Page 12 of Claim Me, Colt

"I know enough."

"What if I'm terrible company? What if I cry all the time or eat all your food or—"

I cross the room and cup her face in my hands, cutting off her words. "What if you paint every day and laugh at my terrible jokes and make this place feel like home instead of just a hideout?"

Her breath catches. "Colt..."

"I'm not asking you to marry me tomorrow," I say. "I'm just asking you to stay long enough to figure out who you are when nobody's watching. You owe it to yourself."

And yeah, I have selfish motives, too…

She searches my eyes for a long moment. "What about my family? The media? They'll come looking eventually."

"Let them come. This mountain doesn't give up its secrets easily."

A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. "Is that what I am? Your secret?"

"You're whatever you want to be."

She rises on her toes and kisses me, soft and sure.

"Then I want to stay," she whispers against my lips. “For now.”

For nowwill have to do... until I can convince her to stay forever.By God, I’m going to try like hell to keep her.

Chapter 7

Simone

Threedayslater,I'mchopping vegetables for dinner when I hear the vehicles. The grinding rumble of SUVs climbing the mountain road grows louder by the minute.

They’ve found me.

Colt appears in the kitchen doorway. His expression is grim but unsurprised—like he's been expecting this moment since I first walked into his cabin.

"How many?" I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.

He moves to the window, peers through the curtain. "Three vehicles. Government plates."

My father's cleanup crew.I should have known he wouldn't let his perfect political princess disappear without a fight. Notwhen there's an election in eighteen months and my engagement to Jonathan was supposed to be the centerpiece of his family values campaign.

"They can't make me go back," I say, more to convince myself than him.

"No," Colt agrees. "They can't."

But we both know they'll try.

The vehicles pull into the clearing. Two black SUVs and my father's signature Town Car. Doors slam in quick succession, and I count the people as they emerge.

Secret Service agents in dark suits. My father's chief of staff, Marcus Turner, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. A woman I don't recognize with a tablet and the careful smile of a crisis management specialist.

And my father.

Senator William Morrison steps out of the Town Car like he's walking onto a debate stage—tall, silver-haired, radiating the kind of authority that's opened doors for him his entire life. He straightens his tie and surveys Colt's cabin with the expression of a man who's found something distasteful on the bottom of his shoe.

"Showtime," I murmur.

Colt's hand finds mine, squeezes once. "You don't have to do this alone."

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