Mountain Man’s River Rush (Wildwood Valley Rapids #2)

Steamy small-town mountain man romance with a cocky river guide hero—A fearless thrill-seeker heroine books the most dangerous rapids on the menu and meets the one man who can’t keep his focus on the water, wrapped in instalove intensity, adrenaline-fueled chemistry, possessive alpha devotion, and whitewater-charged claim.

This high-energy mountain romance blends confident hero swagger, fearless heroine fire, forced-proximity heat, emotional healing from an overprotected past, and steamy claim-driven obsession into an electric story where the rapids aren’t the most dangerous thing on the river.

From the moment she pulls into the lot at closing time to the rush of running his hardest line, Mountain Man’s River Rush is a passionate small-town romance filled with adrenaline-soaked chemistry, equal-match tension, and the kind of possessive alpha energy that turns one Class IV run into the rest of her life.

For readers who love cocky river-worn heroes, fearless heroines who refuse to slow down, and intense instalove with a guaranteed HEA, this is a story built to keep them reading in one breathless sitting.

_______________ I’ve run every rapid on this river for twelve years. I read the water, I call the lines, I keep people alive. Cocky. Confident. Unshakable.

Nobody gets on my hardest run without my say-so.

And nobody—nobody—has ever made me lose focus on the water. Until she pulls into my lot at closing time and demands the ride of her life.

She came to Wildwood Valley for one thing—the Class IV run that scares off everyone else. No hesitation. No fear. She’s spent her whole life being told to slow down, be careful, stop pushing so hard.

She’s done listening. Too bad I’m not done watching. She doesn’t need me to protect her. She paddles like she was born on the water.

She reads rapids I’ve been running for years and sees things I miss. That’s the part that wrecks me. It’s not that she’s fearless.

Not that she’s beautiful—though she is, soaked and breathless and laughing in my gorge like the whitewater was made for her. It’s that she matches me. Stroke for stroke. Call for call.

The first person who’s ever been my equal on this river. She tells herself she doesn’t stay. Doesn’t slow down for anyone. She’s been running her whole life.

But the way she looks at me when the water goes quiet—like she’s found the one thing worth being still for—that’s not something I let go of. She says it’s too fast. Too much.

Too dangerous to need someone. She’s right. But I’ve never played it safe on the water. And I’m not about to start now. Because she’s not a customer. She’s not a thrill. She’s mine.

And I don’t lose what’s mine.