Page 9 of Her Forbidden Mountain Man

“So did I.”

The words are so low I nearly miss them. Before I can ask what he means, the road curves around a stand of pines and ends.

Samuel’s hideaway sits in a clearing beneath the mountain. It’s bigger than a cabin but smaller than a proper house, built from dark logs and gray stone. A wide porch wraps around the front. Firewood is stacked with military precision against one wall, and solar panels rise beyond a detached workshop. It would be cozy if I’d arrived under different circumstances.

A thick wreath hangs on the front door, made from dried orange slices, tiny pinecones, and black ribbon. Three carved pumpkins sit along the porch steps. The largest has crooked teeth. The smallest wears a knitted witch’s hat. I stare at them as Samuel turns off the engine.

“You decorated for Halloween?”

He looks at the pumpkins.

“Not me.”

“Then who?”

“Mrs. McCrae.”

“Who is Mrs. McCrae?”

“Closest neighbor.”

Relief surges through me. “How close?”

“Eleven miles.”

The relief dies.

Samuel gets out. I remain where I am.

He walks around the hood and opens my door. “Out.”

“No.”

His eyes narrow slightly.

“I’m staying in the truck.”

“It’s getting cold.”

“Drive me home.”

“No.”

“Then I’m not moving.”

He looks at me for a long moment.

I know what he’s about to do. “Samuel, don’t you dare.”

He reaches for me. I scramble toward the driver’s side, but the seat belt catches me across the chest. Samuel leans in, releases the buckle, and catches my waist before I can crawl away.

“Stop!” I twist, kicking at the console. “I can walk!”

He pauses. His face is close to mine, his beard nearly brushing my cheek. “Will you?”

The low rumble of his voice does terrible things to my body.

“Yes.”