Page 9 of Craving the Mountain Man

But whatever she was about to say is cut off by a sudden, ominous rumble in the distance. My body tenses, years of mountain experience kicking in.

"Was that...?" Skylar asks, fear creeping into her voice.

I nod grimly. "Thunder. There's a storm coming, and it's coming fast."

As if on cue, a gust of icy wind whips through the camp, carrying with it the first few drops of rain. The peaceful night has transformed into something far more dangerous in a matter of moments.

"We need to secure the camp," I say, already moving into action. "Wake the others. We're in for a rough night."

As Skylar hurries to rouse the rest of the group, I can't shake the feeling that this storm is more than just a weather event. It's a harbinger of change—for the expedition, for Fire Mountain Expeditions, and for whatever is growing between Skylar and me.

CHAPTER 5

SKYLAR

What was a peaceful night turns into chaos as the storm hits hard and fast. Rain lashes the campsite, the strong force of the winds threatens to tear our tents from the ground. Lightning lights the sky in brilliant flashes, followed by deafening cracks of thunder that seem to shake the very mountain beneath us.

I struggle to help secure the camp, my injured ankle protesting with every step. The wind whips my rain-soaked hair into my face as I fight to hold down a flapping tent.

"Skylar!" Grayson's voice cuts through the storm's roar. He appears beside me, his strong hands joining mine on the tent stakes. "Get inside! You shouldn't be out here with that ankle!"

"I can help!" I shout back, stubbornly refusing to leave.

His face is a mask of determination and... is that concern? "That's an order, Hayes! Go!"

Before I can argue further, a particularly violent gust of wind rips the tent from our grasp. I lose my footing on the slick ground, crying out as my injured ankle gives way. Grayson's arms are around me in an instant, steadying me against his chest.

For a moment, the chaos of the storm fades away. I'm acutely aware of his warmth, the solid strength of his body against mine. His gray eyes meet mine, filled with an intensity that steals my breath.

"Please," he says, his voice softer now despite the raging storm. "Get to safety. I can't... I need to know you're okay."

The raw emotion in his words stuns me. I nod wordlessly, allowing him to guide me to the sturdiest tent—his own. He helps me inside, his touch lingering for just a moment before he turns back to the storm.

"Grayson!" I call out, suddenly afraid to let him go. He pauses, looking back at me. "Be careful."

A ghost of a smile flickers across his face. "Always am, sunshine."

As he disappears into the tempest, I wrap myself in the sleeping bag that smells faintly of pine and something uniquely Grayson. Despite the storm's fury, I feel oddly safe here, surrounded by his things.

I don't know how long I wait, straining to hear any sound beyond the pounding rain and howling wind. My mind races with worry—for Grayson, for the rest of the group, for our safety on this suddenly treacherous mountain.

Finally, after what feels like hours, the tent flap opens. Grayson stumbles in, soaked to the bone and looking utterly exhausted. Without thinking, I rush to him, helping him peel off his dripping rain jacket.

"Is everyone okay?" I ask, handing him a towel from his pack.

Grayson nods, running the towel over his face and through his rain-soaked hair. "Everyone's accounted for. We lost two tents, but the rest are secure. The storm's starting to ease up."

Relief floods through me. "Thank goodness. I was so worried..."

My words trail off as I realize how close we're standing. In the small confines of the tent, I can feel the heat radiating from his body, see the water droplets clinging to his eyelashes.

Grayson seems to become aware of our proximity at the same moment. His eyes lock with mine, and the air between us suddenly feels charged with electricity that has nothing to do with the storm outside.

"Skylar," he says, his voice low and rough. "I..."

But whatever he was about to say is cut off as a violent shiver runs through him. The sight snaps me out of my daze.

"You're freezing," I scold, grabbing another towel. "Here, you need to get out of these wet clothes before you catch pneumonia."

---