Chasing the Wild (Wild Mountain Men #2)

Chapter 1

Jess

This was professional hell disguised as team building.

I stood at the edge of the Eagle's Peak Adventure Outpost parking area, clutching my coffee tumbler like a lifeline while twelve of my fellow corporate lawyers milled around in varying states of outdoorsy costume.

Half looked like they'd raided an REI clearance rack, the other half like they were heading to a country club golf game. None of us belonged here.

"Remember, this is mandatory," Belinda Sorento, our senior partner, announced with the kind of smile that meant comply or find another job. "The firm's insurance company insists on stress management initiatives after the... incidents."

The incidents were tadehree panic attacks in depositions, one associate crying in the supply closet, and Bobby Kramer's very public breakdown during the Ferris merger.

Apparently, eighty-hour work weeks and impossible billable hour requirements were finally catching up to us in ways that made the firm legally liable.

So here we were, at some godforsaken mountain outpost in Vermont, pretending that a week of wilderness survival would magically cure the burnout that years of toxic corporate culture had created.

"Ms. Madison." Belinda's voice carried the particular edge reserved for associates who weren't quite making partner track expectations. "I trust you'll approach this with the same dedication you bring to your caseload."

Translation: Screw this up and kiss your promotion goodbye.

"Of course," I said, adjusting my stiff and uncomfortable new leather hiking boots. "I'm looking forward to the learning experience."

Liar. I was looking forward to getting through the next seven days without dying of hypothermia or professional humiliation, in that order.

The sound of an ATV engine cut the morning air, and I turned to see a figure approaching by the tree line.

And then the world tilted sideways.

The man who climbed off the ATV was... I didn't have words. My vocabulary—honed through three years of law school and five years of litigation—completely failed me.

He was huge. Not gym-huge, but mountain-huge.

Like he'd been carved from the granite cliffs surrounding us.

Broad shoulders strained against his worn flannel shirt.

Arms corded with muscle and marked with scars that spoke of a life lived dangerously.

Shaggy dark blond hair that looked like he'd cut it himself and didn't care.

And eyes—God, those eyes—pale blue like glacial ice, sharp and assessing as they swept over our group.

My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I actually pressed a hand to my chest.

What the hell was wrong with me?

I didn't react to men like this. I'd trained myself not to. In my world, attraction was a liability—something to be controlled, managed, and preferably ignored entirely in favor of billable hours and client development. I hadn't felt genuine desire in so long I'd convinced myself I didn't need it.

But this man—this gorgeous mountain of a man—made my body wake up and scream yes before my brain could even process what was happening.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, his voice carrying easily across the parking area without any apparent effort. Deep. Rough. The kind of voice that made you think of dark bedrooms and tangled sheets and being held down while—

Stop it. Jesus Christ, get a grip.

"I'm Sam Edwards, and I'll be your survival instructor for the next week. Before we start, let me be clear about something. This isn't glamping."

His gaze swept over our group again, lingering on our pristine gear and soft, office-pale faces. When those ice-blue eyes landed on me, the world stopped.

Just... stopped.

The air left my lungs. My skin went hot and cold at the same time. Every nerve ending in my body came alive in a way that felt inevitable.

He felt it too. I saw his jaw clench, saw something flare in those pale eyes before he shuttered it behind professional distance.

Oh God. This was bad. This was so, so bad.

"Some of you are going to want to quit before lunch," Sam continued, though his eyes kept finding mine like a compass seeking north.

"Some of you probably should quit before lunch.

The mountains don't care about your feelings, your comfort level, or your corporate hierarchy.

Up here, the only thing that matters is whether you can keep yourself and your team alive. "

His voice was doing things to me. Stupid, primitive things. Making me want to prove myself to him. Making me want to show him I wasn't like the others—soft and useless and ready to quit.

Making me want things I had no business wanting from a man I'd known for thirty seconds.

"Now," Sam said, dragging his gaze away from me with what looked like physical effort, "we're going to start with basic gear inspection. I need to see what you've brought and assess who's actually prepared for wilderness survival versus who showed up for Instagram photos."

Around me, the group began shuffling forward, pulling out their carefully researched equipment purchases. I remained where I was, trying to get my breathing under control.

This was insane. I was having a physiological reaction to a stranger. My hands were shaking. My pulse was racing. I felt lightheaded and hyperfocused at the same time, like I'd mainlined espresso on an empty stomach.

Except I knew exactly what this feeling was, because I'd read about it in enough romance novels during my rare moments of downtime. The ones I told myself were just escapism, fantasy that had nothing to do with real life.

Instant attraction. The kind that bypassed your brain entirely and went straight to your nervous system. The kind that made smart women do stupid things.

I didn't do stupid things. I was third in my class at Georgetown Law, the youngest senior associate at Hutchins & Ross, and on track for partnership at thirty. I did controlled things. Strategic things. Things that advanced my career and impressed the partners.

I did not stand in parking lots having full-body reactions to mountain men who looked like they could break me in half.

Sam worked his way through the other lawyers with brutal efficiency, his commentary blunt and devastatingly honest. He pointed out inadequate rain gear, inappropriate footwear, and equipment that was more flash than function.

His assessments were demolishing to several egos accustomed to being the smartest people in any room.

And I couldn't stop watching the way he moved, like he knew exactly what to do in any situation. I loved the way his voice stayed level and calm even when he was delivering criticism that made grown lawyers flinch.

He was competent, overwhelmingly so. And after years of working with people who talked a big game but couldn't deliver, watching someone who actually knew what the hell he was doing was intoxicating.

Or maybe I was just losing my mind. That was also a distinct possibility.

Finally, inevitably, he reached me.

"Ms...?" He waited, those unsettling pale eyes fixed on my face.

Up close, he was even more overwhelming. Bigger. More solid. He smelled like cedar and pine.

"Madison. Jess Madison." I straightened to my full height, which at five-seven in hiking boots still left me looking up at him. Way up.

The size difference made me quiver in a way that I refused to examine too closely.

I wasn't some delicate flower who needed a big strong man to protect her.

I was a litigator who'd faced down hostile witnesses and aggressive opposing counsel without breaking a sweat.

But the way he looked at me made me feel small and feminine and protected in ways I'd never wanted before.

I felt seen in ways I'd spent years avoiding.

"Jess." The way he said my name—like he was tasting it—sent shivers spiraling through me. "Let's see what you've brought."

I opened my top-of-the-line hiking pack, trying to project confidence while he examined my gear. Everything was exactly what the sales associate at the outdoor equipment store had recommended for serious wilderness adventures.

Sam held up my emergency shelter, a lightweight, high-tech bivy sack that had cost three hundred dollars.

"This is designed for experienced mountaineers doing multi-day alpine climbs," he said, his tone suggesting I'd brought a Formula One car to a driver's education course. "It assumes you already know how to stay alive in the wilderness."

The criticism stung more than it should have. I'd spent hours researching this gear, trying to be prepared, trying to do everything right like I always did. And he was dismissing it—dismissing me—in front of everyone.

"The store said it was the best," I said, hating how defensive I sounded.

"The store saw you coming from a mile away." He moved on to my cooking equipment, a sophisticated camp stove system that looked like it belonged in a NASA facility. "Let me guess. You told them you needed the top-of-the-line gear for a corporate retreat."

"I wanted to be prepared."

"Prepared?" He pulled out my water purification system, which looked more like a laboratory experiment than camping equipment. "This is a thousand dollars worth of gear you don't know how to use. You would have been better off with a twenty-dollar water filter and the knowledge to find a stream."

Around us, the other lawyers had gone silent, sensing blood in the water.

This was exactly the kind of public humiliation that would follow me back to the office, another story about how Jess Madison wasn't as smart as she thought she was.

Another reason to pass me over for partnership.

Another way I'd failed to be perfect enough.

The familiar panic started clawing at me—the feeling that I was drowning in expectations I could never quite meet, that no matter how hard I worked or how much I prepared, it would never be enough.

But underneath the panic, something else was rising. I was done with being dismissed by men who thought they knew better.

"Is there a problem being over prepared?" I asked, lifting my chin and letting my voice carry the edge I used in depositions. The one that made opposing counsel think twice before trying to steamroll me.

Sam's eyes flashed with approval. "Preparation would have been learning basic survival skills before buying gear you don't really need," he said, but there was a different quality to his voice now.

Less dismissive. More engaged. Like I'd finally done something interesting.

"This isn't thorough. It's expensive incompetence. "

The words should have stung. Should have made me back down or get defensive or any of the other reactions he was probably expecting. Instead, they made me furious.

"Maybe if your business had included an equipment list, we could have made better choices," I shot back.

His intense eyes locked on mine. My skin suddenly felt too tight. I was acutely aware of every inch of space between us—and how easy it would be for him to close that distance.

"Fair enough," he said, and then he stepped closer.

I had to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. I could see the faint lines around his eyes, the scar bisecting his left eyebrow. He was close enough that my body started screaming yes yes yes while my brain frantically tried to maintain control.

"But this isn't a courtroom, counselor," he said, his voice rough and intimate in a way that felt like a physical touch. "Clever arguments won't keep you alive when the temperature drops or keep you fed when your high-tech cooking system breaks down."

The challenge in his words made my pulse spike and my nipples tighten against my sports bra.

This was a test. I could feel it. The way he was pushing me, waiting to see if I'd fold or fight back made every professional instinct I had telling me to back down and not make waves that could follow me back to the office.

But something deeper—something I'd been suppressing for years under layers of perfectionism and people-pleasing—refused to give him the satisfaction.

"Then teach me," I said, meeting his stare head-on and not letting myself look away even though the intensity of his gaze felt like standing too close to a fire. "That's what you're being paid for, isn't it?"

The silence stretched between us, loaded with tension that had nothing to do with survival gear and everything to do with the electricity crackling in the space between our bodies.

I could feel energy, want, radiating from him.

And my body was responding in ways I couldn't control and didn't understand.

Around us, the other lawyers watched like spectators at a tennis match, waiting to see who would blink first.

I couldn't read his expression. I couldn't tell if I'd impressed him or pissed him off or both. All I knew was that I couldn't do anything but stand there and wait for him to make the next move.

Finally, Sam nodded slowly, and his smile turned wicked. Possessive. Like he'd just won something I hadn't realized we were competing for.

"All right," he said, his voice carrying a promise that made me shiver with anticipation I definitely wasn't ready to examine. "Let's see how fast you can learn."

There was something in his tone that suggested this was going to be harder than any case I'd ever argued. But I realized I wanted the challenge to prove myself to this man because I desperately needed someone to see me as something other than a billable hours machine.

"I'm ready," I said, even though I wasn't. Even though nothing in my life had prepared me for whatever this was.

His smile turned truly sinful, and I swore I saw his eyes drop to my mouth like he was imagining kissing me.

"We'll see about that, counselor," he said.

And then he stepped back, breaking the spell, leaving me standing there with my heart racing and my hands shaking. I had no idea what the hell had just happened.

But as I watched him move on to the next lawyer, I caught him glancing back at me. Just once. Just long enough for me to see the desire in his eyes before he turned away.