Coming Home to the Mountain: Complete Edition

3. Lemon

CHAPTER 3

Lemon

H e's staring down at me as my eyes flutter open.

I immediately push him off, away, because he's way too close. I can practically taste his mouth on mine.

And it would have tasted good.

That kiss? It would have been fucking delicious. I can already tell. And that's saying something.

Anchor looks like fresh air, like sunshine. Like a real fucking man.

Oh my god. I groan, rolling away from him on the deck, pressing a hand to my skull.

“I need some Advil. You know, you practically gave me a concussion.”

“I didn't give you a concussion. You never passed out. You basically clung to me for dear life until I got you out of the water?—”

I press a hand against his hard, firm, very chiseled chest. “Don't, Anchor,” I say. “And what kind of name is Anchor anyways?”

He gives me a cocky-ass grin that literally has my pussy wet, which is problematic.

In so many ways, I can't even start.

Also, maybe it’s not him. Maybe he's not doing anything at all. Maybe it's just the fact that my dress is now literally sopping wet. Along with my sandals and my panties and my bra and my hair and my makeup that is streaking down my face.

This was supposed to be the start of my perfect birthday week and now I am in a puddle, on my dock, standing next to a man who looks like some sort of character from a Marvel movie.

Perfect like Captain America, only with dark hair and dimples in his cheeks and?—

“What?” he asks. “You're staring.”

“Sorry,” I say. “I think I'm just dizzy. Advil. That's what I need.”

“Okay. Come into my house and I'll get you some, along with some water or something to eat. Are you hungry? Because I'm fucking starving.”

“Oh,” I say, pressing a hand to his chest again, which isn't necessary but I just want to make sure he’s real. That all those muscles aren't a mirage. That this is happening.

But I turn away, around on my heels. “I'm not eating your food or taking your Advil or anything. I'm going back to my lake house and ignoring you and calling my father to try to understand why we're sharing this dock. I wasn't under the impression that this was shared-use.”

Anchor’s eyes narrow, his chin lowers, giving me smoldering eyes that—okay, now I know my pussy is doing things that have absolutely nothing to do with my clothes being wet.

He's trouble. All sorts of trouble.

I knew that the moment I saw him out on that stand-up paddleboard.

I unpacked my car, put my groceries away, and looked out the screen door and saw that man out on that paddleboard. I knew that I would be too distracted to read my novel if he was out there, paddling away. So precise, so erotic, so?—

“You're staring again,” he says.

“Sorry,” I say, pressing a hand to my skull unnecessarily but using it as an excuse. “It's the wound, the near concussion you gave me.”

“If I remember correctly, you're the one who stepped towards me, pushing me into the water. And then you reached for me, which pulled you right in. I think I should be blaming you for this fall.”

“No.” I shake my head. “This is my birthday week. This is my vacation. You can't blame me for anything.”

He grins. “It's your birthday week?”

“Yeah,” I say. “My birthday’s tomorrow. I came up here for a calm, relaxing vacation.”

He smiles. “And you're gonna go call your daddy to make sure I'm supposed to be here? He solve all your problems?”

I frown. “As a matter of fact, my father is a great man. RedfordRough, he's the person who renovated your entire property so you shouldn't be such an ass about it.”

His eyes widen at that. “He did a really fucking good job. The house is incredible.”

“Well, the finishing touches were thanks to me,” I say with a smile.

“You're an interior designer?”

I shrug. “On the side. I was thinking of starting a business one day, but it's a little hard. I'm working so much for my family right now. It's kind of difficult to get anything going.”

He nods. “Actually,” he says, “before you go, there's one other thing I wanted to say.”

“What's that?” I ask.

“Well, you're saying I'm some weirdo for having a name like Anchor, but your name is Lemon. It's not that much better.”

I smile at that because how can you not. “Fair point,” I say. “I guess we both had weird parents.”

Anchor gives me a soft smile. “You're really mad to share a dock with me?”

“I don't even know you. You're lucky my brothers aren't here. They'd have a fit if they knew I was staying next to you all week.”

“Why is that?” Anchor asks, stepping closer.

“Well. Actually.” I swallow, suddenly feeling hot, bothered and not in a good way—more like embarrassed. “Scratch that,” I say. “Are you staying at your new property with anyone else or is this a solo vacation?”

He chuckles, “Is that your way of asking if I'm single?”

Thinking I might have put my foot in my mouth, I groan. “Okay. Yes, you caught me. Are you single, Anchor, or are you here on this romantic vacation with your wife, your children? Your girlfriend?”

“I’m single,” he says, “and I plan on keeping it that way.” His look is so deadpan and so intense, I feel a shiver run down my spine. I realize he's not joking.

Okay, so he is not dating material. Good to know.

I lick my lips. “Great,” I say. “Sounds like you’re a real catch.”

With that, I run a hand over my sopping wet dress and turn on my heels. “It was great meeting you,” I say, calling over my shoulder. “Really fantastic. Really.”

He laughs, “Yeah, Lemon, likewise.”

I turn around when I reach the end of the dock, hating that I am but unable to hold back.

The thing is, Anchor is just staring at me.

“You have a really fine ass,” he tells me. The compliment is not hidden by anything. Plain as day.

My jaw drops open.

“You're just gonna say it, just like that?”

“It’s the truth,” he says. “I can't not say it.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

He shrugs. “See you later, Lemon.”

I march back into the house and pick up my cell phone, ready to press Call on my dad's number.

But then I look out the window at Anchor. He's carrying his paddleboard up onto the deck, walking across the lawn to his house. He pauses, looking over his property, up to mine. He can't see me in the kitchen window. But god, I can see him.

He looks incredible.

I know if I call my father it's gonna be a whole thing. He's gonna ask all these details about Anchor that I don't know. Rye might overhear the whole thing, considering they work side-by-side.

Maybe Bartlett’s over. Heck, Mac could be too, for all I know.

Reuben, even. Do I want everyone to know my business?

Isn't the whole point of coming up here to get away from my family and their deep dive into every detail of my love life?

I set my phone down, remembering Graham and Mac finding my vibrator.

The comment at the dinner table last night.

Lemon needs to find a husband— insinuating that I need a partner in order to have sex.

Otherwise, I'll be using my battery-operated boy toy for the rest of my life. Which honestly isn't the worst-case scenario. The worst-case scenario would be a battery shortage.

I turn my phone off all together.

I don't need a phone right now. I don't need to call my dad because there's a really hot guy who happens to be living one door over.

A man who thinks I have a nice ass, who was close enough to kiss me. A man who complimented me in a weird way that actually turned me on.

When is the last time any man turned me on? I mean a man that wasn't on the pages of a romance novel.

It's been freaking forever.

I take off my clothes in the loft I used to sleep in as a kid, then I carry them in to the dryer. Looking through my suitcase for a teeny-tiny bikini, I choose my favorite one.

It's April 2. Stout Lake is hardly warm enough for swimming suits and sunbathing. But I don't care.

It's my spring break and I'm going to milk it. I never had a Girls Gone Wild phase at college. I never did body shots in Cancun or a wet T-shirt contest in Cabo. But I am at the Rough family lake house, and there's a man named Anchor next door who thinks I'm kinda cute, though probably a little too intense. I can work on that.

I grab my tablet, pour myself a glass of my favorite white wine, and walk outside to the patio.

Heck, this is my vacation.

And you know what? It's time this Lemon stopped acting so damn sour.

It's time I had a little bit of fun.