Awakening the Wild (Wild Mountain Men #1)

Chapter 1

T onya

I tipped back my head and let out a primal scream. It felt kind of good, so I did it again. This time I hurt my throat.

Steam poured from under the hood of my Mercedes. I glared at the engine. What was I even looking at? Did I run out of oil? Were my spark plugs not sparking or plugging? Would I even know what to do if I figured out what was wrong?

No.

My shoes were slowly sinking into Vermont mud. Maybe if I was lucky, it would suck me down like quicksand. Rain pelted my blazer while I stood on what could charitably be called a road—if roads were supposed to be rutted dirt tracks that disappeared into wilderness.

Sugar Maple Ridge Road , the GPS had announced cheerfully before losing signal entirely. More like Sugar Maple Ridge Path to Nowhere.

"Stupid piece of European garbage," I muttered, slamming the hood back down. Pain shot through my hand. I had broken two nails doing that. Figures.

Michael's voice echoed in my head: You'll never survive without me, Tonya. You can't even change a tire.

He was right. I couldn't change a tire. I couldn't jumpstart a car, couldn't read a map, couldn't do anything useful. Twenty-six years old and completely helpless—just the way he'd trained me to be.

But I'd rather die on this mountain than go back to Manhattan. Rather freeze to death than let him control me for one more second.

The inheritance letter crinkled in my jacket pocket—along with the notice about outstanding property taxes and estate debts that would need to be resolved.

I'd only discovered the letter three days ago, hidden in a stack of mail Michael had been 'handling' for me.

Grandmother's cottage was going to be my salvation, my chance to prove I could survive without Michael's suffocating protection.

Instead, I was stranded in the middle of nowhere with a dead car and the survival skills of a houseplant.

I should call for help. Except my phone had zero bars, and the nearest civilization was probably fifty miles away.

The rain intensified, turning from steady drizzle to torrential downpour. My hair hung in wet rats' tails around my face. Mascara streaked down my cheeks so I looked like a demented raccoon. My white silk blouse was now transparent and clinging to my bra. I felt like a drowned rat.

Panic clawed at my throat. This was how people died, stranded and stupid, too proud to turn back. Michael would read about it in the papers: City Girl Found Dead in Vermont Woods. "She Never Could Take Care of Herself," Ex-Fiancé Says.

Maybe I could push the car.

Right. Push a two-ton luxury sedan uphill in heels and a pencil skirt.

I got back into the car, dripping wet and just sat there shivering.

I supposed I could just stay here and hope that someone would come rescue me.

No. That was the damsel in distress that Michael wanted me to be.

I was going to be Wonder Woman, Xena Warrior Princess, and .

.. another tough bitch who knew how to kick ass and take names.

The least I could do was get the car off the road so if someone did come this way, they wouldn’t hit my car and get into an accident.

I put the car in neutral and sighed. I wish it wasn’t raining. Then again, I was soaked to the skin anyway. Getting out, I braced my hands against the trunk, and shoved.

Nothing.

I tried again, digging into the mud for leverage. The car rocked slightly, then settled back into place like it was mocking me.

"Come on!" I screamed at the Mercedes, shoving with everything I had. "Move, you overpriced piece of—"

The sound of leaves crunching and branches snapping behind me whirl in fright. It was probably a bear or a moose or a serial killer. Or worse—Michael's private security team, come to drag me back to my perfectly controlled cage.

Instead, I saw a man.

The biggest, most intimidating man I'd ever seen in my life.

KEVIN

What the hell was a city princess doing on my mountain?

I'd heard the screaming from a quarter mile away through the storm—high-pitched fury that had every animal in the forest running for cover. Now I could see why. Some tiny woman in designer clothes was trying to push a Mercedes uphill by herself.

Stubborn little thing.

She couldn't be more than five-foot-six, but she had the attitude of someone twice her size.

Her rich brown hair was plastered to her skull.

Her deep, brown eyes blazed with frustration.

She had curves that even soaked business clothes couldn't hide.

She was soft everywhere I was hard, delicate where I was brutal, civilized where I was rough.

And she was trespassing on my property.

She jumped like a startled deer, spinning to face me with wide eyes that went even wider when she got a good look at me.

It wasn’t a reassuring sight for a woman travelling alone.

I was a six-foot-four mountain man covered in mud and carrying the axe I'd been using to clear storm damage from my access road.

I probably looked like her worst nightmare. Most women took one look at me and crossed the street.

"You lost?" I called out, staying back so I wouldn't spook her.

"I—" She clutched her fists like she could hurt me with them. I tried not to smile at that. "My car broke down."

No shit. Steam was still pouring from the engine, and she had oil stains on her pretty, but impractical outfit. This woman had no business being within fifty miles of Burke Mountain.

"This is private land," I said, stepping closer despite the way she tensed. "You're trespassing."

"I'm looking for my grandmother's cottage." Her chin lifted in defiance even though she was clearly terrified. "She left me property on Sugar Maple Ridge."

Her grandmother's cottage? That stopped me cold.

Old Mary Lorenzo had been my only neighbor, living in the run-down cabin about two miles from me through rough woods.

She had been a sweet old lady who'd brought me maple cookies every Christmas and never stuck her nose into anyone else’s business.

I had liked her, in as much as I liked anyone outside of my brothers.

She'd died last winter, and I'd assumed the state would claim her property.

I looked her over again—expensive clothes, soft hands, the kind of pale skin that screamed indoor living. This slip of a city girl was Mary's granddaughter? "What’s your name?"

"I’m Tonya Lorenzo. Did you know my grandmother?"

"I’m Kevin Pike. She was my neighbor." I studied her face, looking for any resemblance to the tough old bird who'd lived through ninety Vermont winters. "She never mentioned you."

Pain flickered across her features. "We grew apart."

I snorted. Probably too busy living her privileged city life while her grandmother aged alone on the mountain.

I hated people who only showed up when someone died and left them something.

But then I noticed her hands were shaking.

Not from cold, though the rain was turning brutal. From shock, maybe. Or fear.

Not your problem, Pike. But I went over and took a look at the car.

“Pop the hood,” I said. “And stay in the car out of the rain.”

She popped the hood, but she stood next to me when I looked at the engine.

"The engine's blown."

"Can you fix it?"

I almost laughed. "I’m not a half bad mechanic, but you don’t need one. You need an exorcist to revive this thing or a new engine. Better still, a whole new car."

Her face crumpled for just a second before she pulled herself together. “It was the only thing that was mine. I had it since I was sixteen.”

“They don’t make them like they used to,” I said.

She squared her delicate shoulders like she was preparing for battle. Christ, she was trying so hard to be strong when she was clearly falling apart.

"Then I guess I’ll have to walk to my grandmother’s cottage. Can you point the way?"

"In those shoes? You'll break your neck before you make it a hundred yards."

"I'll manage."

The hell she would. It was three miles of rough terrain to Mary's place from here, and that was if Tonya didn't get lost. Night was falling, temperature dropping, and this woman probably couldn't camp in the woods if her life depended on it.

Which it might, depending on the shape of Mary’s cottage.

"The storm's getting worse," I said, watching lightning flash in the distance.

She looked at the sky like she was going to scream again. Rain ran down her face in streams, and she was starting to shiver. Her silk blouse was practically see-through now, clinging to curves that made my mouth go dry despite the circumstances.

Don't look. Don't think about it.

"How far to town?" she asked, voice smaller now.

"West Burke? Twenty miles of dirt roads like this one." I gestured at the muddy track. "Most of it worse."

Her face went white. "Twenty miles?"

"You didn't plan this very well, princess."

That sparked fire in her eyes. "Don't call me princess."

I almost smiled. There was steel under all that designer polish. Thunder rolled across the mountains, close enough to make the ground shake. The storm was moving fast, and these squalls could dump a shit ton to water without warning. I'd seen experienced hikers die in weather like this.

This woman wouldn't last an hour.

“I guess I’ll wait out the storm in my car and then call a garage. Once I get signal back,” she muttered.

"You can't stay out here. You'll freeze in those wet clothes."

"I'll be fine."

Stubborn little liar. She was anything but fine, and we both knew it. Her lips were turning blue, and she was swaying on her feet.

The smart thing would be to have her stay put and call Jerry from the garage to rescue her when the storm let out. But something primitive in me growled at the sight of her suffering.

"My truck's back at the main road," I said, making a decision I'd probably regret. "I can hook your car up to it and tow it out of the way. And we should get you somewhere warm. Mary’s cottage won’t have any heat or electricity.

" And since it had been abandoned for over a year, I wasn’t sure it was even livable anymore. But that was a tomorrow problem.

Hope flared in her eyes before she quickly suppressed it. "I don’t have much cash on me, but I’m good for it.”

Great, she was one of those who thought you could just throw money at a problem and it would go away. "I don't want your money."

"Then what do you want?"

You. In my bed. Under my protection.

Where on earth had that come from? But it was true.

I wanted to strip those wet clothes off her shaking body, wrap her in warm blankets, feed her hot soup until color returned to her cheeks.

I wanted to carry her to my house and keep her there until she stopped looking over her shoulder like she expected someone to hurt her.

I wanted things I had no right to want from a woman I just met, and a desperate one in distress.

"I just want to get you out of this rain before you die on my property," I said gruffly. "Bad for property values."

She almost smiled at that. Almost. Then she nodded, apparently deciding that a mountain man with an axe was safer than hypothermia.

Smart woman.

"Let’s go," I ordered, using the tone that made grown men listen without question. "You can sit in my truck while I see about towing your car."

"I really appreciate this."

“No problem.” It was a problem though. She was a problem. I liked being alone. I didn’t like small talk or women who had fancy clothes and manicures. I shouldn’t like Tonya Lorenzo. But I did. I really did. The thought should have annoyed me. Instead, it sent dark satisfaction through my blood.

I shook off the primitive response and lead her back to the truck.

I was just being neighborly, nothing more.

I’d consider it payback to Mary for all the Christmas cookies.

I'd get her granddaughter warm and dry, help her figure out her situation, and then I could go back to my blissful solitude.

After she got in, I dug around in the cab until I found a heavy flannel shirt I had lying around.

"Here."

She looked at the shirt like it might bite her. "I'm fine."

"You're turning blue. Put it on."

"I said I'm—"

"Put. It. On." I used the voice that brooked no argument. "Before you pass out in my truck."

For a second, I thought she'd keep fighting me out of pure stubbornness.

Then common sense won out, and she took the shirt with trembling fingers.

It was massive on her—the shoulders hung past her elbows, and it fell nearly to her knees.

But it was warm and dry, and some of the tension left her body as she burrowed into the fleece lining.

"Better?" I asked.

She nodded, not meeting my eyes. "Thank you."

I watched her straighten her spine and lift her chin against the storm, refusing to break even when she was clearly terrified, I realized I didn't mind complicated.

Not when it came with curves like hers.

Not when it came with fire like that.

She thought she was helpless, but I could see wasn’t. She just needed someone to show her how strong she really was.

Someone like me.