Page 22 of The Mountain Man's Untamed Bride
"Yet here I am," she countered, resting her palms against my chest. "Aren't you going to at least see what you got?"
"That outfit doesn't leave much to the imagination," I said, glancing at her deliberate costume.
"Sometimes the smallest packages contain the best surprises," she replied, close enough now that the cabin suddenly felt too small, too warm, too confining for what was building between us.
I should have stepped back. Should have maintained distance. But I'd been alone too long, and despite all the reasons this was a terrible idea, I couldn't deny how much I wanted her.
I dipped my head toward hers, hesitating just a breath away, giving her one last chance to back away.
She met my challenge head-on instead.
When our mouths met, it felt like the moment before a summer storm breaks—all that built-up tension finally finding release. She tasted like the wild mountain berries that grow on my property—sweet with an unexpected bite. I pulled her closer, the feel of her curves against me sending heat racing through my body. She made a sound low in her throat that hit me harder than any physical blow I'd taken.
I gripped her hair, steadying her the way I would brace myself before felling a difficult tree. Backing her against the wall, I felt her body align perfectly with mine. She wrapped her leg around my hip, pulling me tighter, making it damn near impossible to remember why I'd been keeping my distance.
Her hands slipped under my shirt, exploring with obvious appreciation. I traced the edges where lace met skin, memorizing the contrast between delicate fabric and warm flesh.
"Bedroom," she breathed against my lips, the word half-demand, half-question.
Her body against mine felt right in a way I hadn't experienced in years. But even as desire clouded my thoughts,something sharper cut through—suspicion. The watch. The Mercedes. Her fear.
For a second, my resolve cracked like ice in spring thaw. But this wasn't about me. I was just convenient shelter from whatever storm was chasing her.
I stepped back, breaking contact. She blinked up at me, confusion replacing desire in her expression.
"What's wrong?" She reached for me again.
I moved further away, needing distance to think clearly. "This. The whole performance. You're not here for me."
She stared like I'd suddenly started speaking another language. "Are you blind? I'm half-naked and practically begging you to take me to bed."
"That's exactly my point." I pushed my hair back from my face. "This isn't about wanting me. It's about using me to solve some other problem."
Her eyes narrowed. "I want you," she said simply, her eyes briefly dropping before meeting mine again with surprising directness. "And clearly, you want me too."
I held up the watch instead of responding to that. "Who does this belong to? What are you running from?"
The seduction act she'd been putting on wavered, then disappeared completely. With a deep sigh that seemed to deflate her whole body, she moved to the couch, carefully moving aside the banana peel and vibrator from her earlier attempts.
"It's Langley's," she admitted, sinking onto the cushions. "My fiancé."
I sat beside her, leaving enough space between us that I could think straight.
"Fiancé?" I stared at her, pieces suddenly clicking into place—her desperation to get away, the seduction attempts, everything. "You're running from your own wedding?"
She nodded, staring at her hands. "Langley Richardson," she confirmed. "Harvard Law. Son of my father's biggest church donor. Complete nightmare behind closed doors. My father arranged the whole thing."
"He followed you here."
"Somehow." A humorless laugh escaped her. "I was so careful—paid cash, avoided highways, told no one where I was going."
"Yet he found you."
"Yet he found me." She glanced toward the door, a small shiver running through her. "Do you think he's still out there?"
"Not right now. But he'll be back." I noticed how different she looked without the flirtation and sharp edges—smaller, younger, genuinely afraid. "Tell me everything, Scarlett."
She took a deep breath and began explaining. Her father, a televangelist with political connections, had essentially sold her to the Richardson family, arranging the marriage to benefit his ministry. She'd emptied a secret account and fled, finding Mountain Mates during a desperate search for somewhere to hide.
