Daddy’s Runaway Bride (Forbidden Pleasures Mountain #1)

Chapter 1

MELANIE

Staring at my reflection in the full-length mirror the church has helpfully provided for their brides-to-be, I have to swallow down the bile rising in my throat.

Who is that girl in the reflection? She looks like me, moves like me, but there’s no way she is me. Because if she is, that means I’m only moments away from tying myself to a man I barely know for the rest of my natural life.

It’s what my parents want. What the church has decreed.

But nobody seems to give a fuck what I want.

“Oh, Melanie.” My mother’s sigh rakes over my nerves, nails on the proverbial chalkboard of my soul. “You look beautiful.”

I look like exactly what I am: a virgin sacrifice.

Except I’m not actually a virgin, not that my parents or the church know any different.

That particular boat sailed when I was sixteen and I let Lyle Erickson sweet-talk me out of my panties in the backseat of his truck.

It was the one and only time I gave into those devilish urges, seeing as how his ham-handed attempts at making me come weren’t worth the risk of getting caught.

I handled my own orgasms after that, thank you very much.

But after today, my pleasure and my body will belong to my husband. A man twenty years older than me who once smugly told my father I had “good birthing hips” as if he was assessing livestock at the county fair.

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

The words slip free before I think to stop them, and in the reflection I watch my mother’s mouth turn down. “If you’re going to be sick, do it in the bathroom. And don’t get anything on that dress!”

I’m already turning to flee before she finishes her admonition, her words following me out of the makeshift dressing room.

Tripping on the hem of my gown, I stumble to the bathroom and lean over the first sink I see, dragging in deep lungfuls of air to try and stop the meager breakfast I managed to choke down this morning from making a reappearance.

What the hell am I going to do?

Breathe, for starters. No decent plan was ever made when the brain was deprived of oxygen. Which means I need to get some fresh freaking air in this stuffy bathroom.

Turning away from the mirror, I stride over to the window and wrestle it open, shoving my head out into the frigid February air. The wind slaps at my face, cold and unforgiving, but it’s exactly what I need to help clear the fear and hopelessness clouding my brain.

And when I look down at the roof of the covered porch below me, the one that leads out to the area behind the church where the children play when it isn’t negative one thousand degrees outside, a plan begins to form.

The windows of our church are large and open outward, a decadence that caused something of a scandal when the building was first erected some years ago.

But now, I give thanks to that puffed-up pastor who wanted to make a name for himself with those gaudy touches that horrified the church elders.

Even with the layers of tulle around my waist, I’m able to haul myself up out of the window to sit on the ledge.

I dangle there for a bit, eyeballing the distance to the roof below. It’s not nearly as far as the ground itself, and if I can make it without hurting myself, I can shimmy off the roof and down to the ground.

To freedom.

“Melanie?” My mother’s voice comes through the locked door of the bathroom and my heart lodges itself firmly in my throat.

It’s now, or never.

Pushing away from the window, I land hard on the roof, my slipper-clad feet sliding down the shingles and terror races through my veins as I scrabble for purchase. Down and down I slide—straight over the edge of the roof.

At the last moment, I manage to cling to the gutters, my body dangling freely over the concrete beneath me.

Shit, shit, shit.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I gather all the courage I can muster and pry my fingers from the edge of the roof.

The fall seems to take forever, as if I’m moving through molasses instead of the crisp Colorado air. But the landing isn’t nearly as rough as I’d expected and I give myself a moment to let the sheer relief of my escape overwhelm me—complete with a little booty wiggle of victory.

Once I’ve finished my happy dance, I look around, my heart once more pounding against my rib cage as I try to figure out my next move.

My purse is upstairs in the dressing room, so my car is out.

Even if I knew how to hotwire a vehicle—if that’s even a thing anymore—my car is parked right at the front of the building where our entire congregation is filing in for the wedding.

There’s no way to get to my car without being surrounded by well-wishers.

And then I spot it. The church van. I know for a fact Kirk keeps the keys in the glove compartment because, as he says, “If someone is desperate enough to steal from us, then they need it more than we do.”

Well I’m feeling pretty fucking desperate.

Hugging the side of the brick building I’ve faithfully visited every Sunday of my twenty-two years here on Earth, I look around to make sure nobody is hanging around the entrance. But it’s far too cold for anyone to be lingering outside, as the goosebumps on my arms can attest to.

I make a break for the van, yanking open the door with a sob and climbing inside.

My fingers tremble, whether from cold or fear I’m not sure as I fumble with the latch on the glove compartment.

It takes three tries for me to get it open and by the time I do my fingers are so numb I nearly drop the keys.

But I manage to get the key into the ignition and the van roars to life.

As the first snowflake hits the windshield, I shift the van into drive—and hit the gas.

Axel

“Goddammit, Dane, watch where you’re going!”

From the driver’s seat of the truck, my brother pulls his lip back in a snarl, never taking his eyes off the road—or what’s visible of the road beneath the blanket of white stretching out in front of us. “How can I watch anything with all this fucking snow?”

“Just be careful,” I growl, clinging to the handle beside me as the truck climbs the mountain we call home.

“I’m doing my best, Ax. You really think I wanna piss off Gray by crashing this damn thing?”

The thought of facing Grayson’s wrath is more than enough to keep any of us on our toes, and I offer up a grunt of acknowledgment.

I’m being an ass. I know I’m being an ass, but after three weeks on the road I’m just ready to be home.

Although the thought of “home” isn’t as comforting as it once was, a fact I blame Maxwell Stone and his ilk for.

Visiting their island, watching the way they live so openly with their Little ones just served to remind me of everything my siblings and I long for, and lately that longing has become something of an itch beneath my skin.

Maybe I should take a page out of their book. Find a Little girl to claim as my own and keep her locked in the nursery attached to my bedroom until she accepts her new life as my baby.

The only problem is, I’m not sure where the fuck to find her. Our friends on the island all hail from New York City, where there are plenty of women to choose from.

Not so much in our tiny little town hidden deep in the mountains of Colorado.

A flash of something up ahead catches my eye and I lean forward, squinting to see out the windshield. “Slow down.”

“What? Why? What’s wrong?”

“I think I saw something. Just stop the damn truck.”

“All right, all right,” Dane mutters, downshifting and slowing the truck.

Without waiting for it to come to a complete stop, I throw open the door and jump down, twisting around in the swirling snow for another glimpse of what I know I saw.

There. Just ahead. Flashing red lights.

Wrapping my coat tighter around me as the wind rips at my clothing, I forge ahead through the snow that is quickly becoming a blizzard. I can’t delay too long, or Dane and I will never make it home, but I also can’t just leave someone stranded in this.

The van is the large passenger kind churches use, but I can’t make out the decal on the side. Praying there isn’t a load of kids inside, I pull on the handle of the driver’s side door.

It pops open, and for a moment my heart stops beating at the sight that greets me.

The most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, her dark hair hanging in loose curls around a face most certainly carved by a very generous angel, lays curled up on the reclined seat, shivering in the freezing interior of the vehicle.

And no wonder—the poofy white dress she’s wearing isn’t nearly enough to provide any protection against the rapidly dropping temperatures.

Swearing under my breath, I shrug out of my coat and drape it over her trembling form before scooping her up into my arms. Eyelids fluttering, she whimpers softly as I cradle her against my chest.

“Shh, little one. It’s all right. Daddy’s got you.”

The words surprise even me. But I know, deep in my bones, that they’re true.

Fate has finally delivered me the Little girl I’ve been waiting for.

And now that I’ve found her, I am never letting her go.