Page 2

Chapter Two

brYNN

“A guardian angel? Don’t tell me you believe in shit like that.”

“I believe in what I can see with my own eyes,” I counter, narrowing my gaze in his sexy direction.

He growls, a sound meant to scare me away, I would assume. Instead, it twists my lower core, making my panties even moister.

“A lot of shit can go wrong in an isolated place like this. You shouldn’t be up here alone and vulnerable.”

“But I wasn’t alone,” I observe. The man crosses his burly arms over his firm chest, pressing his lips together. The composite effect undoes me. A small whimper escapes my lips as more heat floods my cheeks. “Was I?” I add, pushing him towards a confession.

Only after he admits what he’s doing can we talk about why and maybe move on to quenching some of the thirst a week of his eyes on my flesh has inspired.

“And your point?” His demeanor is gruff, verging on rude, as my eyes wander over the angular planes of his body hungrily. He does the same to me, his remorseless eyes inching over every curve.

I lick my lips, my eyes boldly dropping to his gorgeous mouth. “I have a feeling you wouldn’t let anything happen to me.”

“I would kill any man who laid a hand on you,” he replies too quickly. Pausing for a painfully tense moment, he adds in dangerous tones, “But the real question is: How do you know I’m not the big, bad wolf?”

“You would never hurt me,” I reply, raising my chin in challenge.

“You don’t even know me. How can you say something like that?”

I press my lips tightly together, no more able to answer the question than the man who posed it. But he won’t let up, his eyes pressing me for an answer.

“Call it intuition. I just know.”

“Angels and intuition? That’s a good way to end up dead.”

I shake my head, calling his bluff. “You strike me as a man who relies on intuition.”

He leans back, eyeing me sternly as his shoulders relax ever so slightly. “You’re good at making assumptions.”

I shrug. “Blame my intuition or my angel.” I emphasize the single nature of the last word, making it clear there’s only one guardian angel I’m talking about.

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.

Butterfly? I don’t allow myself to reflect further on that unwelcome nickname or the fragility it implies as I struggle into my hiking boots, shoving the folded tripod into my bag, and reattaching my rolled up yoga mat to my pack. I start down the trail at a heightened pace … a pace I can’t maintain. And yet, my legs refuse to slow.

Eyes press into me from every direction as I hustle down the pathway I struggled to ascend earlier. I work hard to retain a calm outer veneer, but inside, uneasiness and fear simmer. Fortunately, this is a popular route, and I pass group after group of visitors, slowly relaxing and reflecting more deeply on my interaction with the stranger.

Looking at my phone, I realize the five-mile hike that required two-and-a-half leisurely hours just flew by in a little over an hour.

I hear a crackling of broken branches, turning to see the black-bearded mountain man glaring savagely at me from a distance. A deep growl rumbles up from his chest.

He wants me to be scared. It couldn’t be more obvious, and so I retort, lifting my chin imperiously, “I still don’t think you want to hurt me or let anyone else, for that matter.”

For the first time this week, the man looks shocked, his jaw slackening, and his eyes narrowing. His reaction makes me laugh. It also makes me feel oddly empowered.

Without a second glance, I beeline for my car. I may not be terrified of the mountain man, but I’m more than ready for the safety of my car. And I could definitely use some hot food and a cold shower.

I climb in, setting my purse in the passenger seat. My heart pounds behind my ribs, my hands shake, and my breath continues to come in little pants. I feel simultaneously invigorated, nervous, aroused, and anxious. I start to back up...

“Hey!” a high-pitched voice exclaims as I feel a thud, slamming on the brakes. Staring out the driver’s side window, I realize that I’ve hit a man. A man I know.

Rolling down the window, I scream, “Oh my God, Ralph, are you okay? What were you doing there? I didn’t see you.”

“Try checking your rear view mirror next time.” Ralph shakes his head, laughing. “You realize this is only one step above a hit and run, right?”

I cover my hand with my mouth ashamed of myself.

He pats his gray T-shirt and denim shorts, rustling his medium-length brown hair as he assesses his leg where I bumped him. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. But you owe me a drink later.”

“A drink? Where?”

His goofy smile glows. He’s everything the mountain man at the lake is not—harmless, clumsy, and nerdy. “The bar at the Paradise Inn, unless you know of some little hole-in-the-wall I haven’t found yet?”

“The Paradise Inn’s fine,” I reply, my mind still scattered. “Are you sure you’re okay? How hard did I hit you?”

“Just enough to get my attention,” he says, his cheeks glowing. “How about six tonight?”

I scrunch my face, my pulse finally slowing. “Will the rest of the group be there?” While Ralph’s a nice enough guy, he’s not my type. I don’t want to give him the wrong impression by meeting up with him alone.

“Probably. It’ll be dinnertime, after all.”

“Okay. See you then.” A sudden realization hits me. “Are you taking the trailhead up to Lake Florence?”

“Dunno,” he says in non-committal tones. “I’m kind of going wherever opportunity takes me.”

I scrunch my face, confused by his words.

He adds, “I keep telling you, Brynn, I’m not like you or the rest of the crew. I don’t need to do the whole HRT or even half of it. Touching grass, people watching are enough for me. Besides, Lake Florence is a bit overrated.”

“So, you have been there?”

He shakes his head. “No, I mean overrated based on the photos I’ve seen on Yelp and many of the reviews.”

“Those aren’t the photos and reviews I’ve seen,” I counter. But then again, who am I to tell him what he should find impressive?

As if reading my mind, Ralph adds, “Opinions are like assholes, Brynn. Everyone has one.”

“You have a point. Well, have fun, whatever you do, and if you see a giant with black hair and a beard, tell him ‘hello’ from Brynn.”

Ralph deepens the crease in his forehead. “Making friends with Bigfoot, now?”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Be careful out there. See you tonight.”

“Later,” he calls after me as I glance into my rearview mirror, watching him wave.