Free His Mountain Miss (Smoky Mountain Matches) by Karen Kirst Page A

laughter died in her throat. Uh-oh. Every nerve ending stood to attention. What were his intentions?
    He came very close, clasped his hands behind his back even as his upper body bent towards her. A good three to four inches taller than her, his broad, muscled chest and capable shoulders blocked the moonlight. His nearness didn’t trouble her in the least. She welcomed it, felt sheltered by him. She pressed her arms tighter around her middle to keep from reaching up and weaving her fingers through his brown locks, from pulling him to her. That would be unwise. Extremely unwise.
    That didn’t mean she didn’t long to do so. This enigmatic man tugged at her heart, her soul, like the pull of the moon on the ocean’s waves.
    “Has anyone ever told you that your laugh is like a song? A merry tune brimming with unbridled enthusiasm?”
    “Has anyone ever told you that you’ve a heart of a poet?”
    Surprise flashed across his face. “No. Never. It must be your influence.” His gaze roaming her face was like a physical touch. “You are so incredibly beautiful.” His warm breath fanned her mouth.
    Her lungs hung suspended. Was he going to kiss her?
    The door opened then, and Nicole appeared, interrupting them a second time. Megan didn’t know whether to be irritated or relieved.
    He straightened, his eyes hooded. Unreadable. The air whooshed from her lungs. Why did she feel as if she’d just missed something special?
    “Dessert’s on the table,” Nicole announced brightly, unaware of what she’d interrupted.
    “I, ah, am sorry to have to decline, after all.” Lucian backed towards the steps. “But it’s later than I realized. I need to be going.”
    “Oh.” She blinked, glanced between them. “Next time, then.”
    “Good evening.”
    “Wait!” Megan ducked inside for a kerosene lamp. Their fingers brushed as she handed it to him and an unexpected pang shot through her. There was such strength and warmth in those hands. Gentleness, too. “To light your way,” she said.
    His features tightened briefly. “Thanks.”
    Then he turned and walked away. And Megan was glad she was smart enough to know not to fall in love with the man. Something deep inside warned that it wouldn’t be the happy-ever-after kind of love. More like the Romeo and Juliet, tragic kind of love. For them, there could be no happy ending.

Chapter Seven
    S tanding in the flower garden Monday
afternoon, Lucian turned at the sound of angry footsteps.
    “Cabbage?” Megan marched his direction, her pastel-pink skirts
skimming the stone path and swiping the blooms unfortunate enough to be too near
the edge. “ That’s what you’ve been calling me?”
    “Good afternoon.” He gestured to the clear blue skies overhead.
“Nice day for a stroll, isn’t it?”
    Her pink blouse, with fitted bodice and flared sleeves,
delineated her slender waist, while the delicate hue enhanced her pale beauty.
Her skin glowed with health and vitality. She’d captured the top layers of her
curls in a pink ribbon at the back of her head, while the rest cascaded down her
back. A silver ribbon choker encircled her neck, a small cameo brooch in the
center. She was a delicate rose of incomparable beauty, but not without a few
thorns.
    Reaching his side, she jammed her fists on her hips. The color
in her cheeks matched the red tulips planted along the back porch. She wasn’t
going to let this go.
    “I spoke to my cousin’s wife Kate today. You know, the one from
New York? She studied French, so I asked her what mon
chou meant.” When he didn’t immediately respond, she narrowed her
gaze. “Well? Care to explain in what way you believe I resemble a cabbage?”
    “She’s right. It does mean that.” She opened her mouth to
speak, but he held up a hand. “It’s also slang for...little pastry.”
    One pale brow arched in a way he was coming to adore. “That’s
supposed to make me feel better?”
    “Actually, yes.” And because he didn’t trust himself