Page 19 of Mountain Man's Secret Valentine

“I love you,” he says, like it’s the most important thing he’ll say all day.

“I love you too.” I reach between us, wrap my hand around him—he’s thick, hard, ready—and guide him to my entrance. “Now show me.”

He pushes in on one long, slow thrust. We both groan at the stretch, the fullness, the perfect way he fits inside me. He holds still for a heartbeat, letting me adjust, then starts to move with deep, rolling strokes that make me sigh every time he bottoms out.

I wrap my legs around his waist, heels digging into his ass, pulling him deeper. He kisses me while his hips snap harder,faster. The headboard thumps the wall. My nails rake down his back. We’re both panting, sweating, lost in each other.

When he feels me tightening again, he slips a hand between us, thumb circling my clit in perfect rhythm with his thrusts.

“Come,” he growls against my mouth.

I do.

I shatter around him, pulsing, clenching, crying out his name. He follows right after, hips slamming deep one last time, groaning my name into my neck as he spills inside me, hot and endless.

We collapse together, tangled and breathless, hearts hammering in tandem.

After a long minute, he lifts his head, brushes damp curls from my forehead, and kisses me softly.

“Marry me,” he says.

My heart stops.

I blink up at him. “What?”

He reaches under the pillow and pulls out a small velvet box. Inside is a simple gold band with a small diamond flanked by tiny etched suns and mountains.

“I’ve been carrying this for weeks,” he admits, voice rough with emotion. “Waiting for the right moment. Turns out the right moment is every moment with you. Marry me, Katy Moore. Be my wife. Fill this cabin with your laugh and your sunshine and your chaos for the rest of our lives.”

Tears spill over before I can stop them. Happy ones. Overwhelming ones.

“Yes,” I whisper. Then louder, laughing through the tears: “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!”

He slides the ring onto my finger. It fits perfectly, like it was always meant to be there.

Then he kisses me, deep, joyful, and full of everything we’ve built in these eight months. When we finally part, I’m still crying and laughing at the same time.

“You planned this?” I ask, staring at the ring in wonder.

“Well, I didn’t plan to ask you in bed.” He grins full, real, unguarded.

I pull him down for another kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He rests his forehead against mine. “Always have. Always will.”

Bear chooses that moment to leap onto the bed, landing between us with a dramatic huff, tail wagging like he knows something big just happened.

We both laugh—loud, bright, happy.

The rest of the day is perfect.

We stay in bed for another hour, making love again, slow this time, savoring every touch, every whisperedI love you. We finally drag ourselves out of bed, make coffee, and cook breakfast.

We walk outside in the new snow, hand in hand, Bear bounding ahead. We come back inside flushed and cold, strip each other slowly, and tumble back into bed because we can.

Because we’re engaged.

Because we’re us.

Months ago, I walked into The Rusty Pine expecting cocktails and gossip.

Instead, I found the man who will become my husband. The grump who became my home. And every single day since has been better than the last.