Page 2 of Wildest Dreams

My palms are already sparkling with perspiration, and when I glance over my shoulder they become a hundred times slicker. They slip on the plastic wrap encasing a piece of the carved wooden frame and I fall onto the blacktop, dark gravel instantly biting into my palms.

There’s a guy standing about ten feet away from me, watching me from under the brim of a worn-in khaki baseball cap. He’s wearing a short-sleeved shirt that’s stretched wafer thin over his broad chest, and a pair of matching grey running shorts that his swollen thighs are protesting out of. He’s got to be at least six-four, but I’m so dizzy right now that he might be taller. His face is tan and strikingly handsome, and it looks as though he hasn’t shaved for a couple of days.

And he’s got the biggest biceps that I’ve ever seen.

From the sheer size of him he could honestly be anywhere from the age of eighteen to twenty-five, and with the heavy rise and fall of his chest as we watch each other I can only assume that he’s just finished a brutal work-out session.

His eyes do a slow sweep of my body before he averts his gaze, blushing crimson.

Interesting.

With slightly shaking arms I push myself up from my bent over position, wiping my palms on the thighs of my grey leggings as I stand to my feet.

He pulls off his khaki baseball cap and sweeps a large hand back through his hair. It’s thick and dark-looking in the pre-thunderstorm light, although the sides are closely shaven in a no-nonsense military cut. His eyes stay trained on the blacktop until he’s confident that I’m no longer bent over, and then his eyes flash back to mine, curious and unflinching.

“Looks like it’s going to rain. You trying to lift those?”

His voice is deep and rough, with a quiet country intonation. He glances at the bed-frame behind me and takes one tentative step forward.

“Yeah,” I admit, my voice light and breathless. His gaze slides back to mine and his chest lifts a little higher.

“Want some help?” he asks, taking another slow step forward. He has a kind of lazy cowboy swagger combined with a quiet,understated confidence. “Name’s Tanner, by the way. I live around here.”

My eyes widen involuntarily and I stare up at the condo in wonder.How have I been living here for almost a week and not bumped into this gorgeous guy until now?

Reading my mind he breathes out a quiet laugh.

“No, not this building,” he says. “I live aroundhere.”

He tips his head to the side, in the direction of the imposing mountainous ridges that Carter Ridge is named after.

“I’m from Carter Ridge, I mean.”

My breathing haltsand my eyes widen, unblinking.

Because one thing about me?

Ilovesmall towners.

I mean, in theory at least. Technically, before I visited Carter Ridge I wasn’t sure that they even existed. It’s my biggest secret, something that maybe even Connell doesn’t know, because to me small towns encapsulate everything that I have ever wanted, but could never have.

Tradition. Comfort. Privacy. Intimacy.

And most of all? Beyond the beautiful porches, up through the forest and into the mountains?

Somethingwild.

“You’re from Carter Ridge?” I ask breathlessly, resisting the urge to fan myself.

His eyes rake me up and down, and he widens his stance, cheek dimpling lazily. “Yeah. And you’re new in town.”

I blink, enchanted, and clutch a hand over my chest. “How did you know?” I breathe.

He huffs out a laugh and rumbles quietly, “Trust me, I’d remember you.”

In the next second a cloud breaks overhead and a few rogue droplets begin speckling the soft fabric of his shirt.

He glances down at his big barrel chest, swiping his palm over the tiny wet marks. When they don’t disappear he sighs quietly, rubbing more firmly.

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