Page 21 of Mountain Protector

Lark tucks her legs up against her chest as she turns to me. “You don’t have to cook for me, Knox.”

“What are you talking about?I’mhungry.” Patting her knee, I give her a teasing grin. “And I hate to eat alone. So what do you think? Soup? Sandwiches? I can make a decent grilled cheese.”

“What about work?”

“After the storm, I pushed everything to tomorrow. So I don’t have to go anywhere.” After a beat, I amend, “Well, I’ll meet with the rest of the team a little later. But that’s just at Enzo’s house. And I’ll come back right after.”

Lark stares at me, a cautious hope in her gaze. “You’re going to stay with me today?”

“I thought I would. In case you felt nervous being alone. And after your nap, we could watch some movies. Maybe one of those Hallmark holiday ones you mentioned?” A niggle of unease stirs in my belly. “Unless you don’t want me to?”

Lark blinks. Her eyes go damp.

Shit. Did I make her cry?

“I do.” She scoots over on the couch so she’s right next to me. “I would really like it if you stayed.”

Warmth fills my chest. “Okay. And what would you like to eat?”

“Whatever you like.” She pauses. “But first. Could I… would it be okay if I just got a hug? It’s okay if you don’t want?—”

“Of course.” And gently, being careful of her hurtarm, I wrap an arm around Lark and pull her against my chest.

On a soft exhale, she rests her head on my shoulder. “Thank you.”

Oh.

Shit.

My heart.

This feels like so much more than friendship.

Even though I probably shouldn’t, I press my lips to the top of her head. “You don’t have to thank me, Lark. I want to.”

CHAPTER 5

LARK

When I first wake up, I don’t want to open my eyes.

I just want to lie here, feeling warm and cozy and safe, listening to the relaxing sound of the flames in the fireplace and breathing in the aroma of something savory cooking in the kitchen.

I want to enjoy the buttery-softness of the blanket tucked over me, still smelling faintly of fabric softener, and the downy cushions of the couch I fell asleep on.

And most importantly, I want to absorb Knox’s silent presence at the other end of the couch—his hand lightly resting on my foot, the slight dip of the cushion beneath his weight, and his familiar scent wrapping around me.

With my eyes still closed, I can pretend things are different, at least for a little while.

I can imagine that we’re at my house, maybe on an actual date instead of the quick meals and visits weusually have, relaxing together after dinner and a movie.

In this imaginary setup, when I finally open my eyes, Knox will hug me. Tell me how cute I looked while I was sleeping. Then we’ll kiss, and I’ll get to find out at last if he’s as good of a kisser as I think he is.

He must be. A man as handsome as Knox must have had lots of practice. Plus, there’s just this intensity about him, like he would pour everything he has—his strength, his tenderness, his fierce protectiveness—into a kiss.

But why am I thinking about kissing him? Or dating him, for that matter?

Why am I laying here reliving the moments when he hugged me, remembering how amazing it felt to be held by him and how disappointed I was when he finally let go?

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