Page 1 of Protected By the Mountain Man

Mariah

Iopen the front door to my apartment, thinking it’s the mailman with the new baby rocker I ordered — and stagger back with a gasp.

It’s not the mailman.

It’s Ryan, my ex and the father of my son.

Correction: it’s my asshole ex and the regrettable sperm donor to an unplanned pregnancy that resulted in Billy, the most beautiful baby boy and light of my life.

If you look up the phrase “good dad” in the dictionary, you’d find Ryan listed under the antonyms. I’ll do anything to keep Billy safe from him.

“Hey there, love,” Ryan sneers, leaning against the doorframe.

I bark a humorless laugh. “I’m not your love. Far from it.”

“Aw, why’s that?” He pouts. It’s not cute.

“You know why.” I fold my arms across my chest. “Do you need me to remind you? Again?”

He sneers. “Indulge me.”

My stomach turns, bile rising in my throat.Indulge me. That’s what he’d shouted to me over the music in the club where we’d collided a year and a half ago.

I’d had too many drinks, and I’d foolishly told my friends to go home without me, that I wanted to keep dancing past when they were ready to call it a night. Ryan had appeared at my side during a slower song, asking me to dance.Indulge me, he’d said, offering a hand and a sly smile.

I had.

One thing led to another, and now here we are.

“Because you were supposed to be a one-night stand. You turned it into more against my will.”

“Against your will?” he splutters like I haven’t already said it a hundred times.

“I saw the condom, Ryan. It—“

“Broke,” he interrupts. “It happens.”

“Sure, but this one had a pinprick in it. You broke it,beforewe had sex. On purpose. There’s no other explanation. I’m not stupid.”

All of a sudden, Ryan’s easy demeanor hardens and his face is far too close to mine. His fingers curl around my wrist, pinning my arm above me against the doorframe.

“I’m not stupid either,” he hisses. His sour breath is hot on my face, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of flinching. “Billy’s my son. I have a right to him.”

I lift my chin, willing my voice not to tremble with the fear swirling like a tide pool in my belly. “Not if you forced him on me. Not if his conception was a violation of my consent.”

His grip tightens, but I grit my teeth and raise my chin higher. With my free hand, I grapple with the back pocket of my jeans, trying to get a grip on my phone that’s stashed there.

“Billy’s mine,” Ryan growls. “You’remine.”

I manage to slip the phone from my pocket. Holding it behind my back, I squeeze the two buttons on either side of it — a clandestine way to call 911.

“No,” I say.

It’s a single word — hell, a single syllable — but it’s a complete sentence.

And one that enrages Ryan. His other hand finds my throat, slamming me against the door frame, choking me. “You think you can stop me from claiming what’s mine, bitch?”

Gasping for breath, I raise the phone with a trembling hand, tilting the screen so he can see how the line is open to 911. “Care to say that again, Ryan?” I manage.

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