Page 3 of His Stormy Seduction

The sickening crack as his body impacted with unforgiving force...

Those agonizing hours waiting for the rescue chopper that came too late...

My jaw clenches hard against the onslaught of remembered anguish. I can't let my mind go there again—to that pitch-black abyss of grief and self-recrimination. Not when I've got someone counting on me.

We press on, the deluge showing no signs of letting up anytime soon. Flashes of lightning split the sky overhead, each concussive boom of thunder making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. We need to get out of this exposed area before one of those strikes finds its mark.

My eyes scan ahead, searching for a safe path, when I finally spot the familiar trail marker. A relieved breath hisses out. We're only about a klick out from Ranger Outpost 18—a small but sturdy station used for overnight deployments.

Picking up the pace, I motion Bonnie to follow as I guide us onto the muddy trail. "This way. We can hole up at the outpost and wait this thing out."

She nods, one hand clutching a waterproof camera case to her chest. I can’t believe she held onto it through that whole ordeal.

"How'd you end up out there anyway?" I call over the driving rain.

Bonnie huffs out a breathless laugh, shaking her head. "Occupational hazard."

"So, what, you're a travel blogger or something?"

She shoots me an inscrutable look. "Travel blogger? Yeah, no. I'm an adventure photographer doing a story for Summit Magazine."

I nearly stumble at that admission. Summit is one of the biggest names in the industry—they don't hire just any person off the street to risk life and limb.

"You must be pretty damn good at what you do, then," I murmur, feeling a newfound sense of respect for her.

Bonnie's full lips curve in a slow smile. "I'd like to think so. Though you might beg to differ after what just happened."

It isn't long before the humble little cabin comes into view through the trees. My shoulders slump slightly with relief at the sight of its sturdy timber frame and tin roof. Say what you will about these old Forest Service buildings, but they're built to last through pretty much anything nature can dish out.

"There it is!" I call over my shoulder, gesturing toward the structure.

Bonnie squints against the downpour, giving a slight nod of acknowledgment. She doesn't look overly impressed, but I'll take it.

I lead the way up the porch steps and shoulder open the heavy wooden door. Flicking the nearby switch, a low hum sounds and the overhead lamps sputter to life, bathing the rustic interior in a warm glow. It isn't the Ritz, but it's dry, secure, and has power courtesy of the backup generator out back. We'll be able to ride this thing out in relative comfort until it passes.

"See? Not too shabby," I say, turning back to face Bonnie.

But she's not listening, her attention focused intently on the camera still clutched in her hands. Moving with an almost reverent care, she sets it on a nearby table and begins methodically drying it off with a corner of her soaked flannel shirt.

I watch for a minute, appreciating her dedication, until a sudden shudder wracks Bonnie's curvy frame. My brows pull together in a deep frown.

"Let's get you out of those wet clothes," I rumble, shucking off my rain-soaked jacket and shirt.

She looks up from her work and shoots me a sly look. "You know, most guys at least buy me dinner first."

I smirk at her obvious attempt to regain her footing. "I meant so you can warm up before hypothermia sets in." Jerking my chin toward the small bathroom, I add, "There are some spare clothes and towels in there."

Leaving her camera to dry, she disappears behind the bathroom door. While she changes, I busy myself stoking the woodstove in the main living area. Within minutes, its cheerful glow bathes the room in warmth and casts flickering shadows along the rough-hewn walls.

I grab some blankets from the storage chest nearby and drape one across the old, overstuffed armchair. The other I spread across the floor, creating a makeshift bed in front of the fire. Not exactly five-star accommodations, but it'll have to do.

The sound of the bathroom door creaking open has me glancing up just as Bonnie emerges. I feel my throat go instantly dry at the sight that greets me.

The oversized flannel shirt hangs nearly to her knees, sleeves rolled up to expose her tanned forearms. It gapes open just enough at the collar to offer a teasing glimpse of the soft curves beneath. Her blond hair is tousled and slightly damp, framing a cherubic face that's been scrubbed clean of any makeup.

"Better?" she asks with a quirked brow.

Clearing my throat, I somehow find my voice again. "Yeah... yeah, that's better."

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