Page 48 of The Mountain Man's Mail-Order Mafia Princess

When I handed her a clean rag, she wiped grease from a wrench and held it up.

“This feels symbolic,” she said.

“It’s dirty.”

“That doesn’t prevent symbolism.”

“What does it symbolize?”

“My successful adaptation to rural life.”

“You cleaned one wrench.”

“I’m pacing myself.”

She found a battered paperback on my shelf, stretched across the bed to read, and lifted her head every time I passed the bedroom door.

At meals, she helped without taking over. At night, the pillow stayed near the dresser.

Before we fell asleep, Talia climbed into my lap while we sat on the edge of the bed and kissed me until I forgot why stopping had seemed sensible.

Her sleep shorts rode high over her thighs. I settled my hands on her hips. She shifted against my erection and moaned into my mouth.

I caught her waist before she could do it again.

Talia pulled back enough to look at me. “Why did you stop?”

“Because if you keep moving, we aren’t going to sleep.”

“I’m not seeing the problem.”

“I have a job early tomorrow.”

“So your objection is scheduling.”

“It’s also that I don’t want every time we touch to turn into sex.”

She relaxed in my lap.

“I like that answer,” she said.

“You don’t have to sound surprised.”

“I’m allowed to be impressed.”

I slid my hand over her back. “I want you.”

“I can tell.”

“I’m not rejecting you.”

“I didn’t think you were.”

She kissed the corner of my mouth.

“This is a pause,” she said. “I’m still sleeping here.”

“That works for me.”