Page 9 of Pretending with the Mountain Man
His hand rises, hesitates, then gently tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. The simple touch sends electricity coursing through me.
"They're reasons," he corrects. "Good ones."
"But not the real reason," I whisper.
Malik's eyes darken. "The real reason is that once I start something, I finish it. And you have no idea what you're asking for."
The promise in those words makes my knees weak. We stand there, inches apart, the air crackling with tension. His gaze drops to my mouth, and I sway toward him.
The sharp ring of his phone shatters the moment. Malik steps back, pulling the device from his pocket. His expression shifts as he reads the screen.
"It's Jake, my boss," he says, voice suddenly all business. "They've identified the man asking questions."
"Is it Jason?" Fear spikes through me, cold and familiar.
Malik's eyes meet mine, and I see both relief and concern there. "No. Not Jason."
"Then who?"
"A private investigator." He runs a hand over his short hair. "Hired by someone in Toronto to track your movements."
The relief is short-lived as implications sink in. "Jason hired him."
"Most likely." Malik's jaw tightens. "But this changes things. PIs usually observe, not engage. If he's asking questions openly, he's either bad at his job or..."
"Or what?"
"Or he wants you to know you're being watched." Malik's protective instinct visibly kicks in. "I’m staying here with you tonight. We'll figure out next steps in the morning."
I nod, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline of the evening catches up to me all at once.
"The bedroom's through there," he says, nodding toward a hallway. "I'll take the couch."
"You don't have to?—"
"I do." His tone brooks no argument. "Get some rest, Melody. You're safe here."
As I turn to go, I pause. "Malik? Thank you. For everything."
He gives me a small nod, his eyes holding mine for a beat too long. "Goodnight, Melody."
I retreat to the bedroom, closing the door behind me. My fingers rise to touch my lips, where his kiss almost happened. Where I wanted it to happen.
This is dangerous territory. But despite every logical reason to keep my distance, all I can think about is how it felt to almost be in his arms, to have those dark eyes focused entirely on me, to feel seen, protected, and desired all at once.
I'm playing with fire. But for once in my pathetic life, I feel alive.
CHAPTER FOUR
MALIK
Sleep doesn't come. I lie on the couch, staring at the ceiling, every creak of the cabin amplified in the darkness. My body is exhausted, but my mind races, replaying that moment in the kitchen when I almost crossed a line I swore I wouldn't cross.
Melody Washington. Twenty-six years old. My daughter's best friend. Running from a man who hurt her.
The way I want her consumes me in a way that terrifies me.
"Get your shit together, Harris," I mutter into the darkness.
