Page 30 of Mountain Protector

Stop it, I scold myself. I don’t need a man to feel safe. And it’s a very bad idea to start relying on Knox this much. Because despite the insinuations Winter made about his feelings, the fact is, he’s never done anythingto show he wants more than friendship. And if he does, I’m not sure I’m brave enough to accept it.

But when I pick up the phone, I can’t help smiling as I read his message.

Hey, just pulled through the gate. I’ll be there in a couple of minutes. Can’t wait to see you.

Can’t wait to see me? Is that friendly? Or more? Do I tell Kate that I can’t wait to see her? My dad? Or is something like that reserved for people you’re romantically interested in?

If I had the time, I’d text Kate to ask her opinion.

“Ugh.” I huff out an irritated breath. “Why am I obsessing over a text when I have so much bigger things to worry about?”

Pushing up off the couch—finally remembering not to use my injured arm this time—I head over to the small mirror near the front door to give myself a final inspection.

Aside from the shadows beneath my eyes, I think I look pretty decent. My hair is behaving today, falling in smooth waves instead of frizzing. The touch of copper eyeliner makes the gold flecks in my eyes pop. And my emerald-toned sweater is the perfect compliment to my red hair.

Although… do I looktooChristmas-y? Is Knox going to think I’m obsessed with the holiday?

“Argh.” When did I start talking to myself? “Stop stressing about Knox,” I tell my reflection. “You’re friends. Worry about actual problems, like people breaking into your house, trying to kill you.”

The doorbell rings, startling me out of my mini-lecture, and I let out a little yip of surprise.

A second later, Knox’s voice rumbles through the door. “Lark? Are you okay?”

Oh, God.

My face turns fuchsia, then spreads to the tips of my ears.

Did he hear me talking about him? I cast a frantic look around the room. The walls have to be well insulated, right? Knox is a professional builder. Theyhaveto be.

Now more concerned, Knox calls out more loudly, “Lark. Are you hurt? Can you let me in, please?”

“I’m okay,” I reply loudly as I fumble with the three complicated locks on the door. “Hang on. Just trying to get the door—” As the last lock releases, I fling open the door to find a very worried-looking Knox standing on the other side of it.

“Lark.” He steps inside, his gaze sweeping over me. “Are you alright? I heard you cry out. Did you hurt yourself?”

I should answer him.

I really should.

But oh, my. He looks sohandsome.

It’s not like I haven’t seen Knox dozens of times in a variety of different outfits. His normal work outfit of cargo pants and a company shirt. Jeans and one of his worn Army sweatshirts. Athletic shorts and old concert T-shirts. And he looked good in all of them. But now it’s like I’ve given myself permission to really appreciate just how sexy Knox is.

He’s wearing a deep-blue sweater that almost matches the color of his eyes, and it’s stretched across his broad shoulders and very muscly chest. His wornjeans show off his powerful legs and the waistband sits just below his flat stomach.

He must have a six-pack under there, at least. Right? And his chest… after hugging Knox, I know it’s just as muscular as I thought it was.

His beard is freshly trimmed and shiny and his hair is all tousled and there’s a faint pink flush of cold to his cheeks. Eyes dark with concern regard me, brows drawn down into a V above them.

“Lark?” Knox gently touches my shoulder. “Are you okay? Do you want me to call Ronan? He was a medic for his team, so he can take a look at your arm if it’s really hurting. Or—” His hand moves to my cheek. “You look flushed. Are you feeling feverish?”

Before I can answer, he puts an arm around my waist and hustles me over to the couch, tugging me onto it and crouching on the floor in front of me. His tone softens. “It’s okay to tell me if you’re hurting.”

“No, no. I’m fine.” Trying to force my blush to go away—good luck, as a redhead with pale skin I pretty much turn to a lobster over anything remotely embarrassing—I add, “I was just startled is all. I was…”

Crap. What am I going to say?I was checking myself out in the mirror to make sure I look nice for you?

“I was waiting for you, but I got distracted. So when the doorbell went off, I just was surprised. That’s all.”

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