Page 12 of The Mountain Man's Runaway Bride

“Oh, God, I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I freaked out over nothing.”

“Hey.” I tip her chin up. “You’re in the middle of bear country. That’s allowed. In fact, it’s smart to be cautious.”

Her lips tremble into a half-smile.

“I didn’t mean to scream like that,” she says. “I was just getting into the sauna when I saw something move out of the corner of my eye. My brain wentbearand?—”

“You did the right thing,” I make circles on her back, trying to soothe her with my touch and words. “But, next time, if it is a bear, there are a few things you can do to be safe.”

She sniffs. “Like what? Make myself look big and scream?”

“Not exactly. It depends on the bear.”

Her bottom lip trembles. Before the fear takes hold of her again, I explain.

“If it’s a black bear, yeah, go ahead and make yourself big, backing away slowly while you make noise. That scream of yours packs a punch.”

She grins at that.

“Now, if it’s a grizzly, you don’t run. You don’t make eye contact. You don’t speak. You just slowly move away.”

Her brows lift. “And if it comes after me?”

“You play dead.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep. Lie flat on the ground, cover your neck, and say a little prayer he leaves you alone.”

Her face goes pale. “Well, that’s terrifying.”

“Sure, but if it comes to you and a bear, my money is on you.”

She smiles brightly again, this time it lights up her whole face in a way that lifts the gloom I’ve been carrying around me like a coat. The wind picks up, lifting a lock of her brown hair. Without thinking, I tuck it behind her ear. Her face tilts toward mine, and my finger trails along the curve of her cheek.

Our gazes lock.

It flips a switch inside of me.

I should step back. Give her room to breathe.

Instead, my fingers curl under her jaw and raise it even higher until our mouth are a breath apart. Her lips part, and she lets out a light breath that tickles my nose.

“Quincy.”

“Knox,” she whispers back.

After that, I’m lost.

I lower my mouth to hers. Slow and deliberate. Our lips meet, and everything stops.

There’s no wind. No trees. No self pity and no doubt.

Her mouth is soft against mine as she kisses me back. It’s tentative at first. But then she leans in, her palms sliding up my bare chest to cling to my shoulders.

Pulling her more closely to me, I devour her mouth. Kissing her like a man starving. I am a man starving. Starving for her.

And she tastes… She tastes sweet, like honey. There’s something else. Something uniquely Quincy, and it’s intoxicating. Like too much whiskey on a night out.

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