Page 6 of Engaged to the Mountain Man

“I want afucking towel,” I tell him, and the moment the dirty word leaves my mouth, I clap my hand over it. I spend too much time in the public eye to make a habit of cursing. To swear invites criticism of the crown.

But Rafael chuckles as he looks me up and down. He seems to realize that I might be cold. He tips his head in a gesture for me to follow him and leads me to the bathroom. It’s a huge, sprawling one complete with a hot tub in the corner. I gaze longingly at it. I’d give anything for a good soak, but there’s no time for that.

Right now, my mission is to convince my prince to return with me so we can marry and rule together. The prince doesn’t even seem to know he’s a prince. The thought makes me sad for him. He has no clue of his history, no idea of his people.

He passes me a towel. Our fingertips brush, and I suck in a breath at the electricity that arcs between us. I’ve never had that reaction to a man before. I thought it was the stuff in those silly rom-coms I watch late at night when I can’t sleep.

“So, if you’re from Vulcan…”

“Velkan,” I correct again as I undo my soggy ponytail and wring it out in the towel.

He watches me intently, some emotion I can’t describe flickering across his face. Is it longing? Loneliness, perhaps. “Then where is your magical prince from?”

“The neighboring Republic of Portia.”

“Ahh, of course.”

“You’ve heard of it?” A little bit of hope flutters in my heart. Maybe he can explain to me how he ended up here in the States where he grew up instead of with his family. The little information I managed to gather seems to suggest that most in the kingdom have no idea that Rafael is alive and well.

“Nope,” he calls over his shoulder as he retreats from the bathroom. He returns thirty seconds later with a t-shirt and boxers. He shoves them at me with a grunt. “You’ll catch your death of a cold.”

He gestures for me to change and turns his back to me.

I peel off my sticky clothes, using the towel to pat dry my skin and clean the mud from my feet. “When were you sent to America? It’s a weird place. They have no concept of personal space here. They bump right into you. I had the rudest woman next to me on the plane. Even spilled her peanuts on my lap.”

“Tell me again why you think I’m a prince,” he demands. He certainly has that air of authority that accompanies those who are royalty.

I glance at the clothes he gave me and decide that no matter what’s proper, I’m not wearing wet panties to bed. I shed my undergarments, adding them to the pile of wet clothes at my feet and tug on his black t-shirt. It’s more like a dress given that he’s a giant, and I’m a short girl. I don’t bother with the boxers. It would feel too intimate.

“I don’t think you’re a prince. Iknowyou’re one.” Violet personally reviewed the information. She’s always thorough, and she’s never led me wrong. “You can turn around now.”

“This is getting ridiculous. Tell you what. I’ll let you stay the night then tomorrow morning, we’ll get you a ride share. Hell, I’ll spring for it. And you’ll leave my mountain and never return.” He nods to himself as if the matter is settled.

I have no intention of leaving without the grumpy mountain man. He is my groom, and the sooner he accepts the fact, the faster we can be wed. But it’s late, and I’m tired. I’ll argue with the cranky giant tomorrow. “Very well. You may show me to my quarters.”

4

RAFE

“You didn’t haveto make her sleep on the lumpy couch, asshole.” I stare up at the exposed wood beams. I built this place after traveling around the country. The cabin is supposed to be my oasis, but it’s hard to be peaceful when I can feel her presence. I can sense her shifting on the couch and hear each soft sigh as she attempts to get comfortable.

“This is ridiculous,” I mutter as I reach for my phone. I know damn well she’s not a princess even if she does happen to bear a striking resemblance to the woman from Velkan, which still doesn’t sound like a real country to me.

Roman answers on the first ring. “You remember my scammer?”

He grunts, and I realize that it’s past midnight. I should apologize, but I need this resolved. I need to know she’s a liar so I can stop thinking about her pert breasts heaving beneath my t-shirt, about how seeing her in my clothes made me want to pound on my chest like some caveman. “She’s here.”

“Fuck.” Roman finally sounds awake. “Do you have a gun with you?”

“She’s not a threat,” I scoff. Unless he counts her as a threat to my sanity because I nearly lost my mind when I saw those perfect, creamy thighs peeking out from under my t-shirt. Never wanted to drop to my knees. Never wanted to spread a woman and discover all of her secret places. She’s fucking with my brain, that’s why I have to get Roman to remind me she’s a liar.

With a deep breath, I quickly recap the situation. He’ll know how to track down information. He spent years in prison before building a reputable construction business which means he has an endless list of contacts on both sides of the law.

“And you don’t remember anything before age five?” Roman repeats, clinging to that detail for some reason.

I push back the image of a woman with dark hair, one who spoke kindly to me and read bedtime stories.She’s not real.I have to remind myself of that. She’s a figment of my imagination, a memory a little boy manufactured to make himself feel safe while growing up in the system.

My voice wavers, “Nothing relevant.”

---