Page 2 of Burly and Rugged

I step out of my car, stretching after the long drive. The air is different here—crisp, woodsy, and fresh in a way that makes me inhale deeper. No hum of traffic, no city sounds. Just the whisper of the wind through the trees and the distant call of birds.

I adjust my backpack over my shoulder and check my phone one last time before turning it off and putting it in the glove compartment of my car. It’s going to be weird without my phone, but not being tethered to life and Instagram seems like it will actually be a nice break.

Here we go!

As I head toward The Lodge, the door swings open.

The man who walks onto the porch makes me stop in my tracks. He’s tall but not too tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in dark cargo pants and a fitted T-shirt that shows off arms with more muscles than I can possibly count but desperately want to touch.He has piercing eyes, a dark beard, and a gaze that makes me stand up straighter and stick out my chest.

Whoa.I can’t even remember the last time I saw a man and had this kind of deep, instantaneous physical reaction.I’m going to be spending a week withhim?I might self-combust before I even learn how to build a fire.

His eyes flick over me—not in a way that feels inappropriate, just...assessing. Like he’s already figuring out how I’ll do. More than anything, I want to measure up. I definitely want his approval.

“Lindy Reade?” His voice is deep. God. How am I going to survive a week with this man without jumping him?

“That’s me,” I say, lifting my chin slightly, preparing myself for if he turns out to be another jerk who judges people based on their appearance.

He nods once, stepping aside. “I’m Cody Bryson. Your instructor. Come on inside and we’ll get things going.”

I step past him into The Lodge, and the moment I do, I can feel him behind me.

“You ever done anything like this before?” Cody asks.

I suppress a shiver as his breath tickles the back of my neck, and his body heat makes the hair on my arms stand up.

I shake my head, smiling and telling myself to keep my raging hormones in check. I came up here to learn something new and push my boundaries, not to fantasize about climbing on top of my guide and using his body as my own personal playground. And grinding. So much grinding. “Nope. First time. I used to gocamping with my dad when I was little, but that was a long time ago.”

Cody nods slowly, and for a second, his eyes flicker with something I can’t decipher. If he can read my mind, he’s doing a superb job hiding his reaction. Then, just as quickly, it’s gone.

“Alright,” he says after I’ve signed some paperwork and he’s checked that I brought the suggested supplies for the week. “Let’s get going.”

By the time we reach the first campsite, my legs burn, and my shoulders ache from carrying my pack, even though it didn’t feel that heavy when we started. Cody barely looks even winded.

A hint of a knot in my shoulder annoys me as I drop my pack. Rolling my shoulders, I’m thankful I brought ibuprofen. “So, what’s first? Wilderness yoga?”

Cody doesn’t react to my attempt at a joke. Instead, he kneels by a ring of flat stones and pulls out supplies—fire starter, kindling, sticks, dry grass. I watch as he clears a space for a fire and begins layering everything.

“Fire,” he says, casting his brown eyes up to me. “It’s one of your most important skills out here.”

I kneel across from him, watching. He strikes the steel against the flint. A bright spark ignites immediately, curling into the dry grass. The flames take hold, stretching and growing in seconds.

I blink. “That was fast.”

He doesn’t answer; he just lets the fire burn before snuffing it out with his boot. Then he hands me the fire starter.

“Now you.”

I take it, shifting into position, trying to mimic what he did. I want to get this right. Not just for myself—though I know that’s the real reason I’m here—but because I don’t want to look like an idiot in front of Cody.

I strike the flint. Nothing.

Frowning, I try again. A weak spark flickers and then dies as quickly as it appeared.

Cody watches, arms resting on his knees, his expression patient. How many times has he had to sit through this?

I grit my teeth. Again. Still nothing.

Frustration starts to creep in. I keep trying, but the sparks keep fading faster than they appeared.

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