His Stormy Seduction: A Curvy Woman Mountain Man Romance

Chapter 1

The dense evergreen canopy filters the morning light into a mosaic of sun-dappled patterns along the forest floor. I deftly maneuver my way over the twisted root systems, keeping my eyes peeled for that perfect composition. My camera feels like an extension of my body as I pause, frame up different angles, and study the interplay of light and shadow.

This is my happy place—out in nature with only my gear and my passion for company. No nagging doubts or second-guessing voices. Just me, my lens, and the endless wonders waiting to be immortalized and conquered.

A soft breeze rustles through the towering pines, and I inhale the earthy, rejuvenating scent deeply. God, I could get lost out here forever and never look back.

My boots crunch over the scattered pine needles as I push deeper into the Silverpine range, driven by an insatiable hunger to capture its rugged glory. This entire expedition is a huge career milestone for me—a massive photo spread in Summit, one of the world”s most prestigious adventure magazines. If I nail these shots, showcasing the majestic and terrifying sides of these mountains in all their glory, it”ll be a total game changer.

And I always get my shot, no matter what stands in my way.

A distant rumble of thunder breaks me from my reverie. I glance up to see the sky rapidly darkening, with thick storm clouds massing on the horizon and blotting out the sun.

Well, this should make things interesting.

I press on, the canopy thinning out until I finally emerge onto the banks of Boulder Creek. The waterway”s name is a bit of an understatement—this raging torrent is a churning mass of whitewater power, the roar nearly deafening.

And yet, the beauty of it has my breath catching in my throat. The way the sunlight filters through the mist and spray, refracting into a kaleidoscope of shimmering colors. The sheer, relentless force of the rapids as they crash over the rocks.

God, it”s magnificent. My fingers practically itch to start shooting, the viewfinder already raised and scanning for the perfect vantage point.

A flash of lightning dances across the gunmetal sky, followed by a bone-rattling boom of thunder. The storm is closing in fast. Probably not the smartest idea to be messing around near a swollen creek when...

My internal warning bells are drowned out by the roar of the rapids and that irresistible siren call. Just a few shots to capture this glorious chaos, and I”ll be on my way, I swear.

Gritting my teeth, I steel my nerves and carefully pick my way across the slick, algae-coated boulders. The icy spray feels like a million tiny needles lashing against my exposed skin as I inch out further, my heart pounding with each treacherous step. The little voice of caution in my head tells me this is reckless, but I”ve never listened to that nagging worry-wart before.

And it’s a good thing, because the vantage point is perfection.

I raise my camera and start shooting, my finger working the shutter furiously as I try to capture every angle. The ferocious power of the whitewater spray exploding off the rocks. The surreal patterns in the mist and refracted light. The hypnotic chaos as one swell after another crashes over the boulders. My world has shrunk to just me, my lens, and this moment.

Which is why I don”t notice the rising water level until it”s nearly too late.

One minute, I”m braced on a sturdy rock outcropping; the next, a rogue surge comes barreling through. My tenuous foothold is swept out from under me, and I plunge face-first into the water with a strangled cry.

The breath is instantly crushed from my lungs by the frigid rush. My limbs flail wildly as I”m tossed and tumbled in the churning currents. The roar is deafening as the rapids spin me around and around, my sense of direction lost entirely.

Just as the burning in my chest becomes unbearable, my back slams against something hard—a cluster of moss-slicked boulders jutting up from the raging creek. Instinct takes over, and I cling to them like a lifeline, wrapping my arms around the rough stone and locking on.

I break the surface, sucking in ragged gulps of air and blinking the stinging water from my eyes. The torrent rages all around me, the whitewater surging and crashing. As my feet scramble for purchase under the water, my foot slips between the rocks, pinning me in place. My camera, still around my neck and thankfully in its waterproof case, bobs and bounces, threatening to break free.

My fingers are going numb from the cold, my grip weakening. I don”t know how much longer I can keep myself anchored against this storm.

But giving up isn”t an option. It never is for me. I”ve always found a way to survive, to claw my way back from the brink through sheer force of will. I”m not about to let some raging rapids be the thing that finally takes me down.

My jaw clenches with grim determination. I can figure this out. I have to.

”Hang on!” a deep voice suddenly calls out, cutting through the noise.

I whip my head toward the bank, blinking against the spray to make out a tall, powerfully-built figure standing above me.

”Just hold tight. I”m coming to get you!”

Before I can reply, he”s shrugging out of his heavy jacket and tossing aside his boots. Then, with a decisive leap, he plunges headlong into the rapids. Part of me wants to protest at him risking his life like this, but the bigger part is in awe of his bravado—it”s exactly the kind of impulsive, all-in move I would make.

He battles the punishing currents with almost preternatural calm. His thick, muscular frame cuts through the water with powerful strokes, each movement controlled and purposeful as he makes his way toward me.

My rescuer finally reaches my pinned position, anchoring himself to the boulders with one arm while extending the other to me.

”Can you grab on?” he shouts.

I mutely shake my head, gesturing down at where my right foot is pinned. A look of grim determination settles over his chiseled features.

“What’s your name?” he shouts.

My brow furrows, thinking it’s a strange time for introductions. But I answer anyway. “Bonnie.”

“Bonnie, I’m Garrett,” he says, even as the water surges around him. “And I’m going to get you out of here.” Then, with a heave of his broad shoulders, he ducks beneath the surface.

I feel a sudden shifting of the weight against my leg as Garrett’s powerful frame works to dislodge the rock. My breath catches in my throat as I wait with bated anticipation... until finally, the pressure releases.

His head breaks through the surface again, his red-gold hair plastered to his forehead. ”Now!”

Not needing to be told twice, I instantly release my grip on the boulder and throw myself toward him. His arm snakes around my waist like a steel vise, crushing me against his solid frame as he turns to start fighting back toward the bank.

Up close like this, I finally get a good look at my savior as we battle the rapids together. He”s ruggedly handsome, with a chiseled jawline and intense eyes. I drink in every impressively sculpted inch of him—the powerful build, the corded arms and shoulders, the roped muscle shifting beneath his soaked shirt with each movement. My god, the sheer masculine dominance rolling off this man is utterly intoxicating.

If he’s the last thing I see, then I’m going to go out enjoying every second.

Thankfully, though, he manages to tow us back to the bank. By the time we finally claw our way onto dry land, my lungs are searing and every muscle is screaming from sheer exhaustion.

We collapse in a tangled, gasping heap, our ragged breaths mingling as we lay there trying to catch our breath. Garrett rolls onto his back, chest heaving, and I can”t tear my eyes away from the rippling ridges of his abdomen, that dusting of golden hair trailing down from the hollow of his throat...

I give my head a mental shake, trying to dislodge the inappropriate and extremely inconvenient rush of lust currently fogging up my brain. This is hardly the time or place.

My gaze lifts back up to meet his as those dark eyes take in my soaked, bedraggled state. A heavy, electric tension in the air has every nerve-ending tingling.

A deafening boom of thunder finally shatters the trance. We both startle at the sound, Garrett surging upright. His eyes narrow at the sky, jaw clenching.

”Can you walk?” he asks gruffly.

”Y-yeah... I think so,” I manage to gasp out, giving my leg an experimental flex. A little battered and bruised, but nothing broken.

He nods, then rises, extending his hand to haul me upright. ”We need to get out of this storm and find shelter. Can you keep up?”

Despite the brusque words, there”s an undercurrent of gentle concern in that deep timbre. It sends a shiver skating down my rain-chilled spine, completely at odds with the authoritative command behind the question.

Straightening my shoulders, I meet that penetrating stare head-on. ”Lead the way, Rambo.”

The faintest ghost of a smirk quirks the corner of his mouth—the first hint of anything other than grim stoicism. He gives another curt nod, then turns to lead us into the trees just as the skies finally unleash their torrent.

I fall in behind that broad-shouldered frame, my camera still clutched protectively against my chest. Somehow, even after coming within a hairsbreadth of losing my life, all I can think about is how incredible the light and textures are with this downpour... and the tantalizing way his rain-soaked shirt clings to those powerful muscles.

A reckless thrill rushes through me as I hurry after my ruggedly handsome rescuer, eager to see what other adventures—and temptations—this wild journey has in store.