Page 14 of Runaway for the Mountain Man
She groans, dragging a hand down her face. “Not helping.”
I laugh, low and rough, before reaching over to adjust the hat on her head, my fingers lingering just a second too long. “Let’s get you inside, sweetheart. Before your fan club spots you.”
Her eyes meet mine—wide, a little panicked, but trusting. I’d be a liar if I said that doesn’t do something stupid to my chest.
“After we’re done, you tell me where you want to go, and I’ll take you there. Be it the airport two towns over or…” My throat tightens up, and I swallow. “Wherever you want.”
I can’t even suggest my cabin. I want to, fuck. But now, my head is spinning. Now I’m finding it even harder to believe a woman like her would want to settle down with a nobody like me.
Taking in a deep breath, I’m the one pushing open the door first so we can get this show on the road.
5
Josie
We walk toward the crowd, and if it weren’t for Bentley towering over me from behind and looking like a bodyguard, I might have already twisted around and booked it.
My poor attempt at a disguise is useless, and I’m recognized all but immediately.
I hear the questions thrown my way, people asking why I ran, and I’ve always hated this kind of attention.
Thankfully, I have a distraction. It’s the warmth radiating from Bentley’s palm as he presses it against the middle of my back. They’ve got questions for him, too, all wondering who he is, but he doesn’t humor them with even a glance.
The cops who notice us have questions too, and I don’t have much choice but to answer them. Thankfully, they don’t poke and prod. When our stories match, the one talking to me tells me the words I already know.
My mother is waiting on the other side of the door.
It’s unlocked, as if it’s waiting to be pushed open, and I freeze.
Memories rush in—her clipped tone, the way her perfectly manicured fingers would tap against her champagne glass when I disappointed her, the endless expectations I could never quite meet each time I tried following in her footsteps.
Each time I tried to be good enough.
My chest tightens, fingers curling into fists at my sides. Then Bentley’s lips brush against my ear, his voice a low, grounding rumble.
“Tell me where everything is, and I’ll grab it for you.”
Simple. Uncomplicated. For me. Something cracks open in my chest, warm and aching.
Because this man—this rough, kind, impossibly steady man—doesn’t just see the version of me the world wants. He sees the mess beneath it all, and instead of running, he’s here. Offering to walk into the lion’s den for me.
That’s when I know. He’s it.
Not the fleeting kind of love, not the kind that burns bright and fades when the cameras do. Bentley is the kind of man who stays. Who shows up. Who sees me for who I really am.
My breath hitches.
I want to give him my heart. All of it—the bruised parts, the hopeful parts, the pieces I’ve spent years guarding behind smiles and scripted interviews. I want to press it into his hands and trust him to keep it safe.
Protect it like those he’s thrown himself in front of in his own career.
But first, we have to face my mother.
The air in the motel room feels thick with unspoken tension as I move toward my suitcase, my fingers brushing over the worn fabric. It’s already been packed, by the looks of it. My mother’s gaze burns into my back, sharp and assessing.
If I had to guess, she’s ready to leave this place so she can start her hunt for another man whom I haven’t offended.
“This is Bentley,” I introduce over my shoulder, my voice surprisingly steady. Cracking open the case, I’m relieved to find my phone and wallet inside. I’m terrified to look at the notifications, so I save it for a time when I’m in a better headspace.
