Page 11 of His Wild Desire

She huffs out a mirthless chuckle and takes another sip of bourbon. "I guess I was looking for a distraction from my own spiraling thoughts. And maybe..." She hesitates, worrying her full lower lip between her teeth. "Maybe I was hoping to find a signal so I could check in at the office. Get a handle on things before they inevitably implode without me around to keep it all together."

“What do you do?” I ask her.

“I’m a marketing executive,” she says.

“And you like it?”

She shrugs. “It’s a good job. It’s stressful, and this is my first vacation in… god, I don’t even know how long. But, it pays the bills.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “But do you like it?”

She narrows her eyes right back. “Does it matter?”

That’s my answer, then. I drain the last of my bourbon in one burning swallow, setting the empty mug aside with a soft thunk.

"Why don't you just quit?" The words leave my mouth before I can think better of them. "If your job is stressing you out that bad, ditch it. Find something else, do something that makes you happy."

Her head snaps up, those green eyes widening in disbelief. "Are you serious? Just up and quit my job, the thing I've worked the better part of a decade to achieve? That's not exactly an option for everyone, Caleb."

I hold up a hand, fighting the urge to bristle. "Hey, I'm not trying to downplay your career or anything. Just seems to me like your priorities might be a little out of whack if a few days away is sending you into a panic spiral."

Emma scowls at that, her chin lifting in stubborn defiance. "Yeah, well, you wouldn't understand. My job, my success... it's kind of a big deal for my family. Especially my mother."

She pauses, sucking in a sharp breath, then lets out a humorless chuckle. "So yeah, you could say walking away from my high-powered career isn't really an option. Not if I want to avoid another round of smug I-told-you-so's about how I'm just a useless disappointment who'll never live up to her potential."

I watch in silence as she drains the last of her bourbon, swiping angrily at the shimmer of moisture gathered in her lashes. There's a rawness to her words, an undercurrent of hurt and frustration, that resonates deep in my bones.

"That's a helluva lot to carry around with you," I finally murmur. "No wonder you’re so damn wound up."

Emma's mouth curves in a sad approximation of a smile. "Yeah, well. We can't all be blissfully unencumbered mountain men, can we?"

I huff out a breath, rubbing the back of my neck. "Trust me, princess—my life ain't exactly some carefree, nature-loving fairytale."

She arches an eyebrow in silent challenge, and I let out a resigned sigh, scrubbing a hand down my whiskered jaw.

"I haven't always lived like this, you know. Up until a few years ago, I was just as much of a corporate drone as you, working sixty-hour weeks in a soulless cubicle, wearing a tie like a damn noose."

Her lips part on a soft inhale, those expressive green eyes going wide with surprise. I give a rueful shake of my head, staring into the dancing flames as the weight of the memories settles over me once more.

"Then my sister got sick. Real sick, real fast. And before I knew what was happening, all those late nights and soul-sucking meetings didn't mean a damn thing anymore. All that mattered was being there for her."

I swallow hard against the lump forming in my throat, my hands clenching into white-knuckled fists. "After she died, I didn't want to waste one more second of this life on meaningless bullshit that didn't light me up inside, you know? So, I walked away from it all. Sold off everything, used the money to start over out here, and never looked back."

Silence hangs thick between us, the weight of my confession pressing down like a physical force. I chance a glance at Emma, half-expecting to find pity or discomfort in her expression. But those emerald eyes hold only understanding.

"I'm so sorry, Caleb," she murmurs, reaching out to lay one small hand over my clenched fist. The simple gesture loosens something in my chest, allowing me to exhale a slow, steadying breath.

"It's been a few years," I say gruffly. "I'm okay. Better than okay, really—I finally feel like myself again out here. At peace."

Emma nods, squeezing my hand once before pulling back. "I get that. Being in the city, with all its noise and chaos is suffocating sometimes. Like you're just going through the motions, day after day, without any real purpose beyond chasing some arbitrary definition of success."

She sighs softly, raking her fingers through those tousled chestnut waves. "Don't get me wrong, I've worked my ass off to get where I am. And I'm proud as hell of what I've accomplished, despite my mother's constant dismissals. But lately..." She trails off, worrying her lower lip. "Lately, it just hasn't felt like enough, you know? There has to be more to life than this endless corporate rat race."

I study her in silence, taking in the weary slump of those elegant shoulders, the shadows of fatigue smudged beneath her eyes. And I see a hell of a lot more of myself reflected in her than I'd ever expected.

Maybe that's why this connection between us has dug in so deep, despite all the reasons it shouldn't make any sense. Because for the first time in a long damn time, I've encountered someone else who understands the bone-deep need to break free and live life on my own terms. Even if she hasn’t realized it yet.

The crackle of the dying fire seems to grow louder in the silence that stretches between us. Emma sets aside her empty mug, worrying her lower lip as she steals a glance my way.

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