Page 24 of Mated to the Mountain Bear (Bear Protector #1)

ZARA

I wake slowly, surrounded by warmth, after having the best sleep I can ever remember. There’s something solid under my cheek, rising and falling with a steady rhythm. My sleep-foggy brain takes a moment to process that I’m completely wrapped around Ben like he’s my personal body pillow.

One leg is thrown over his hip while the other is plastered along his thigh.

My arm is splayed across his enormous chest, possessively cupping one big pec, and my face is buried in the crook of his neck.

His arm is underneath me, wrapped around my back, gripping my waist and keeping me pressed tight to him.

We’re tangled together so thoroughly that I can’t tell where I end, and he begins.

Worse, Ben’s T-shirt has risen up so high that my skimpy white thong, which I’m very relieved to be wearing, is clearly on display. When I try to yank it down, I can’t. Ben’s octopus-like hold on me, and his thumb hooked into the back of my panties, is blocking the way. My ass remains on display.

Screaming silently against his dark grey T-shirt while sucking in a big lungful of his addictive smell, I will myself to calm down. It’s not that bad.

Except it is. One wrong move, and my thong will snap like dental floss, or end up down around my knees.

I should move. I should carefully extract myself from his grasp and sneak out, so we never discuss it again, same as the rest of the ever-expanding list of humiliating encounters, but he’s so warm, and his heartbeat under my palm is so steady.

With the rain outside, everything feels cocooned and safe.

Plus, the damage is already done. There’s no denying I begged him to get into my bed.

His breathing changes, chest expanding deeper under my hand.

“Are you awake?” His voice is even deeper than usual, vibrating against my cheek. With a gentle pull, he rolls me into him and kisses the top of my head, a loud rumble of what sounds like contentment coming from his chest.

I freeze. Then he does, only now seeming to realise what he’s just done.

Neither of us says anything for way too long, both suddenly hyperaware of every point of contact between us. Slowly, tickling my skin as he does, Ben lets go of my hip and slides his hand away from my underwear.

“You need to let go.” His beard moves my hair as he speaks, and I practically melt at the intimacy of it, the strain in his voice making heat pool low in my belly.

Then I realise he’s telling me to stop clinging onto him like a koala.

“Right. Shit, sorry.” I start to unwind myself, but the movement brings my hip into contact with... oh.

OH. He’s pressed against me, hard and hot, through the fabric of his sweatpants. When I move my thigh, I can feel his erection. As I slide my leg lower, it moves, and I let out a giddy little gasp.

“Zara.” My name comes out as a warning growl, each of his muscles now tense under my touch. “Now would be good.”

I scramble back so fast, I nearly tumble off the bed, sheets tangling around my legs. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to... I was half-asleep, and...”

Asleep and what, Zara? How am I going to finish that sentence? Horny? Rubbing myself against you like a cat?

“It’s fine.” He’s already rolling out of bed with fluid grace, keeping his back to me, but not before I get an eyeful of the impressive bulge in his sweatpants. The worn fabric clings to his hips, outlining everything in glorious detail. “I need a shower.”

My mouth goes dry as he strides toward the bathroom. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, but somehow, it seems even naughtier to see his penis tenting his trousers than if it were swinging free.

Ben pauses at the doorway, catching me staring. Our eyes meet for one charged moment before he disappears inside, muttering something about needing a cold one.

The sound of the shower starting snaps me out of my trance.

Flopping back on the bed, I press my palms to my burning cheeks.

That was... I can’t even process what that was.

All I know is the image of him, aroused and magnificent, will be burned into my brain for eternity, and I’ll be forever grateful.

Closing my eyes, the urge to slip my fingers between my legs to see if I’m as aroused as I feel is immense.

I try to resist, but it’s too hard. Quickly, I slide my fingers between my lips and moan when, as suspected, I’m dripping wet and super sensitive.

Something about this place, this man, has turned me into a sex pest.

By the time he emerges, fully dressed in jeans and another flannel, and carefully not looking at me, I’ve managed to get myself mostly under control. My body’s still humming with awareness, but I’m dressed now, so slightly less likely to jump on top of him if he looks at me.

“I’ll put some coffee on,” he says, running a hand through his damp hair before heading for the kitchen. Ben pauses in the doorway, his head turning to the side briefly and dropping to my fingers, before his eyes flash gold.

He couldn’t know…

One big hand reaches out to grip the doorframe, his knuckles turning white, before he straightens and marches straight down the hall.

I follow, trying to act normal despite the electric tension crackling between us. We move around each other like opposing magnets, being careful not to touch, not to get too close. He hands me my mug without our fingers brushing, and I add cream while he stares out the window.

An engine’s rumble cuts through the mountain quiet, and Ben’s head snaps up, body going alert. Through the window, I see Beau’s black SUV navigating the muddy drive, but this time, he’s not alone.

“Great,” Ben mutters, setting his mug down with enough force to slosh coffee onto the counter. “Just what I need.”

He might not be thrilled to see Beau, but I am. It’s been a week. I’m desperate for news about what’s going on. Maybe Beau has found the stalker. Maybe he’s here to bring me home.

That thought doesn’t make me as happy as it should.

“Who’s with him?”

Ben gives me a funny look when I edge closer to the window and lean past him, trying to see who his brother has brought up here.

“Knowing my luck, the twins.”

Quick as lightning, he grabs my index finger and brings it to his mouth, sucking hard, eyes closed, like he’s enjoying his favourite treat.

His tongue drags over my fingertip as he lifts his eyes briefly to mine, taking my breath away, before he’s gone, already moving toward the door, shoulders set like he’s preparing for battle.

Did he just…?

I stare at my hand, then at his mouth, and swallow hard, knowing exactly what he just did.

Oh god. He did know.

Ben is out the door in a flash, moving to intercept the vehicle before it even stops, while I attempt to regain my composure after the most erotic finger licking I’ve ever experienced. His body language screams displeasure, squared shoulders and arms folded over his broad chest.

Even from here, I can read his mood. He doesn’t want company. A wicked part of my brain thinks maybe he didn’t want us to be disturbed.

I run my fingers through my sleep-tangled hair, suddenly conscious of my state. Barefoot, wearing Ben’s clothes, and probably still looking exactly like someone who fled their apartment in the middle of the night.

The porch is rough and cold under my socked feet as I shuffle outside to greet the new arrivals. Morning mountain air bites at my exposed legs below the flannel’s hem. Both men turn at my appearance, their expressions shifting when they see how I’m dressed.

“We’re just up,” I supply, wiggling my toes, as if that explains everything. “I mean, I’m just up.”

“I see.”

Beau looks professional but concerned, his detective mask not quite hiding his worry, as he turns his narrowed eyes on Ben. Ben looks ready to send his brother right back down the mountain.

“Zara.” Beau nods, voice carefully neutral. “First, I don’t have news about your stalker, unfortunately. Or Amber. Just wanted to put that out there in case you thought we did. We still haven’t found him, but we do need to talk.”

Those words. Every person with a missing loved one learns to dread them. My stomach drops like a stone, coffee turning to acid in my mouth.

“Come in,” Ben says it, because he knows I can’t, gripped by nerves as I am.

Inside, the small cabin feels even smaller with both Lennox men filling the space. They’re both tall and broad, and the family resemblance is even stronger with them side by side.

Ben hovers as I move around the kitchen, staying close enough that I keep nearly backing into him. When I reach for mugs, he’s there. When I turn to the coffeepot, he’s somehow in the way again.

Finally, I plant a hand on his chest, needing the contact as much as the space.

His heart hammers under my palm, betraying his calm facade. His solid warmth makes me want to lean in, to let him wrap those muscular arms around me and tell me everything will be okay.

Another head kiss would be lovely right about now.

“Sit,” I tell him quietly. “You’re making me nervous.”

He sits but immediately pulls out the chair beside him. It’s both an invitation and an order. I take it without hesitation, grateful for the anchor I suspect I’m going to need.

Beau watches our interactions carefully as he pulls out a notebook, its pages already filled with neat handwriting. The leather cover is worn at the edges from use. And all business now, though his eyes soften when they meet mine.

“I need to go through everything again. About Amber. Sometimes, details surface after the initial shock fades. Just in case they’re connected.”

My stomach clenches, a familiar sick feeling rising. Ben’s hand finds my thigh under the table, warm and heavy, keeping me grounded. His thumb traces small, soothing circles that he probably doesn’t even realise he’s making.

“The night she disappeared.” Beau’s pen hovers over a fresh page. “Walk me through it again.”

I close my eyes, calling up details I’ve replayed until they’ve worn grooves in my memory. The kitchen fades, and I’m back in Amber’s apartment, watching her fuss with her appearance. It plays over and over, like a film I can’t pause, each detail painfully clear.

“She had a late callback and was nervous, but excited. She kept changing outfits, asking my opinion.”

The last moments I had with her burn brightly and painfully. Amber held up dresses, twirling, her face glowing with hope. She’d borrowed my lucky earrings, the little gold stars she always said brought her good fortune. So normal. So final.

“I was out with friends, but she texted when she got home. Said it went great, and they seemed happy with her. That was at 11:17.” I know the exact time. I’ve stared at that last message until the screen blurred, willing another to appear below it.

“Then?” Beau’s voice is gentle but persistent as his pen scratches softly against paper.

“Then nothing.” I open my eyes and stare at my hands wrapped around the cooling mug. My knuckles are white from gripping too hard. “I got home and assumed she was in bed already when all the lights were out. The next morning, I went in and saw the bed hadn’t been slept in…”

I take a steadying breath before continuing.

“Our neighbor across the hall said he’d heard what sounded like a car accident outside around midnight and saw someone from their building had gone out to check.

He’d seen a woman leave, thought it might have been Amber, but he couldn’t be sure from the fourth floor.

He didn’t go down because his daughter was asleep inside. ”

“The police did appeals, searches, and reviewed all the cameras, but found nothing.”

It doesn’t make any sense. Amber wasn’t Hollywood famous, but she’s been a hit character in a long-running series for a while now. She couldn’t go anywhere without being recognised.

Plus, she’s stunningly beautiful. People notice her.

How could she have just vanished?

“And she never came back.” A statement, not a question.

“No. Her car was still in the garage. Her purse was on the kitchen counter. Phone too.” The details come out hollow, echoing in the small kitchen. None of it sounds good.

The silence stretches, heavy with unspoken fears.

Beau writes steadily, pen moving in smooth strokes. The sound is oddly soothing, with proof that someone is still looking, still trying.

“When did your stalker first make contact?”

The change of direction is abrupt. I take a shaky breath, trying to switch gears from my missing sister to my recent ordeal.

“I found a note under my windshield wiper.” My voice drops to barely above a whisper. “You belong to me.”

Ben’s hand tightens on my leg. I can practically feel his anger at those four words that have been haunting me for weeks.

The questions continue, each one leaving a wound on my soul. Amber’s routine, mapped out in painful detail. Her morning jogs through the park, always the same route and same time. Her recent roles. Directors who pushed too hard, costars who got too familiar.

Anyone making her uncomfortable lately.

With each question, ones that the police had already asked a dozen times, my frustration builds.

“She was about to hit it big,” I say, voice cracking. “This role would have changed her life. They’re trying to make it seem like she had a breakdown, but she was excited. She wouldn’t have just walked away from it. From everything. “

Ben’s coffee mug sits, untouched, growing cold. He hasn’t moved except for the steady, grounding pressure on my leg.

Beau’s pen stills on the page. “No,” Beau agrees quietly. “She wouldn’t. Not willingly.”