Page 6 of Chased By the Mountain Man

He’s right, though, my arms and legs have seen better days. If I’d known I was going to spend my afternoon running through the woods and hiding in a bush, I wouldn’t have worn a skirt and blouse to work today.

“Wait there,” Trent says firmly. “I’m gonna clean you up.”

There’s a bossy, authoritative tone to his voice, and I like it more than I want to admit.

As I watch Trent head through a door at the other end of the cabin, my eyes roam his broad back, his wide shoulders, and…damn his ass looks good in those jeans. A hot bolt of desire flashes through me, fluttering between my thighs, and I almost groan out loud.

I’ve never had this kind of physical reaction to a man before. When I look at Trent’s hulking frame, his giant hands, his serious brown eyes, I want him to do things to me. Things I’ve never done with a man before. Things that make my panties slick to think about. My desire is so overwhelming that for a moment, I can almost forget the crazy situation I’m in right now.

A minute later, Trent emerges holding a basin full of soapy water in one hand and a clean cloth and towel in the other.

“Wouldn’t it be better to do this in the bathroom?” I ask as he crouches down beside me. “I don’t want to get your living room wet.”

Trent’s eyebrow quirks. “No, we’ll do it here. Don’t move. You look comfy.”

I press my lips together to hold back a giggle. His words are thoughtful and considerate, but his tone is so damn bossy. It’s a funny contrast and a sexy one.

Trent is gentle as he takes my leg in his big, calloused hand, dipping the cloth in the warm water and rubbing it softly on my cuts. It stings, but I do my best not to wince. Instead, I focus on this handsome mountain man. I watch a little breathlessly as he tends my wounds, his face full of so much concentration that it seems like taking care of me is the most important thing in the world to him right now. My mouth goes dry at the thought.

“So,” he says quietly, patting my leg dry and starting on the other one, “you want to talk about what happened?”

I blink, and suddenly everything comes rushing back to me again. I keep letting myself get distracted by my rugged rescuer instead of focusing on my crappy situation. It’s like my brain wants to block it out; my mind doesn’t know how to deal with what’s happening.

“It’s complicated,” I say, biting my lip.

The cops didn’t believe my story, so why should Trent?

He looks up from my leg, those brown eyes locking onto mine, and I feel my heart somersault.

“Tell me.”

God, that voice. How could I ever say no to that voice?

“I’ll tell you. But you won’t believe me,” I mumble.

Trent frowns defiantly. “Try me.”

He continues to gently clean my cuts as I tell him everything, his frown deepening with every word. I tell him all about Danny’s weird behavior and how everything came to a head when I told him I didn’t want to go out with him.

“He got so mad,” I say, my gut clenching at the memory. “He…he said he didn’t actually like me and was only asking me out because he felt sorry for me. Taking one for the team by dating the fat girl were his words.”

Trent lets out a sharp exhale but he lets me continue. I tell him about how I went to the bathroom to compose myself before heading back to the office for my stuff—how Danny was panting like he’d been running and my key wasn’t in the pocket I left it in. Then I explain how I started driving home when the cops pulled me over. How they found a bag of white powder hidden down by the passenger seat.

Repeating it all is painful. I wish more than anything that I’d never stayed at the bar with Danny that night. Maybe none of this would have happened if I’d left with Sharon, or if I’d been brave enough to confront Danny about his behavior sooner. If only, if only, if only…

No. Screw that.

I’m done blaming myself for what he did.

I did not deserve this, not even a little bit, and I will not let my anxious brain try and convince me this was my fault. It wasn’t. I did nothing wrong. If another woman was in the same position, I would tell her that it was one hundred percent not her fault, and I’d mean it with all my heart. So maybe it’s about time I extended that same grace to myself.

“I tried to explain that it wasn’t mine,” I continue with a sigh, “but obviously the cops didn’t believe me.” Trent is hanging onto my every word, his eyes darkening. “And then one of them started telling me I was under arrest and I panicked. I ran straight into the woods and…well, you know everything after that.”

Trent is silent for a moment. He’s finished cleaning my cuts, and he takes his time toweling my arms dry, his brow furrowed like he’s deep in thought.

“If you don’t believe me, I get it,” I tell him resignedly. “Everybody says it wasn’t them, don’t they?”

Trent finally looks at me, his eyes blazing. “I believe you, Jasmine.”

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