Page 1 of Marked by my Protector (Inked and Possessive. Rugged Mountain Ink #3)

Sloane

I’ve never been one to believe in fate. I like numbers, facts, and details that can be counted and verified.

I like concrete evidence, like atoms and carbon dating.

The kind of truth that doesn’t flinch under scrutiny.

Too bad love isn’t as straightforward. The world would be a heck of a lot better for it.

Think of how easy it would be to find your soulmate if a simple math problem could confirm your compatibility before years were spent on the wrong person.

Why can’t life be simple? Why can’t I find a big, strong, protective man who doesn’t flinch when things get messy?

A man who sees me and doesn’t run. One who lives to pleasure me in more ways than the obvious, though I wouldn’t complain if that was included.

I need someone whose touch feels like gravity, whose care I notice from the second we meet.

A man who feels safe to unravel around. A man who anchors my chaos.

Maybe love like that only exists in fairytales. Maybe I’m a child for wanting more than an arrangement, more than financial stability.

I drag in a deep breath and let it out slowly as flannel-clad tourists roll suitcases by my bench.

Yes, it’s my bench now. I officially own it. That’s what happens when you sit in one place long enough, right? It becomes yours. Three hours in and I’m pretty sure someone will be dropping the deed off to this shiny metal seat any second now.

“Ugh.” A woman my age plops down a foot away from me. She wears joggers and a T-shirt, her hair tied up in a loose bun. “You mind if I sit here with you for a second? I’m so tired.”

“No, go ahead.” What am I going to say? “It’s been a long day for me, too.”

Why did I assume she’d also had a bad day? That was rude of me. Clearly, I left my manners with my sanity back in first class.

“Yeah? What happened?” The girl turns toward me, dark eyes wide, as the hum of an airplane takes off behind us.

I don’t usually spill my drama to strangers, so I keep it light.

“I was on my way to Europe for this arranged marriage thing my parents set up.” I stare down at my finger that’s spinning my turquoise bracelet around in circles.

“The plane had some kind of mechanical thing, and we made an emergency landing here in Colorado Springs.”

“Oh, shoot.” The girl swipes back a strand of ultra-blonde hair. “Are you going to miss your wedding now?”

“For sure,” I laugh under my breath, “but that’s the plan. They rebooked me on a flight that left two hours ago, so I’m a permanent resident of this bench now.”

She tilts her head back slowly as though she’s catching on to the full truth of it all. “I see. So, you’re dodging the arranged marriage.”

“Yeah.” I smile as I say, “I’m just not sure what happens next. I have like a hundred dollars cash to my name, and the second my parents find me, they’re going to cut off my cards and demand I get on the next flight to Belgium.”

“So don’t let them find you.” She says it like she doesn’t understand the weight of what I’m doing. “I mean, are you serious? Do you really want to run? I live in the next town over. I can help.”

“Oh,” I shake my head, “I have a friend who lives in the area. I’ll be okay.” It’s not a lie. My friend Penny is from Rugged Mountain, a couple hours from here, but she has her own situation to deal with right now.

“Yeah, but your parents will expect you to call your friend, right?”

Okay, she has a point with that one.

“I texted my brother a while ago to come pick me up. I’m sure he’d give you a ride too.

” She glances down at her phone. “Yeah, he texted me like five minutes ago and said he was ten minutes away. I bet he’d let you stay with him too.

He’s got this huge ranch out in the mountains. No one would find you there. Trust me.”

I don’t have a ton of options, but I’m not at the point where I’m ready to disappear in the mountains with some random girl’s antisocial brother.

“I appreciate it.” I force a smile, desperate to shift the attention off myself. “I’ll be okay. What’s your deal? Why are you here?”

“Oh,” she pinches her lips together, “my fiancé was supposed to be flying back from a business trip today, but I guess it got extended.” Her tone darkens as she says, “It’s a lie.

He’s always got some kind of excuse. I’m just sick of guys my age, ya know?

I want something real. Something with someone who knows what they’re doing. ”

“Yes!” I widen my gaze and twist toward her.

“Exactly. My parents set me up with this twenty-five-year-old executive from a partner company my dad owns, and from what I’ve seen online, he’s a total player.

I don’t even think they vetted him for anything other than how the marriage would benefit their bottom line.

Are you going to break up with your guy? ”

“I don’t know. We get to this spot where I can’t take it anymore, then he always does something amazing that makes me feel bad for ever hating him. It’s a vicious loop.”

Her phone beeps, and she stares down at the screen. “My brother’s pulling up. We’ll talk to him about hiding you when he arrives. Don’t be too shocked. He’s really standoffish, but deep down he’s a softie.”

I’ve been sitting here for three hours, my parents have been calling nonstop, and I don’t have a ton of options, but running off with strangers doesn’t sound like a great option either.

“I don’t know. I appreciate the help, but I should probably—”

“Probably what?” The girl reaches for my hand like we’re old friends.

“Are you going to sit here on this bench for eternity? I realize you’ve bonded with it, but you’re going to get hungry sooner or later.

Besides, maybe you just need a few days in the middle of nowhere to clear your head.

” She grins as a red pickup truck pulls up in front of us.

“I promise we’re not a family of serial killers. ”

There’s no equation for this either, is there? I either sit on this bench until my parents inevitably find me or I take a risk and maybe get control of my life.

But what’s the risk? If it involves fighting for my life in the middle of nowhere, I’m not sure it’s worth it. I mean, would a family of serial killers really tell me they’re a family of serial killers?

The airport pulses around us. Announcements echo, a child screams, and the scents of cinnamon pretzels and jet fuel mingle together. All the while, my stomach twists.

I should run. I should book it straight back into the airport and toward Belgium, where my very rich groom is waiting with pastel roses and the vanilla cake my mother picked out.

Before I can, the truck door opens, and cowboy boots hit the concrete. I can’t see the man’s face yet, but he’s a giant. Tall and wide with broad shoulders and tattoos streaking up and down both arms. When he turns, I see the dark ink on his hands, his fingers, and his neck.

Oh God, he’s a little terrifying.

He strides toward us, his jeans tight, the T-shirt he wears somehow tighter, allowing the shadow of every formed muscle to sit on display.

“Delilah, you ready?” His voice is deep. Deep and raspy. This can’t be real. No one really looks like this. He glances toward me for a second, but the question is clearly meant for his sister.

“Yeah.” Her tone is bright as she glances toward me and says, “This is…”

“Sloane.” I stand and reach my hand out for his, sinking against the roughness of his palm.

It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt. Most men I know have soft, businessman hands, desk hands, hands that crunch numbers and file paperwork.

They aren’t calloused like sandpaper. They aren’t rough and strong like this.

My thighs do this weird aching thing, and I squeeze them together gently before running my hand through my hair.

“Okay,” the man groans, a little annoyed sounding. “Am I taking you both back to the mountain?”

“Something like that.” Delilah grins and grabs my suitcase, wheeling it toward the truck without another word.

The man stays still, his gaze locked on me, with a raised brow and a slow shake of his head as though he’s aggravated but not surprised by his sister’s antics.

I should say something. I should plant myself right here on this cold metal bench and let the airport swallow me back into the safety of crowds and fluorescent lights. I should stop myself from following him.

This is weird, and there’s no way in hell I’d ever feel comfortable alone at a ranch in the middle of nowhere with a man this… big.

This is too intense. He’s carved from stone attractive. This wouldn’t work. Plus, he’s already looking at me like I’m the problem.

Still, I don’t stop.

I don’t even say goodbye to my bench. I just follow, apparently mesmerized by broad shoulders, tight jeans, and hands that look like they’ve built and broken things in the same breath.

Maybe this is what instinct feels like? I think I’m about to find out.