Page 12 of Her Forbidden Mountain Man

“I know.”

“You looked like you were going to shoot her.”

“Considered it.”

My laugh escapes again. Something changes in his face. It isn’t a smile. Samuel probably needs a permit from the state to smile. But the hard line of his mouth softens. For an instant, he looks like the man I remember.

Then he looks away.

“There’s one bed,” he says.

“Then enjoy the couch.”

“Oh, I will.” He retorts.

The bedroom is at the end of the hallway. A king-size bed fills most of it, covered in a dark gray quilt. A stone fireplace stands opposite the footboard, and rain streaks the window overlooking the forest.

Samuel gives me a clean T-shirt and a pair of flannel pants. I change in the bathroom, refusing to acknowledge how his shirt falls almost to my knees or how it smells like cedar and him.

When I return, Samuel is sitting on the edge of the bed. There’s a coil of rope beside him.

I stop in the doorway. “No.”

His shoulders tense.

“Absolutely not.”

“You’ll run.”

“You’re damn right I’ll run.”

“Men are outside.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know how they think.”

“And I know how kidnappers think. Apparently.”

His eyes close for a moment.

“Sophie.”

“I’ve already told you…Bodyguards aren’t supposed to be the bad guys!”

“I’m trying to keep you alive.”

“You’re tying me to a bed!”

His jaw hardens. “One wrist only.”

“How considerate.”

He picks up the rope. I back toward the door, but he crosses the room before I take two steps. His hands close around my waist, lifting me again. I pound his shoulders.

“I hate you.” The words come out on a broken breath.

Samuel stops. His eyes meet mine. For the first time tonight, I see something in him crack.