want to.”

“No.”

The admission warms me almost as much as the kiss. His hand remains at my waist for another moment before he forces it away.

“Lock the door.”

“I will.”

“Keep your phone beside you.”

“I will.”

“If anything feels wrong …”

“I’ll call you.”

His gaze searches mine, looking for a promise strong enough to satisfy him.

“I won’t return to the festival alone,” I add.

“Good.”

Rocco opens the door, but I catch his hand before he can step through it.

“Your attention isn’t only professional,” I say.

“No.”

His answer does not come too quickly. It comes with complete certainty. Rocco leaves before I can ask what that means.

I lock the door and stand with my fingers resting against my lips. The vision remains somewhere beyond the walls, waiting for its moment. But for the first time since I saw Rocco’s blood, it is not the only future I can feel.

Chapter 13

Rocco

Itaste Loralee for the entire drive back to the festival. Coffee, warmth and the faint trace of whatever she put on her lips before leaving for the cabin. Every breath returns me to the moment her body pressed against mine.

I should be thinking about the lodge entrance. Instead, I’m thinking about her hand in my hair.

The radio reports normal activity across the festival grounds. No new sightings or disturbances near the lodge or vendor lanes. The words require my attention, but not enough of it to stop remembering how Loralee said my name with her head resting in my palm.

My body has not misunderstood what happened between us. Neither has the part of me trained to recognize the moment a controlled situation becomes something else. I wanted to stay. But wanting does not alter responsibility.

I turn into the staff parking area and check the time. The festival closes in less than two hours. The largest part of the evening crowd is still on-site, but families with young children have begun leaving. Traffic will grow heavier as the stage performance ends.