Page 1 of Forbidden Passions

CHAPTER ONE

Callie

This was not how my vacation was supposed to go.

I was supposed to be enjoying a peaceful hike with my dog after a day spent taking photos for my latest freelance job. Then, enjoying a nice long bubble bath and a glass of wine. Simple. Easy. The perfect way to end the day.

Instead, I was stumbling through a darkening forest, rain pelting my face and my boots sinking into the increasingly muddy ground with each desperate step. The flashlight app on my phone cut a weak beam through the gloom, battery warning flashing ominously.

“Max!” I shouted for what felt like the thousandth time, my voice growing hoarse. “Max, where are you, boy?”

Only the steady drumming of rain against leaves answered me. That, and the distant rumble of thunder that seemed to be getting closer.

I should have listened to the park ranger. What was his name? Brad? Brett? He’d warned me about the storm front coming in, advised against hiking the trails alone. But I’d smiled, thanked him for his concern, and assured him I’d be fine. This was not my first rodeo. Hiking in the woods when it was raining came with my job description.

Except now it was more than a little rain, and my newly adopted shelter dog was missing, night was falling, and I was probably lost myself.

“Max!” I tried again, cupping my hands around my mouth to project the sound.

I’d only had Max for three weeks. He was still adjusting to me, to being in a real home after who knows how long at the shelter. When that branch had fallen during our hike, the crack like a gunshot, he’d bolted before I could tighten my grip on his leash.

I looked at my phone again. One bar of service. I quickly dialed the ranger station, but the call failed to connect. So much for modern technology.

Then—faint, but unmistakable—a bark.

My heart leapt. “Max?” I pivoted toward the sound, nearly losing my footing on the slick ground. “Max, baby, is that you?”

Another bark, clearer this time. Definitely Max. I’d know that deep woof anywhere.

I pushed forward, ignoring the branches that clawed at my rain jacket and the mud that sucked at my boots. The terrain was steeper here, not part of the marked trails I’d been following. But Max’s barks were getting louder, more insistent.

“I’m coming, buddy, hang on!”

Ten minutes of slipping and sliding brought me to the edge of a small clearing. Through the rain, I could make out a cabin, rustic, isolated but with what I hoped was a welcoming glow in the window.

And there, pressed to the glass, was a large, furry head with the unmistakable tilt of Max’s right ear.

“Max.” Relief flooded through me, followed immediately by confusion. How had he ended up inside someone’s cabin?

I sloshed through the puddles leading to the front door, questions tumbling through my mind. Who lived all the way outhere? Were they kind to take in my dog, or was Max trapped? I knew I should have proceeded with caution, but that was who I was. Sometimes, I go where angels feared to tread.

As I reached the weathered porch steps, thunder cracked directly overhead, making me jump. I caught another glimpse of Max through the window and something else. A massive figure moving past the window. A man, tall and broad-shouldered.

I squared my shoulders and marched up the steps. This was no time for nerves. Max was inside, and I was getting him back, intimidating stranger or not.

I knocked firmly, then harder when there was no immediate response. Finally, I resorted to pounding with the side of my fist, rainwater flying from my sleeve with each impact.

“Hello? Excuse me? I think you have my dog!”

The door swung open so suddenly I nearly fell forward.

And then I was looking up—way up—at the most gorgeous grump I’d ever laid eyes on.

Holy. Mother. Of. Mountains.

He filled the doorway completely. Six-foot-something of pure, rugged muscle wrapped in a gray thermal shirt that clung to what had to be an eight-pack set of abs—wait was that even possible? Worn jeans hugged powerful thighs, and his broad shoulders could’ve been carved from the mountain itself. Dark hair with a hint of unruly wave fell just long enough to curl at the temples and the nape of his neck, like he’d forgotten to cut it rather than styled it that way.

A jawline that could cut glass, currently tensed in obvious irritation. And his eyes—stormy gray, like the clouds overhead, equally thunderous, set beneath heavy brows that were currently drawn together in a scowl that should’ve been intimidating but instead made my stomach perform an unexpected somersault.

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