Page 3 of Ferocious Mountain Man (Seduction Summit Trails #6)

SAHARA

R afe’s cabin was exactly what I expected. It was small, with a wood-burning fireplace and very few windows—all of which had blackout blinds.

The one-room cabin was truly one room. Well, maybe it didn’t technically qualify as one room since there was a door toward the back that I assumed concealed the bathroom.

The bed was right out in the open, though.

No wonder he was creeped out with someone popping a tent on his property.

If a fan did find a way to peek through the windows, everything would be visible, including his bedroom.

He walked toward me, holding out a bottle with some sort of pink liquid. “Here you go.”

I took it from him, and in the process, my thumb grazed his knuckle. He jerked away like he’d been burned. Did he feel it too?

The minutes ticked by as we looked at each other. Something flickered in his eyes. Yes, he definitely felt it. In his stare was warmth, but it felt almost electrified. Tingles were spreading from my hand to the rest of my body.

What the heck? Had he just hypnotized me somehow?

He stepped back and looked at me. “It’s my mom’s favorite alcoholic drink,” he said. “She visited for Fourth of July with my sister and her family. They were all about the slides at the lodge.”

Slides at a lodge? I didn’t know what he was talking about. The ski lodge? They had slides there?

“Just wanted to explain why I had a drink like that in my fridge,” he said. “Got four more where that came from. My mom only drank one, and my sister’s still nursing.”

He was throwing a lot of information my way. Only now did I glance at the beverage I was holding. It was one of those sweet malt beverages— Cherry Bomb , the label announced, with a stemmed cherry for the O.

“Thanks,” I said.

I uncapped the bottle and took a big swig. Only after the liquid had crossed my tastebuds and made its way down my throat did it occur to me that I was technically on the job. I probably shouldn’t drink.

Was it really unprofessional, though? This wasn’t an ordinary kind of job, so I wasn’t sure what the protocols were.

He uncapped his drink and took a swig too. With his other hand, he gestured toward the couch, only speaking after he downed the big swallow he’d taken.

“Have a seat,” he said. “Relax. You’ll be spending all night outdoors in a tent. May as well enjoy a few minutes of air conditioning.”

I looked at the couch. How long had it been since I’d actually sat down?

Well, aside from the time in my car. I’d driven straight here, set up my tent, and scoured the town looking for him.

I’d been to the shopping center, had lunch at the diner, and dinner at the Mexican restaurant, hoping to happen upon him. No such luck.

That was when I’d gone to the lodge, figuring I could at least find some of the women who were coming to town looking for him. No such luck. The ski lodge was where most of them were staying—that and the campground. But I’d hit so many dead ends, I definitely hadn’t really relaxed since I got here.

Besides, I was in Rafe’s house. What was the point in rushing to climb into my tent? A tent I’d erected on land adjacent to his property so I could spy on him. Just far enough that he couldn’t see me behind some trees, but close enough that I might catch some video of him coming and going.

“I think I will, if you don’t mind,” I said, heading over to the couch and plopping down. The cushion felt less than cushiony. This sofa had definitely seen better days.

He said nothing as he headed over to his chair and sat. Then he looked down at his beer bottle for a minute or two before speaking.

“So exactly why are you here?” he asked.

With those words, his head snapped up and he stared directly at me.

Exactly why was I here? He was on to me.

He knew I wasn’t the type who’d come to this small town to look for some pseudo-celebrity.

For one thing, I was alone. For another, I was the only person resourceful enough to find out where he actually lived.

And lastly, my reaction to him had been somewhat professional.

Not at all how a celebrity stalker would act.

I couldn’t tell him the real reason I was here, so I called up the cover story I’d devised before leaving home. “I just wanted footage for my social media. I’m trying to get a thousand followers so I can start making money.”

That confession would probably not earn any respect from the guy. When I came up with the idea, I didn’t care what he thought of me. Did I care now?

I frowned as I thought about it for a second. Yes, I definitely did. And that could be a problem—especially if it meant I was developing a crush on the guy they’d nicknamed the Hardwood Hottie.

“You came up here for followers?” he asked.

“Yes, there’s money in it. A lot. I can’t make a dime on my posts right now, but if I can just get to a thousand followers, I can start making money off ads. Maybe even get some sponsorships. It worked for ShelfDestruct.”

He’d know who that was. She was the one who posted his clip to start with. There were a bunch of videos of hunky lumberjacks on her feed. Her name had spread far and wide.

I could see why. If I lived to be a hundred, I’d never get rid of the image of him hurling that axe, sunlight bouncing off his muscles.

“Are you talking about Larsen?” he asked.

“I guess.” I shrugged. “I heard she makes twenty thousand dollars a month.”

That had him narrowing his eyes at me. “You sure about that?”

“No. Just something I heard.”

It was a rumor I picked up in my research. I definitely didn’t plan to report it. Although I would love to track down ShelfDestruct while I was in town, and now I had her first name.

“She lives here now, right?” I asked.

He didn’t answer at first. Instead, he took another swig of beer. But his eyes stayed on me.

“She’s dating one of my buddies,” he said. “Moved in together about a week after they met. I don’t even know if they waited that long. Seems to happen a lot around here.”

Interesting. There might be a story in that. I couldn’t help but dig for more information.

“So, women move here and meet someone right away?”

He shook his head. “Women around your age visit and never leave, although I think that ShelfDestruct person you’re talking about actually moved here to work for her uncle before she met my buddy. He’s on our logging crew too.”

Women my age? What exactly did he mean by that? There was a generational vibe I was getting from it, and he couldn’t possibly be that much older than me. I was putting him in his mid-thirties.

“You’re in your early twenties, right?” he asked.

“Twenty-three,” I said, well aware of the defensiveness in my tone.

“Yep. They were that age when they got here. Twenty-three exactly. Every single one of them.”

“How many are we talking?”

“A few dozen.” He shrugged. “Maybe more. I haven’t met that many of them.”

My jaw dropped. “A few dozen? That’s a lot.”

“Seems like it.” He nodded. “Of course, I’m just going on hearsay. But from what I’ve seen since moving here a few months ago, it happens often enough to be strange.”

Suddenly, the whole reason I came here was tossed out the window. This was a much more interesting story. A town full of hot guys who attracted twenty-three-year-old women by accident? Maybe I shouldn’t abandon my Hardwood Hottie story, though. I could do both.

“Let’s cut to the chase,” he said. “What’s in it for me?”

The question threw me. I tried to place it in the context of the conversation—not because I didn’t understand what he was asking, but because I hadn’t expected him to be so blunt. And I wasn’t really sure how to answer.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“If I help you with your little project. You’re trying to make money off me, right?”

He was trying to shake me down for money. That was weird. He didn’t seem like the type. Not that I could blame him. I just felt a little disappointed that he’d care about money.

“I could pay you a fee,” I said. “Maybe a percentage. Like royalties?”

His face changed immediately in a way that told me I’d definitely misread the situation. “I don’t want money. You might not have noticed, but I’m not really into material things.”

Had I misheard him? “You asked what was in this for you. I’m not sure…”

I let my voice drift off then, hoping he’d get the point. But he continued to stare at me, saying nothing.

“Let me take you to dinner,” he said. “One date. Tomorrow night. Doesn’t have to be anything fancy. I know you’re sleeping in a tent. You can get ready here if you want. You’re always welcome to stay here if you don’t want to sleep outside.”

I shook my head. “I actually enjoy camping out. If you’ll help me get my tent set up, I’ll be fine. But yeah, I mean, if you want to buy me dinner…”

I gave him a smile and tried for a casual expression. Something that would keep him from knowing just how much his words were affecting me inside.

My heart was pounding. My breaths were coming fast.

It was all business. That was why I was excited by the prospect of going to dinner with him. That was all.

If I told myself that enough, maybe I’d start to believe it.