Page 38 of Forbidden Passions

His shirt joined mine on the floor, followed quickly by the rest of our clothes. Our hands were eager, our mouths hungry as our bodies remembered exactly how perfectly they fit together. When he finally pushed into me, both of us gasping at the perfect friction, I felt something click into place that had been missing since I’d walked out his door.

“Callie,” he breathed against my neck, the sound of my name on his lips more intimate than any touch. “Sweet, sweet, Callie.”

I wrapped my legs around him, urging him deeper, my hands traveling over the planes of his back, the powerful muscles working as he moved within me. This was different from before—more desperate, more honest, as if we were both trying to erase the pain of our separation with each thrust, each kiss, each whispered word.

When release came, it was with his name on my lips and his face buried in my neck, our bodies trembling. Afterward, he gathered me against his chest, arms wrapped securely around me as if afraid I might still disappear.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I murmured, tracing patterns on his skin. “Not tonight, anyway.”

“And after?” he asked, the question muffled against my hair.

I propped myself up on one elbow, looking down at him seriously. “After, we figure it out. My work is flexible—I can base myself anywhere with decent internet. And I’m a wildlife photographer. I’m sure there’s a few bears around here that wouldn’t mind their picture being taken.”

I moved to kneel beside him. “And, if I really want a change of pace, maybe I could publish a mountain man calendar.”

“Over my dead body.” He picked me up and placed me on top of him. We both groaned as his thickness settled between my thighs. “Ride me, baby,” he whispered, gripping my hips tightly.

Max chose that moment to push open the bedroom door, tail wagging as he surveyed us with canine satisfaction.

“Think he’s proud of himself?” Gabriel asked, amusement rumbling through his chest.

“Absolutely,” I laughed.

“Think he’ll be good with the babies?”

My eyes widened. “Gabriel, what are you saying? You want children? They are not conducive for a quiet, solitary life, mountain man.”

He reached up and tucked a curl behind my ear. “I think that lifestyle is highly overrated.”

He lifted me and positioned himself at my entrance. I moaned as he lowered me onto his rigid length. “Me too,” I murmured as I began to move. “Really overrated.”

EPILOGUE

Gabriel

Six months.

That’s how long she’d been here. Six months of waking up to the sound of her laughter echoing through the trees. Six months of finding her camera batteries charging beside my knives. Six months of Max trying to take over the bed like he owned the place.

Six months of a type of peace I didn’t realize I could have.

I used to think I liked being alone. Hell, I’d built a whole life around it. Routine. Silence. The kind of quiet that kept the world at arm’s length.

But now? Now I woke up to the scent of her shampoo on my pillow and the soft rustle of her moving through the kitchen. I listened for her the way I used to listen for threats in a war zone—always alert, always attuned. Except now, what I was listening for was life. Laughter. Her voice calling my name.

This morning, I found her out back, crouched low near the stream with her camera pressed to her face. There was snow along the edges of the bank—the kind that would melt by noon—but it was the first real sign winter was retreating. She was chasing light and movement, probably hoping for another glimpse of the fox family she’d been tracking since October.

Max was beside her, his tail thumping in the snow, doing a poor job of pretending he wasn’t dying to chase something.

I stood there, arms crossed, just watching. She had that look again—focused, sharp, content. She didn’t know I was there yet, which made it easier to take her in.

The way she fit in here still caught me off guard. She had sweaters hanging beside my flannel shirt. Her socks were mixed in with mine. Her lens caps were scattered all over the place. And I wouldn’t have changed a single damn thing.

Six months ago, I’d been terrified of this—of her. Of what it meant to let someone in.

Now? I couldn’t imagine a world without her.

“I thought I felt you staring,” she said suddenly, voice warm, eyes still trained through the lens.

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