Instant anger flashes across his face, and he mutters gruffly, “So, this is all some big joke to you? The missing hikers? You out here alone tempting fate?”

I swallow loudly, biting the words on the tip of my tongue.Not tempting fate, tempting you. But his intimidating stare and gorgeous countenance leave me speechless, breathless, unable to string two words together.

The animal magnetism pouring from his body is overwhelming, downright distracting. It fills my head with naughty flashes of rutting, fucking each other senseless in the cool of the forest’s shadows. His eyes ravage me without discretion, letting me know we’re thinking the same thoughts—feral, dangerous, animalistic.

“Do you always like to play with fire?”

I blink, licking my lips slowly. “You could say that.”

He runs a hand over his face and beard, his face frustratingly stony. “I stood here and watched you for a good three or four minutes before you noticed. That’s three or four minutes to catch you completely off guard, restrain or somehow otherwise disable you, and carry you off to be viciously raped and murdered. Or I could have simply had my way with you here before burying your body in a shallow, unmarked grave. Not unlike the two missing hikers, I imagine. Either way, you would have never seen me coming, and by the time you did, it would be too fucking late. It already is. ”

“I knew you were there all along. I felt your eyes on me the whole time,” I counter, my chin trembling ever so slightly as I pronounce the words. I doubt others would even notice the slight infirmity, but his gaze immediately locks onto it. A sudden thought enters my head, an extra point of precaution, though it involves a white lie. “Besides, I’m still live-streaming, and my fans would see everything.”

“If I were you,” he continues, rubbing his palm over his forehead and staring off into the distance, his face entirely unreadable. “I’d get my pretty little ass out of here before the next guy decides not to be so friendly, live-streaming or not. You got me?”

“So, this is your friendly version?”

He grunts.

Taking a deep breath, I venture, “I know your name’s Beau Forester, and you’re helping with the search.”

His eyes narrow, his face grim. “And how do you know that?”

I shrug. “From asking the right questions of the right people. Small towns talk, especially about one of their own. One who served his country in the Marine Corps before starting his own hunting and outfitting company and working search and rescue for the sheriff’s department as needed.”

“Maybe you should be an investigative journalist,” he replies.

“No, I’d be terrible.

“And why is that?”

Feeling emboldened, I admit, “Because while I am an excellent researcher, I only research what interests me.”

“Hmm… I guess you’re not alone in that regard. I know you’re Brynn Lovelace.”

“Did you pick that up from the video I’m live-streaming, or did you do your research?” I cock my head to the side, trying to read his face.

“What do you think?”

It’s time to put my cards on the table. “Why have you been following me all week?”

He shrugs. “Have I?”

I arch my brow.

Finally, the disgruntled man admits, “Maybe I like to play with fire, too.”

“With good intentions, then?” I ask.

“Might be good. Might be very, very bad.” He clenches his teeth, making a muscle in his jaw bounce. His eyes ravage me, and my insides melt like wax, caught somewhere between desire and rising fear. With a deep-chested growl, he adds, “Either way, consider this my first and last warning, Butterfly. Fly the fuck out of here before someone decides to pull off those pretty little wings of yours.”

The towering hulk’s menacing words slam into me hard as he disappears into the woods. For the first time since arriving in Murrieta and noticing the handsome mountain man, I feel something akin to fear.

What if instead of following me out of interest or to keep me safe, he has deeper, darker reasons? The loneliness and vulnerability of my current situation clobbers into me. Maybe I have been playing with fire … the kind that consumes everything.

Heightened senses seize me, bringing the world to vivid life—the breathy touch of the air on my skin, the rustle of dry grass against branches, every snap of a twig, every unaccounted for footstep.

My insides quiver, and my pulse pounds in my temples. But I refuse to let the menacing mountain man see me afraid. I jump to my feet, gathering my gear quickly, though methodically, before rolling my mat. My legs wobble beneath me, weak at the knees.