Page 1 of My Protective Mountain Man

CHAPTER

ONE

SIERRA

This trip was supposedto be an hour… tops. Get in, close the deal, get back to the office—I’m now completely and terrifyingly lost in the mountains. And I’m sweating through my blouse before I’ve even turned off the engine of my car.

The Pines Forest in summer is a furnace. No breeze, no clouds, just heat radiating off the dirt road and the heavy scent of pine needles baking in the sun. I kill the engine and glance down at my phone again.

Still nothing. No bars. No GPS. Tall evergreens stretch high above me, their thick canopies knitting together like nature’s own cathedral ceiling, trapping me in an inferno. It smells like sap and soil and something ancient—clean, untamed.

But I’m not here for the trees or the silence or even the fresh mountain air that fills my lungs with every breath. I’m here for Everest. A little for Martin. And mostly for me and my unwavering desire to finalize the deal on this resort.

If we can pull it off, it’ll be the biggest thing this town’s ever seen—chalets, high-speed lifts, luxury spas. It’s the kind of thing that can make a developer’s career. And mine is on the line. I’ve put in twoyears—weekends, birthdays, relationships—all sacrificed so I could beindispensable. So I could earn Martin’strust. So I could finally get a seat at the table instead of pouring the coffee.

And now I’m here. In these woods. Onmyproject.

I pick my briefcase up off of the passenger seat and look over the surveyor's notes, my hands shaking slightly—I’ve got to make this work. Because if it doesn’t, I don’t want to explain it to him.

I work for the biggest developer in the state. Everyone wants to be him—or work for him. I used to be like that too. When I first got hired, I thought Martin was brilliant. Charismatic. Ruthless, but in that alpha male way that made people listen when he walked in a room.

Now I just think he’s disgusting.

I hear his voice in my head at every turn. He laughs at his clients dumb jokes, but there’s an edge to it—like he’s already imagining what he'll say tomewhen no one else is listening. When it's just us. When he can make his crude and unwanted comments.

He’ll touch me. He always does—an arm around my waist, a palm pressed to my lower back, a hand on my thigh when we’re seated too close together on purpose. It’s always subtle. Always deniable.

I don’t let him because Iwantto. I let him because I can’t afford not to. Because rent is expensive, my savings are gone, and if I don’t make it through this, I have nothing to show for the years I’ve given him. He could blackball me with a single phone call. He’s done it before. To women who were stronger than me. Louder. Braver.

And even if I walked away now…what then? I’ve built too much. I’ve come too far. Ineedthe payout from this project. My cut will be enough to finally break away—to start my own firm.Autonomy. Freedom. And most importantly no more roaming hands.

So I breathe in the clean mountain air and pretend I’m just admiring the forest. Pretend the sunlight is warming my skin and not the burn of humiliation that creeps up my neck every time I have to smile through one of his jokes or nod when he “accidentally” brushes against me.

I am stronger than this. And smarter than him.

I just have to make it to the other side. Through the trees. Through this trip. ThroughMartin. And then I’m free.

I mutter a curse under my breath. The address I got for Everest Smith is useless—there’s no signal out here, and even when therewas, the pin on the map kept shifting every time I zoomed in. Typical. The guy owns the most strategically placed ten-acre plot of land on the entire mountain, and somehow he’s managed to stay completely off the grid. No phone. No email. Just a damn P.O Box.

I squint through the windshield and think I see it—just beyond the tree line, something square and brown and possibly house-shaped.

Worth a shot.

I open the door of the car, and a wave of heat smacks me in the face like an oven blast. Immediately, my flats sink into soft dirt, and a pebble wedges itself between my heel and the shoe lining. Perfect. I brush off my slacks and start toward the silhouette in the woods.

By the time I reach the structure, I realize it’s not a house. It’s… a shed? No, more like the remains of one. Collapsed roof, rusted tin siding, no sign of life or even a path leading to or from it. I stop and put my hands on my hips, blinking hard against the sting of sweat in my eyes.Shit.

I turn around to head back toward the car—but the trees all look the same. There's no dirt road in sight. No break in the canopy. Just trees. And more trees. Green, endless, disorienting.

“Okay. No big deal,” I say out loud, my voice a little thinner than I’d like.

I pick a direction and start walking.

Twenty minutes later, I’m still walking. And panicking. My shirt is soaked, and my mouth is dry like cotton. I didn’t bring water. Or sunscreen. Or a damn hat. Who gets lost in the forest trying to buy land from a reclusive stranger and forgetswater?

Me, apparently.

I stop under a tree that offers the illusion of shade and sit on a thick root, slipping my shoes off with a groan. My feet are swollen, red, dusty. I lean my head back against the bark and close my eyes for a moment—just a moment—because I’m dizzy now, and the heat is pressing in from every side.

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