Page 13 of My Mountain Man Stalker
And that’s the part I can’t stop thinking about.
He doesn’t flirt. Doesn’t touch. He barelylooksat me longer than necessary. But every little thing he does is laced with this quiet intensity that makes my skin prickle.
He makes sure I eat, always setting food in front of me even if he doesn’t join. When the fire dies low, he’s already tossing more logs in before I can even say I’m cold. When I fell asleep reading on the floor last night, I woke up tucked into the bed with a blanket over me and a fire burning hot again.
He never says much.
But he doesn’thaveto.
Liam talked all the time. Loud. Arrogant. Always knew the right thing to say, and somehow still made it sound like an insult. When we met, I thought it was confidence. I thought it was exciting—being wanted by someone so sure of himself.
But it wasn’t confidence. It was control.
The kind that coils around you slowly, like a snake. Whispering things that make you question yourself. Telling you he’s all you need. That no one else would want you.
He never did what Hale does.
Never made me feelsafe.
I glance around the cabin. It’s cleaner than it was when I got here—mostly thanks to me. I needed something to do besides pacing and fantasizing about a man who keeps sleeping on the goddamn floor to avoid touching me.
I’ve scrubbed the floors, reorganized the kitchen, sorted the gear in the corner closet, and wiped down every surface I could find. I even folded his clothes. Which is… not normal behavior. But nothing about this situation is normal.
This shouldn’t feel likehome.
And yet it kind of does.
I step into the room slowly, my fingers trailing across the edge of the table. “How many knives do youhave, exactly?”
Hale looks up, his eyes sweeping over me in that calm, unreadable way that makes my stomach flutter. “Enough.”
“Of course.” I smile. “Do you ever give actual answers, or is everything classified?”
He doesn't smile, but I catch a flicker of something at the edge of his mouth. Almost.
“I tell you what you need to know.”
“I want to knowyou, Hale.”
He freezes.
Just for a second.
Then he goes back to sharpening the blade, slower now.
I lean in closer, standing just on the other side of the table. “I’m not asking for your blood type or your kill count,” I say, voice soft. “Just… tell me something real. One thing.”
He lifts his gaze again, and this time, he doesn’t look away.
“You’re too young for me.”
My breath catches.
That wasn’t what I asked, but it answers so much more.
“I didn’t ask that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
