Page 9 of My Protective Mountain Man

“Yeah—yes,” I say quickly, too quickly. I zip up my purse like sealing a vault and stand up, trying to keep my face neutral. “I think I forgot my wallet. I just—uh—I should go check outside, see if maybe it fell when I first got here.”

His eyes narrow, and I can see something mischievous in his face. God I hope he believes me. I think I scooped all of the little cards that could betray me back into my purse before he saw anything, but I’m not sure. I need a minute to myself to regroup just in case.

My hand’s on the doorknob. I can feel the heat of Everest’s eyes on my back, the tension in the room behind me thick like a storm about to break. I try to remember how to breathe, but everything inside me is tangled. I’m two seconds away from walking out onto that porch and pretending to look for a wallet that’s definitely still in my purse—anything to avoid the questions I can see building in his eyes.

But before I can twist the knob, I hear his voice behind me—firm and low.

“You can’t leave.”

I freeze.

The words hit me square in the spine. My fingers tighten around the handle, but I don’t move. I can’t. My heart leaps into my throat, caught between fear and something else—something hot and dizzying that I can’t quite name.

Slowly, I turn toward him.

He’s standing in the center of the room, one hand still resting on the back of the chair he pushed away when he stood. His eyes are steady, piercing. But there’s no anger in them. No suspicion. Just… emotion. Raw, honest, and pouring out of him in quiet waves.

“I mean it,” he says, taking a step closer. “Don’t go.”

I swallow hard. “Why?”

He hesitates, then exhales, as if he’s finally decided to let go of something he’s been holding inside.

“Because it’s been a long damn time since I’ve felt this way about someone,” he says. “And I’d be a fool to let you walk out that door. You came into my life like lightning, Sierra. Out of nowhere. And I don’t want to go back to the silence I had before you.”

My heart stutters.

“I don’t know what this is yet,” he continues, voice quieter now, “but I know it’s real. I know I don’t want it to end. You’re staying.”

The air between us shifts. The fear gripping my chest loosens. My posture softens before I even realize it—I don’t have to fake anything. He doesn’t know about the business cards, doesn’t suspect a thing. Right now, he just wantsme. Not for what I can give him or take from him—but because something in both of us has started to bloom, and he wants to see where it goes.

Relief crashes over me like a wave. Warm and dizzying and dangerously sweet.

I take a step closer. Then another. Until I’m right in front of him, and his hands are hovering just inches from my waist like he’s afraid he might scare me off if he touches me too soon.

“I wasn’t really planning to leave,” I whisper.

He lets out a breath, and his hands find my hips. Steady. Gentle. “Good.”

I lean in, resting my forehead against his chest, the steady beat of his heart grounding me.

The weight of his hands on my hips makes my breath catch. It’s not aggressive. It’s not rushed. It’s steady and sure—like he’s anchoring me there. Like he wants to make sure I don’t float away.

I don’t want to float away. I want to stayright here.

My heart pounds so loudly I swear he must hear it. The space between our faces shrinks, the air around us thickening with something unspoken but undeniable. My lips part slightly, and I see it—that flicker in his eyes. Like he’s asking for permission, even now, even with the world slowing around us and gravity pulling us into each other like magnets too long kept apart.

And I give it. I lean in, just barely. That’s all it takes. His lips meet mine, and the second they do, everythingstops.

His mouth is warm and soft, but there’s fire there, too—controlled, restrained, but desperate to be released. I feel it in the way his grip tightens at my waist, pulling me closer. I rise up on my toes to meet him, my hands sliding to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. He’s solid underneath. Warm. Real. Andmine—at least in this moment.

The kiss deepens—slow and reverent, like he’s trying to memorize me.

And I’m doing the same.

There’s something sotenderin it, wrapped up in the heat. It’s not just want. It’s more. It’s like he’s been waiting for this—forme—and now that he has me, he’s never letting go.

He groans softly into my mouth, and the sound makes something inside me unravel. My fingers slide up to his neck, tangling in the scruff of his hair, pulling him even closer. I feel his heartbeat where our bodies touch, wild and steady, a perfect match to mine.

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