Page 11 of Hunted By the Mountain Man

“Not you. Not from your car or your home. I refuse to let something happen to you, even though you insist on living recklessly. Why aren’t you still bunked up at the Paradise Inn?”

“Because my reservation ran out…”

“And?”

“And I’m between paychecks. That’s all.”

“I can cover your room.”

“And with all of the new media coverage, there are no vacancies,” she adds sadly, pointing up at the sign.

“Well, in that case, you’re bunking with me.”

“What?” she questions in a breathy tone somewhere between a hiss and a pant. It does devilish things to my semi-hard cock. “Weren’t you the stalker trying to convince me of how dangerous you were on the trail today?”

I shrug. “I was trying to convince you to stay off the HRT altogether. At least, until the copycat murderer is captured.”

“So, you think whoever’s doing this is copying someone else?”

I shrug, growling low in my throat. “Don’t quote me on anything. But that’s the direction the evidence may point. At least at first glance. But we can discuss all of this at my place.”

“I am not going with you to sleep at your place.”

“Either you’re riding in the passenger seat of my truck next to me, or I’m towing your ass in the back of the 4Runner. Those are your two options.”

She knits her brows. “This seems a little over the top.”

“Yes, I fucking am cover the top when it comes to your safety,” I confess, exasperated.

A warm smile crosses her still sleepy face, capturing my heart. “Then, youaremy guardian angel. Just like I thought.”

“I’m no angel, Butterfly, because I’d kill in a heartbeat—without hesitation or thoughts about right or wrong—to ensure your safety.”

“Let me grab my purse,” she says.

“Let me work on that tow strap.”

“B-b-but you don’t need to tow my vehicle,” she protests.

“My cabin’s not too far, and there’s no way in hell I’m trusting you to follow me. You seem to have a death wish, woman, and I’m not tempting it.” My eyes narrow on her. “You scared yet?”

“I would be,” she says, measuring her words carefully. “But I can’t shake the feeling you’re a good man, or that you have good intentions for me. Even if the way you go about protecting me is a bit … unorthodox.”

Before I can filter myself, I admit, “When it comes to the things I want most in this world, I will always be a bit unorthodox.”

“Me, too,” she says softly.

“Glad we have something in common, Butterfly.”

On the drive back to my cabin, Brynn makes herself at home in the cab next to me. She plays with my satellite radio, flipping from rock station to rock station before finally settling on Oasis’s “Wonderwall.”

“You and your weird Brit bands,” I chuckle before I catch myself.

“Wait, how do you know what kind of music I like?”

I raise an eyebrow, glancing in her direction. “I know a lot about you, Brynn. A week of candid observation will do that.”

Her cheeks redden. “Why have you been following me?”

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