Page 5 of His Wild Desire

She's silent for so long, I wonder if I've said too much. Just as I'm resigning myself to let the matter drop, she speaks up again.

"I guess I wouldn't know anything about that," she admits, her voice smaller than before. "I've been too busy chasing promotions, surrounding myself with colleagues to avoid being alone. But at the end of the day..."

She trails off, and I find myself holding my breath, waiting for her to continue.

"At the end of the day," she finally whispers, "I've never felt more isolated."

Her words slice straight through me with an unexpected potency, hitting a nerve I thought had calloused over long ago. In that moment, I realize two kindred souls can take many forms—even a gruff mountain loner and a pampered city socialite.

We lay there in loaded silence as the weight of our confessions hangs between us. For once, I don't feel the knee-jerk urge to deflect or throw up emotional walls.

"Goodnight, Emma," I rumble out in a tone that brooks no further discussion, my gravelly voice slicing through the taut silence.

A few beats pass before that quiet voice drifts back. "Night, Caleb."

With that, my eyes slip closed, her gentle breaths soon lulling me into the first decent sleep I've had in a while. For now, I'll let the mystery of this woman rest.

But something tells me I’ll be losing more sleep over her in the nights to come.

Chapter 3

Emma

Ashaft of early morning light filters through the cabin window, rousing me from a surprisingly deep slumber. I squint against the brightness, grimacing as a dull throbbing emanates from my tender ankle. Yesterday's events come flooding back in a disorienting rush—the ill-advised solo hike, the tumble that nearly cost me more than just my pride, those piercing eyes that seemed to stare straight through me...

Caleb.

Shifting beneath the pile of thick quilts, I glance around the rustic space, my eyes instantly landing on the source of the noise that woke me.

He's shirtless and barefoot, stoking a simmering fire in the old pot-bellied stove with casual, well-practiced movements. The muscles of his broad back ripple beneath his tanned skin, and I feel an unexpected flutter low in my belly at the sight. Get a grip, Whitmore.

"Caleb?" My voice still rasps with sleep as I struggle upright, mindful of my immobilized ankle. "Any chance you could help me get back down the mountain today?"

He glances over one shoulder, those stupidly blue eyes locking onto mine with far too much intensity for this hour. "And just how d'you expect me to do that, princess? I don't exactly have a four-wheeler idling out front."

My mouth instantly presses into a thin line. "Well, I can't just lay around here indefinitely," I argue, gesturing to the shabby furnishings. "I have things to do and meetings to attend. A life, in case you've forgotten what that looks like."

"You got yourself into this mess," he drawls, turning his attention back to the skillet sizzling over the fire. "Now you gotta sit tight and let that ankle heal up. A couple of days, minimum." He shoots me a pointed look over one broad shoulder. "That is, unless you wanna make the trek out with that janky ankle and end up stuck out here even longer."

I open my mouth to argue, but the rich scent of sizzling meat and melted butter hits my nose just then, short-circuiting further protests. My stomach rumbles hungrily, reminding me that it's been over a day since I last ate.

"Is that bacon?" I can't quite mask the eager anticipation in my voice.

Caleb smirks knowingly as he gives the pan a deft flick of his wrist. "Hickory-smoked, straight from Old Ernie's smokehouse in town," he confirms, his tone taking on a hint of smug satisfaction. "Man knows how to cure a mean rasher."

My mouth is practically watering as I watch him plate up a hearty portion of the thick-cut strips alongside a couple of fried eggs and a stack of buttery toast. He crosses the room in a few strides, setting the simple meal on the battered side table beside the bed.

“It’s no eggs benedict,” he says teasingly, “but hopefully it will suit your tastes.”

I narrow my eyes at that arrogant smirk, but the truth is, the rustic fare looks absolutely heavenly after the breakfast smoothies I've been choking down at the office lately.

"I guess it will just have to do, won’t it?" I counter loftily. Snatching up the fork, I carve off a crisp corner of bacon and pop it in my mouth, unable to suppress the moan of sheer bliss as the smoky, salty flavors explode over my tastebuds.

Caleb watches me with an unmistakable gleam of amusement, his full lips still curved in that infuriatingly sexy half-grin. Bastard. He knew I'd love it.

"Okay, fine," I mumble reluctantly after polishing off half the plate. "I'll give you this one. Your backwoods cooking isn't half bad."

His rumbling baritone chuckle fills the small space as he settles on the end of the bed, his plate balanced on one denim-clad knee. "Told ya. Sometimes simple's better."

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