Page 13 of The Mountain Man's Runaway Bride

Her body presses more firmly against mine. I can feel myself growing hard again with only the towel and flannel separating us. We’re in unchartered territory now. It’s dangerous. Reckless.

But it’s too late.

I could kiss her forever.

Until she freezes. “What was that?”

She pulls back, gasping for breath, and her nails bite my shoulders. Her eyes grow wide again.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t?—”

“I didn’t mean that.”

“No.” I shake my head, furious with myself for crossing a line. “It’s fine.”

“No, I?—”

“That shouldn’t have happened. It was a mistake.”

Her face falls. She looks like I just told her Christmas was cancelled.

I hate myself for making her look like that.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” she says quickly. “I just saw something else over your shoulder and?—”

“That doesn’t change anything,” I interrupt. “I still crossed a line.”

“Knox—”

“You’re leaving, Quincy. This—whatever it is—it can’t go anywhere. It can’t.”

Her mouth opens, then closes. She crosses her arms and glares at a nearby tree. “I didn’t ask for this either,” she says quietly.

I flinch.

Silence stretches between us. The only sound is the wind blowing through the branches.

Finally, she meets my gaze again. “You won’t break me, Knox.”

I look at her sharply. She has no idea how far from the truth the words could be.

I shake my head. “I could.”

And before I can change my mind. Before I can pull her back into my arms and sink back into the haze of our kiss, I stride back to the cabin.

She says I won’t break her. But that’s a risk I’m not willing to take.

FIVE

QUINCY

I don’t expect him to return so soon.

But then again, I also don’t expect to be up, dressed, and barefoot in a stranger’s kitchen like it’s a completely normal thing to do the morning after nearly kissing the man.

Yet here I am—standing at the stove in one of the comfiest flannels I’ve ever worn (pretty sure it’s his), humming under my breath while the scent of cinnamon fills the air.

I don’t hear the front door open over the sizzle of butter, but Idohear the shift in energy.

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