Mountain Boss: Mountain Men Series Book One
Mountain Boss: Chapter 48

“Hey, Court.” Cook greets me as I enter the Food Hall.

“Hey, how’s your day going?” I ask, hoping my voice sounds normal.

“Oh, ya know, the usual,” he starts, then jumps right into a story about how someone moved his can opener.

I nod along, trying my hardest to engage since I’m the first one in here, but my mind keeps circling back to my boss.

I was so caught up in the intensity of the moment, distracted by the way his body felt against mine, that I didn’t take the time to think about how wildly inappropriate the situation was.

And I don’t just mean his massive hard-on.

Because it was massive.

I mean him lifting me off the ladder in the first place.

Sure, I was feeling off-balance right before he grabbed me, but he could have just held the ladder. Or said my name.

He did say my name. Courtney.

Cook laughs, and I blink.

A few more minutes pass before the rest of the guys start to filter in. And then a few more before we’re all sitting at the tables with our plates of ham salad sandwiches. Something I haven’t had since I was a kid and thought I hated. Turns out I just needed Cook to make it.

I try to stay present—as present as possible when my panties are damp—but I can’t settle as I sit here waiting for Sterling to show up.

Not Sterling. Mr. Black.

I need to keep it professional.

Professional, like his dick against your ass.

I shove another bite of sandwich into my mouth.

“Howdy, Boss,” Glen calls out.

My eyes snap to the doorway.

Sterling is walking through, eyes straight ahead, but he grunts in reply.

The chatter keeps up, and I nod along with something Simpson is saying, but Sterling is still in my line of sight, and I can’t stop my gaze from gravitating to him.

He picks up the plate Cook left out for him, but he doesn’t bring it to the tables. He just leans his sexy hip against the counter and takes a bite of his sandwich.

Not sexy.

How are man hips even sexy?

I trail my eyes up his torso.

He’s in another flannel, which seems to be the only type of shirt he owns. And I wonder if he’s wearing a T-shirt underneath or if his chest is naked under the soft fabric, like it was that first night I arrived, when he came out with his shirt unbuttoned and his toned, hairy chest on display.

Stop thinking about his chest hair.

And since when do I like chest hair?

Oh my god, stop thinking about him!

He’s a dick!

My eyes drop to his dick.

As I stare, Sterling reaches down, cups the front of his jeans, and adjusts himself.

My gaze snaps up.

And meets his.