His Primal Attraction: A Curvy Woman Mountain Man Romance

Chapter 1

Rhylee

The heavy oak door groans in protest as I push into the dimly-lit tavern. My nose crinkles involuntarily at the scene of stale beer and sweat as I survey the rowdy scene—a herd of grizzled mountain men crowded around the bar, their raucous laughter and colorful language echoing off the wood-paneled walls.

I feel impossibly out of place in my sensible hiking attire, like a demure librarian who accidentally stumbled into a bear’s den. As I approach the bar, all eyes swivel in my direction, and I resist the urge to squirm under their leering gazes.

”Afternoon,” I mumble to the burly, bearded bartender wiping down mugs. ”I”m supposed to be meeting my guide here.”

He eyes me up and down skeptically. ”Guide for what?”

”The Silverpine research expedition.” I fidget with the strap of my backpack. ”I had it arranged with a local named Hank Rawlins.”

A guffaw erupts from behind me. ”Can ya believe this, Vern? Some city girl thinks she”s gonna go stompin” ”round our neck ”o the woods!”

Laughter rumbles like rolling thunder. I feel my cheeks flush as I square my shoulders, shooting the drunken hecklers a withering glare over my glasses.

The bartender shakes his shaggy head. ”Sorry, miss. Hank”s laid up with a broke leg after a bad fall. Don”t rightly know if there”s anyone else crazy enough to lead your nature walk through Grizzly territory.”

My stomach drops at the realization that my entire research trip—months of planning, securing funding and permissions—could be derailed before I even set foot in the mountains. This was my chance, my big break as a wildlife biologist to really make an impact.

And now it’s all unraveling at my feet.

”Well, I-I need to find someone,” I stammer, desperation creeping into my tone. I turn to face the rowdy mob, mustering all my courage. ”I need an expert guide to lead me into the Silverpine Reserve and track the mountain lion population.”

Another riotous burst of laughter shakes the tavern, and I wince.

”Hear that, boys?” A drunken man slams his mug down, amber liquid sloshing over the sides. ”You got a deathwish, darlin”? Ain”t nobody gonna—”

The heavy oak door slams open with a bang, causing the whole place to fall eerily silent. A chilly gust of mountain air sweeps in, rustling the scraggly manes of the patrons. Every eye turns toward the towering, feral-looking figure silhouetted in the doorway.

He stalks inside like a beast emerging from the wilderness, dripping with an aura of quiet menace. Despite the chill, he wears only a threadbare thermal henley. His chiseled, stubble-covered jawline is set in a hard line like it”s been carved from granite. Tangled, dirty-blond hair hangs shaggily over his brow, framing brown eyes that slowly sweep over the room.

I can”t tear my own gaze away, my breath catching in my throat as the man turns his smoldering appraisal in my direction. There”s something almost... animal about his raw masculine power and grace. Like one of the magnificent mountain lions I”ve come here to study, barely contained beneath a veneer of civility.

The thought should terrify me. But my body has other ideas, tingling with a strange, unsettling heat as his eyes rake over me.

The man takes a heavy step forward, the thud of his boot on the creaky wood shattering the tense silence. ”You need a guide?” His deep, rasping drawl slices through me like a hot blade.

My brain finally kicks into gear, and I straighten my shoulders, forcing an air of professionalism.

”I”m Dr. Rhylee Caldwell with the University of—”

”Don”t care ”bout titles.” He cuts me off. ”I”m Tucker Rhodes, and I just care if you can hack it out there in my neck of the woods.”

The bravado in his voice is undeniable. But so is the raw competence radiating from every inch of his powerful frame, from the calloused, capable hands to the keen, appraising eyes.

This is a man who doesn”t just survive the savage wilderness... he thrives in it.

”I-I can handle myself just fine, Mr. Rhodes,” I say with more confidence than I feel. I thrust out my hand, the perfect image of professional courtesy. ”We”ll be following strict research protocols in the reserve. I expect you”ll adhere to all of my guidelines.”

Tucker”s rough palm engulfs my smaller one, the calloused pads of his fingers igniting tiny sparks against my tingling skin. His piercing gaze bores into me as he squeezes firmly, a subtle reminder of his sheer, overwhelming strength.

”Your guidelines, Doc?” He tugs my hand closer until I”m nearly pressed against that hewn wall of muscle. I catch a whiff of pine and campfire smoke.

”We”ll see about that,” he rumbles, voice lowering. “Meet you outside.”

With that parting shot, he releases me and saunters toward the exit, leaving a stunned hush in his wake. I watch him go, trying to process the utterly disarming encounter that”s left me shaken to my core.

”Well, damn,” a voice beside me chuckles. ”Ol” Tucker”s sweet on ya, darlin”. Ain”t seen ”im take a likin” to a woman in longer than I can recall.”

My head whips toward the bartender, eyes wide behind my glasses. ”W-What? No, that”s ridiculous, he was just being a...”

A jerk? A caveman? A smoldering, dangerous force of rugged alpha maleness that somehow scrambled my nerves into knots?

”He”s gonna eat you alive out there in the wild,” another man snorts, and the whole place dissolves into riotous hoots and hollers.

”I think she”ll like it!” someone else hollers over the din.

I gather my gear, my cheeks flaming as I try to block out the crude jeers. Squaring my shoulders, I follow Tucker.

Eat me alive? I scoff to myself, shoving through the entrance. More likely he”ll be the one getting devoured.

By a mountain lion, of course. Not whatever primal hunger is currently gnawing at me in a most unscientific way.

I pause, blinking against the bright mountain sunlight and gulping in a steadying breath of crisp, pine-scented air. Tucker stands a few paces away beside a beat-up truck, his back turned toward me. My gaze traces the grooves of his spine beneath that snug thermal, the flex of his broad shoulders as he loads gear into the truck bed. I have to resist the urge to rake my nails over those chiseled slabs of muscle...

Rhylee Caldwell, get a grip!

I”m an academic, a professional, a woman of science. Not some silly girl letting her head get turned by a pair of smoldering eyes and a cocky attitude.

Still, as I watch Tucker”s lean hips sway with that innate, masculine swagger, I can”t deny my body”s visceral response.

He senses my presence then, pivoting to face me. Those blazing eyes lock onto me, and a slow, wicked grin spreads across his stubble-covered jaw as if he knows exactly the effect he”s eliciting. As if he can scent my arousal on the crisp mountain breeze like we’re just a couple of beasts.

I should be running for the safety of my lab, my world of clean lines and empirical data. Not stumbling into the jaws of the untamed unknown.

But something deep within me thrashes against that instinct, rising to meet the challenge in Tucker”s gaze, and I know one thing for certain.

There”s no going back now.