Page 2 of Forbidden Passions

He was the kind of man who didn’t need to say a word to make the world fall silent.

I knew I had momentarily lost my ability to speak.

For a split second, I forgot about Max, forgot about the rain, forgot my own name. All I could think of was that this man looked like he’d walked straight out of one of those romance novels where the cover model is inexplicably shirtless in a snowstorm.

He didn’t speak right away. Just stared at me like I was the last thing he wanted to see.

“Can I help you?” His voice was deep, rough with disuse, as if he wasn’t in the habit of speaking to people often. The sound rumbled through me like distant thunder, making me feel things that were entirely inappropriate given that I was soaking wet, exhausted, and worried about my dog.

Get it together, Callie. This is not the time to wonder if his stubble would leave beard burn on your thighs.

Before I could answer, a joyful bark sounded from inside, and Max pushed his way past the man’s legs, launching himself at me with such enthusiasm that I stumbled back a step.

“Max!” I dropped to my knees, heedless of the wet porch, wrapping my arms around my dog’s damp fur. “You bad doggie, I was so worried.”

Max wiggled and licked my face, his whole body wagging with excitement. For a moment, the rain and my exhaustion didn’t matter. I had my dog back.

“I take it, he belongs to you.” The deep voice brought me back to reality. The man was watching us, arms crossed over his broad chest, expression unreadable.

I stood, keeping a firm grip on Max’s collar. “Yes. Thank you for taking him in.” I pushed the dripping hair from my face, suddenly aware of how I must look—soaked to the bone, muddy, probably resembling a drowned rat.

“You shouldn’t let him run loose up here.”

The judgment in his tone made my spine snap straight. “I didn’tlethim run loose. He got scared and bolted during our hike. I’ve been searching for him ever since.”

He scanned me from head to toe, taking in my bedraggled state with a slightly raised eyebrow. “In this weather?”

“No,” I snapped, heat flaring in my chest. “I just really enjoy extreme hiking in the pouring rain.” I drew in a deep breath, regretting my outburst just a little. This man had taken in Max, after all. “Sorry. It’s been a rough afternoon. Thank you for looking after him.”

Thunder boomed again, and the rain somehow intensified, now coming down in sheets. The man glanced past me at the deluge, then back at me with a sigh that suggested I was the biggest inconvenience in his life.

“You’d better come in,” he said grudgingly, stepping aside. “The trails will start to flood, if they haven’t already.”

“That’s okay,” I said, lifting my chin. “I can make it back to my cabin. It’s just down by Aspen Loop.”

His laugh was short and humorless. “Not tonight, you won’t. Aspen Loop’s on the other side of Sawmill Creek, which is probably already overflowing its banks.”

As if confirming his words, a crackling voice came from a weather radio inside. “Flash flood warning remains in effect for Lone Mountain and surrounding areas. All hikers and campers are advised to seek immediate shelter. Sawmill access road is now closed due to high water...”

The man gestured at the radio. “See?”

I hesitated, looking from my dog to the intimidating stranger and back again. He looked about as enthused as I was to be here, but I was out of options. I needed shelter from the downpour and anyone who looked that annoyed at finding a damsel in distress on his doorstep wasn’t trying to lure me inside.

And did I mention he’s gorgeous? In anI might bite your head off but you’ll enjoy itkind of way.

“I can walk down,” I insisted, though the rational part of my brain was screaming at me to take the offer of dry shelter, no matter how begrudgingly it had been made.

His eyes narrowed. “In the dark? Through flash floods? On trails you clearly don’t know?” He shook his head. “That’s suicide, city girl.”

The city girl comment ignited my temper. “I’m not helpless, you know. I—”

Another crash of thunder, directly overhead. Max whined and pressed against my legs.

The man simply stood there, waiting, one dark eyebrow raised in silent challenge.

I exhaled slowly, admitting defeat. “Fine. Just until the storm passes. My name’s Callie by the way. Callie Winters.”

At first, I didn’t think he was going to tell me his name, then he stepped back, allowing me in. “Gabriel,” he said finally. “My name’s Gabriel Holt.”

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