Page 17 of My Protective Mountain Man

Everest takes my hand, and I feel his fingers thread between mine. Strong. Steady. Unshakable.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says.

I nod, tears burning behind my eyes. Not sadness. Gratitude.

He leads me out of the boardroom, out of the building, and into the light of a future I hadn’t dared hope for.

And I don’t look back. Because Everest came for me. He came when I thought all hope was lost.

And this time, I’m not just walking away from the life I thought I wanted.

I’m running toward the one I know I want. The one I deserve.

CHAPTER

EIGHT

EVEREST

The woods are quiet,holding their breath, as if they know something is different now. Something important. Sierra is beside me in the front seat, her fingers loosely tangled with mine. The warmth of her skin against mine is the only proof I need that this is real. She’s here. She chose to come back.

I glance over at her. The sunlight kisses her cheekbones, sets her hair aglow, and something inside me clenches with a kind of awe I can’t describe. She’s not just beautiful—she’s luminous. There’s peace in her expression, but also something that stirs me deeper. Strength. Softness. Resilience.

For a long moment, I don’t say anything. I just breathe her in. The curve of her mouth. The way her chest rises and falls with slow, steady breaths. The slight furrow in her brow like she’s thinking hard about something but doesn’t want to say it yet.

Finally, she speaks.

“Are you mad at me?” she asks, her voice soft. “For lying?”

I glance over at her, taking in the way her face is half-turned toward the window, like she can’t quite bear to meet my eyes.

“I guess you didn’t really lie. You just should have told me who you were from the start. I felt… used. Like everything we had was built on a false start. It was more disappointing becauseso many people come up here and all they want is my land. I thought I finally had someone who came up here for me.”

She nods slowly, eyes downcast, bracing for something worse. But I’m not done.

“But then I remembered something,” I continue. “You never asked me to sell. Not once. You didn’t even bring it up. You could’ve come here like all the others—pushy, polished, with some too-good-to-be-true offer—but you didn’t.”

She finally looks at me. There’s hope in her eyes, but it’s fragile.

“I didn’t,” she whispers. “I couldn’t. Once I saw you, I didn’t care about the project… I only cared about you.”

“And that’s how I knew,” I say. “That the woman sitting across from me, telling me about her mom and how pancakes make her feel safe—that was the real you. That was the part I fell for.”

Her lips part like she wants to say something, but I reach over and take her hand, threading my fingers through hers.

“I can’t be mad at you for having a job,” I add. “Hell, your job is what brought you to me in the first place. If things had gone how you planned, you wouldn’t still be here. You are more than your job.”

“I’m here because I want to be,” she says. “Not because of work. Not because of the resort. Because of you.”

That hits me like a warm shot of whiskey—burning, deep, but good.

I bring her hand to my lips and kiss her knuckles, slow and steady.

“Well,” I murmur, “then I guess we’re both exactly where we’re supposed to be.”

I reach over and slide my palm along her thigh, anchoring myself to her. “You belong to me now,” I say, my voice low,rough with truth. Not a demand. Not even a declaration. Just the simple, undeniable fact of it.

She turns her head to look at me, her eyes deep and clear and steady. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she whispers.

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