Page 17 of The Mountain Man's Prize

Her answer is a kiss, soft and sweet and sure, that tastes of salt and redemption and home.

nine

Lila

His confessions echoin my mind as I watch him sleep. The hardness of his face softens in slumber, years falling away from his features. My fingers hover above the scar that cuts through his eyebrow, not quite touching, afraid to wake him. Beau—my mountain man, my captor, my lover—laid bare his soul to me today, showed me the wounds that run deeper than flesh. The belt buckle that split his brow, the father who taught him violence, the military that weaponized his pain, the fear that drove him to these woods. Now I understand his desperate grip on me, his terror of being alone again. It's not possession; it's survival. He's a drowning man and I'm his air. But tonight I need him to understand something vital: I'm not here because he caught me. I'm here because I choose to be.

The afternoon faded into evening as I tended his injured ankle, replaced the bandages, brought him food and water. He accepted my care with a vulnerability that made my chest ache, his eyes following my every movement as if memorizing me, as if I might vanish the moment he looked away. Now he sleeps, exhausted from pain and emotion, his large body sprawled across the bed we share, one arm stretched into the empty space where I should be.

I slip from the cabin as quietly as I can, retrieving something from the hiding place where I stashed it days ago. A small luxury I've been saving, though for what occasion, I wasn't sure until now. When I return, the fire has burned low, casting the cabin in a warm, amber glow. I add another log, watching the flames lick at the fresh wood, gathering my courage.

What I'm about to do terrifies me. Not because I doubt my feelings—those have crystallized with surprising clarity—but because I've never been the one to initiate, to take control. I've always followed, reacted, responded. But Beau needs more than my passive acceptance. He needs to know I'm active in this choice. That I see him—all of him—and still want him.

I check his ankle once more, relieved to find the bandages clean, no fresh bleeding. His breath comes deep and even, face relaxed in sleep. My mountain man, vulnerable at last.

The small bathroom off the main room has no door, just a curtain for privacy. I slip behind it, stripping off my clothes—his clothes, really, the oversized flannel and cotton shorts I've been living in. My reflection in the small mirror above the sink shows a woman I barely recognize. My hair falls in loose waves past my shoulders, my skin glows with health despite the fading bruises from the storm, my eyes hold a certainty I've never seen there before.

I open the small packet I retrieved from outside—travel-sized bath products from my backpack, salvaged after the storm. The scent of lavender rises as I quickly wash, a small feminine indulgence in this rugged, masculine space. When I'm done, I don't dress, don't cover myself. Instead, I reach for the single candle on the shelf, lighting it with a match from Beau's supply.

Heart pounding, I step from behind the curtain, naked but for the candlelight dancing on my skin. The cabin is warm from the fire, but goosebumps rise on my flesh anyway—from anticipation, from the boldness of what I'm doing.

I approach the bed slowly, the candle casting enough light to navigate but not enough to wake him immediately. Setting it on the bedside table, I study him one more time—the strong lines of his face, the beard that scratches deliciously against my skin, the breadth of shoulders built from years of physical labor. Mine. As surely as I am his.

I ease onto the bed beside him, the mattress dipping beneath my weight. He stirs, instincts honed by years of solitude bringing him to alertness even in sleep. His eyes open, instantly finding mine in the dim light.

"Lila?" His voice is rough with sleep, concern immediately creasing his brow. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," I whisper, placing a finger against his lips. "Everything's right."

His gaze drops, registering my nakedness, pupils dilating until only a thin ring of blue remains. His hand lifts as if to touch me, then hesitates, a question in his eyes.

Instead of answering with words, I move to straddle him, the blanket still separating us, my bare skin glowing golden in the candlelight. His breath catches, hands coming to rest instinctively on my hips.

"What are you doing, little dove?" he asks, voice deeper now, roughened with desire.

I take his hands in mine, lifting them to my lips, pressing kisses to each scarred knuckle. "Showing you," I murmur against his skin. "Choosing you."

A sound escapes him—part groan, part sigh. "Lila?—"

"No," I interrupt gently. "Let me. Please."

Something in my voice must convince him, because he relaxes back against the pillows, surrendering control to me. The trust in that simple action makes my heart swell.

I lean down, bracing my hands on either side of his head, letting my hair fall around us like a curtain, creating a private world of just the two of us. My lips brush his, a whisper of a kiss that has him straining upward, seeking more.

"I saw you today," I murmur against his mouth. "All of you. The pain. The fear. The strength it took to survive." I kiss the scar at his eyebrow, then the one at the corner of his mouth, just as I did earlier. "And I'm still here."

His hands tighten on my hips, but he doesn't take control, doesn't flip me beneath him as he so easily could. He watches me with an intensity that should be intimidating but instead empowers me.

I sit up, still straddling him, and slowly pull the blanket down, revealing his chest, his stomach, the waistband of the sweatpants he sleeps in. My fingers trace the contours of his muscles, the scattered scars that tell their own stories of his life before me.

"I want you to understand something," I say, voice soft but steady. "I'm not here because you caught me in a storm. I'm not here because you're keeping me from leaving." I lean down again, pressing a kiss to the center of his chest, right over his heart. "I'm here because this is where I want to be. With you. Because I choose you, Beau."

His breathing quickens, his eyes never leaving mine. "Lila," he whispers, my name a prayer on his lips.

I ease back, tugging at his sweatpants. He lifts his hips, mindful of his injured ankle, helping me pull them down and off. Now we're both naked, vulnerable, equal. I settle back across his thighs, feeling his arousal hard against my belly.

"Let me love you," I whisper. "Let me show you."

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