Page 4 of Claimed By the Mountain Man

“What exactly did my brother tell you?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me. “In these messages?”

She blushed, and the color spreading across her cheeks did things to my insides I didn’t want to examine too closely. “He talked about the mountain. About wanting to share it with someone. He mentioned your survival tours, how you help people connect with nature.” She met my eyes. “He made you sound... lonely.”

“I’m not lonely,” I said automatically. But even to my own ears, it sounded defensive.

“No?” She raised an eyebrow. “Then why did your brother think you needed a mail-order bride?”

“Because Ethan thinks everyone needs to live life his way. In the middle of everything, surrounded by people, constantlyconnected.” I ran a hand through my hair, frustrated. “He doesn’t understand that some of us prefer the quiet.”

“And do you?” she asked softly. “Prefer the quiet?”

I looked at her then, really looked at her. At the way she fit into my kitchen like she belonged there, at the curiosity and challenge in her eyes, at the curves that made my hands itch to touch. At the way she made my carefully constructed solitude feel less like peace and more like hiding.

“I used to think so.” The words came out before I could stop them.

Something flashed in her eyes—hope, maybe, or understanding. She opened her mouth to respond, but I cut her off, pushing away from the table.

“You should get some sleep. I’m afraid the couch is all I can offer. There’s only one bedroom. Blankets are in the trunk by the fireplace.” I knew I needed to put some space between us before I did something stupid like ask her to share my bed.

“Right.” She stood, and for a moment we were too close, the kitchen suddenly too small to contain whatever this was between us. “Thank you. For letting me stay.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Because the truth was, having her here felt dangerous. It was the same sensation I got when I stood on the edge of the mountain, looking down.

That night, lying in my bed, I could hear her moving around in the living room. Small sounds that shouldn’t have been so disruptive to my peace of mind—the rustle of blankets, the soft pad of feet, the creak of the couch. Each noise a reminder that my sanctuary had been invaded.

But as I drifted off to sleep, I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, Ethan wasn’t entirely wrong. Maybe what I needed wasn’t more solitude, but someone to share it with.

Someone like Samantha.

CHAPTER THREE

SAMANTHA

I hadn’t slept much. How could I, when my dreams were filled with shirtless mountain men and heated glances? Every time I’d dozed off, I’d imagined those strong hands on my body, wondered what that stubbled jaw would feel like against my inner thighs. By morning, I was frustrated and more than a little worked up.

Coffee. I needed coffee.

I folded up the blanket and headed to the kitchen, surprised I’d woken before him. Weren’t mountain men supposed to be up at the crack of dawn? Last night’s dreams had certainly featured him chopping wood at sunrise, sweat glistening on those impressive muscles...

Focus, Samantha.

It didn’t take me long to discover he had no coffee maker. Just a beat up old percolator sitting on top of the stove. Thankfully, it was a gas stove, so I didn’t have to heat water in the fireplace to get my morning dose of caffeine. And there was running water. Not that I’d thought there wouldn’t be, but I was very grateful. The cabin wasn’t truly rustic, but it was… minimalistic?

His kitchen was impressively organized, so it didn’t take me long to find the coffee and savor the smell as it brewed. Deciding that a man like Logan had to fuel up first thing in the morning,I opened the fridge. Taking out bacon and eggs, I started breakfast. Deciding to impress him with my skills, I whipped up a batch of biscuits. The bacon was done and the biscuits browning when the front door opened.

I jumped at the sound. Had Logan lied? Did someone live with him?

Nope I discovered, peeking around the kitchen wall. It was Logan. Fresh from the great outdoors.

He strode in, his cheeks flushed from the cold, chest heaving slightly like he’d been running. His shoulders broad like the mountain where he lived. The man was built like a fantasy. I’d spent half the night remembering what he’d looked like when he’d answered the door.

“Oh,” I said. “Where did you come from?”

He hung his coat by the door. The sight of it next to mine caused more than a tiny flutter in my stomach. “From a cabbage patch according to my mother.”

My jaw almost dropped at his teasing. “I, uh. Well, I hope you learned more about the birds and bees since then.” Of course, my cheeks flushed a bright red at my words. My very brave words.

“What’s that I smell? Did you manage to make coffee?”

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