Why didn’t he want to? Why wasn’t he yearning for the solace and peace that had brought him to the mountain?

Hell, he didn’t know what to do. His instincts were in shambles. He knew the right thing to do was to load her into his truck and take her back to the family that was missing her. Back to her fiancée. His gut clenched thinking of delivering her into the arms of another man. Even if that man had more claim to her then Finn did.

The overprotective instincts kicked in, smothering out the logic.

He would not take her back, not until she was ready.

He knew she wouldn’t stay forever. Just a few days. Layla didn’t belong here, in his dark, solitary world. She belonged in the light, surrounded by warmth, laughter, and love.

Decision made, Finn gathered up a spare pillow and blanket from the hall closet and made his way to the couch. He stretched out on the cushions, shifting restlessly in a vain attempt to get comfortable.

Down the hall, he could hear the faint creak of bedsprings as Layla settled in for the night. The urge to go to her, to crawl in beside her and wrap her up in his arms, was a living thing inside him.

He crushed it mercilessly. Sleep. He needed sleep.

Morning would come soon enough...and with it, maybe goodbye.

CHAPTER FOUR

. . .

Layla woke slowly. She stretched languidly, reveling in the slip-slide of cool cotton sheets against her bare legs. She burrowed deeper into the mattress, chasing the remnants of a dream filled with strong, work-roughened hands that made her body ache with longing.

Finn. Finn Brody. Her unlikely knight in denim and flannel.

Her dreams had been filled with images of Finn in this bed with her. Kissing her, touching her. Making love to her.

Reality crashed over her like a bucket of ice water, jerking her into sharp, sudden wakefulness. Shit. This wasn’t her bed. Not her sheets. Not her…anything.

Layla’s eyes popped open, darting around the dimly lit room as memories of the previous day flooded back in a dizzying rush. The wedding. Her flight into the woods.

Straight into Finn’s arms.

Well, almost.

Oh God. She’d really done it. She’d run away from her wedding like a madwoman, hitching up her skirts and haring off into the wilderness without a backward glance. And now, here she was, sleeping in a strange man’s bed, dressed in his clothes, her entire life turned upside down in the span of twenty-four turbulent hours.

As if on cue, her phone buzzed on the nightstand, rattling ominously against the wood. Layla stared at it, her stomach turning to lead. Twenty-seven missed calls and thirteen increasingly frantic texts.

The thought of the explanations—and apologies—she owed swirled around in her head. To Randy. To her mother. God, her mother. Layla took a deep, shuddering breath, holding it for a count of five before releasing it slowly through her teeth. Okay. She could do this. She was Layla fucking Bryant.

She’d faced down gossipy debutants and lecherous board members, had smiled through a thousand snide comments about her weight, her clothes, her brash, unladylike tendency to actually voice an opinion.

She could handle the fallout from one measly runaway bride moment.

“They never really write about this part in the fairytales, do they, Goldilocks?”

“What?” she squeaked.

Finn’s voice, rough with sleep and rich with amusement, nearly startled Layla out of her skin. She bolted upright, clutching the blanket to her chest as her gaze collided with his, where he lounged in the doorway.

Lounged being a relative term, of course. No one that large and imposing could really lounge. He more sort of...hulked. Attractively.

Layla swallowed hard, trying to force her sleep-addled brain into some semblance of coherence. It was an uphill battle, what with his broad chest, wide shoulders, and massive biceps.

The man was built like a tank, all solid muscle, and coiled strength. And don’t even get her started on the low-slung sweatpants riding his narrow hips or the trail of dark hair disappearing beneath the waistband that made her fingers itch to follow it.

To pull those sweatpants down, fall on her knees, and…