Page 9 of Runaway for the Mountain Man
My eyes drift toward the bookcase, and I don’t dare ask about the flag. Instead, I focus on the purple hearts.
“Three of those are crazy. I get you’re built like a tree, but you know how insane that is, right?”
He nods, swallowing thickly. “Didn’t want to lose men I saw as family. Keeping them alive made it easy to put myself in the line of fire.”
He points to where he’d been hit against his shirt. Two bullet wounds to his chest, both missing vital points miraculously. Thethird, he tilts his chin back and points to a patch missing where his beard is. I can see the faded scar, a slit.
The horror on my face says it all. In return, he chuckles.
“I’m alive and lucky. They used to joke around and say I had nine lives. Three near deaths were enough for me. After the last injury, I got honorably discharged. It was my breaking point. Now I can’t…” He sighs through his nose and leans his head back. “Can’t even get through a thunderstorm without panicking about it. Thankfully, you’ve been the perfect distraction.”
I try to put myself in his shoes, to imagine what it’s like to get in such a fearful state after a few growls from the sky.
It’s hard to compare our situations when he’s fought battles and I played parts behind a camera. While I memorized scripts, he threw himself in the line of fire.
I don’t pity Bentley, solely because he doesn’t want me to. However, my heart aches for him. How long did he spend alone with such experiences eating at him?
Maybe I ended up at his cabin for more reasons than looking for a place to escape. The owner needed someone, and by chance, he got it.
Chewing on my lip, I shift against the seat. Wanting to get a little closer to him, I get a brave idea. One that’ll give me one hell of a view, all while soaking up his warmth.
Bentley doesn’t ask what I’m doing when I turn. He does make a choking sound when I lie across his couch and rest my head against his thigh.
He’s comfortable.
When I tilt my chin, I catch the startled look on his expression.
“Is this okay?” Swallowing thickly, my boldness shrivels up as I fight not to think about how embarrassing it’ll be if he rejects me.
Staring at me, there’s a shift in his eyes. Something soft and soothing, and his mouth twitches into what looks like an almost smile. “It’s okay.”
Getting comfortable, there’s no denying that I may be crossing a line or two, but he doesn’t seem to mind one bit.
In fact, his body melts into the couch, finally relaxing. Pretty sure we’re both comfortable like this.
Though shifting seems to have put a pause on our little game. He doesn’t move on to ask anything else. Instead, silence creeps in between us. Surprisingly, it’s peaceful. The fire pops every few seconds, flickering up when one of the logs collapses.
“Come on. That can’t be all you want to know. There’s got to be something else.” Pursing my lips together, I try to draw out this little game of ours.
There’s still far too much time left of this day to already be done.
His throat bobs as he nods. Of course he wants to know more.
Iwant to know more. I can’t ask about other things if he doesn’t meet me halfway.
Parting his lips, his words come out softer. “Can I touch you?”
Not exactly the kind of question I’m expecting thrown my way, it takes a few seconds before it soaks in. There’s no stopping the way heat crawls up my throat.
Instead of expanding further by telling me what he means, I’m nodding my head without worrying about all the small details.
With my permission, he lifts his hand and lightly touches my cheek. His thumb traces the curve and drags all the way down to my chin. Like he’s transfixed, he forgets to blink.
I fight the urge to shiver when he moves his hand to my hair. He’s got a gentle touch, and I barely feel him pinch some between his fingers.
“Feels as soft as it looks.” His murmur is low, almost reverent, as his fingers glide through my hair. The words brush against my skin like a second touch, and when I sigh, his nose flares—subtle, but I catch it. Then his hand sinks deeper, testing the weight of it, the silk of strands slipping between his fingers. Exploring.
I shouldn’t let him do this, but the slow drag of his fingertips is hypnotic, a lazy scalp massage that unravels my resistance. My shoulders loosen, and my breathing evens out. Too good to stop any time soon.
