Page 23 of Maple Kissed by the Mountain Man

“So do you.”

“I will.”

Neither of us moved.

The tent suddenly felt half its size, the air thick with undeniable, suffocating tension.

And want. And need.

Ford reached into his pack and pulled out a neatly folded set of clothes. Sweatpants, a heavy long-sleeved shirt, and thick socks.

“That’s the dry set?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“And you’re giving it to me?”

“You’re shivering.”

“You’re soaked to the bone, Ford.”

“I’ll dry faster.”

My gaze traveled down the wet fabric molding his chest and stomach. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why will you dry faster?”

“Because I’m bigger.”

My eyes dropped below his waist, taking in the heavy outline against his wet jeans.

Ford noticed immediately.

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“No.”

He dragged a hand over his face. “Change your clothes, Maggie.”

“Where?”

“Right here.”

“With you watching?”

“I’ll turn around.”

“You’ll still be six inches away.”

“It’s a small tent.”

“I noticed.”