Chapter One

Victoria

Victoria’s legs burned as she bore down on the last half mile of her morning run. She pushed the pain from her mind. If the first nine and a half miles didn’t break her heart, then she hadn’t given it her all and the final stretch would need to crush anything she had left.

Dawn burned a ruby thread on the horizon, lighting the early fall colors of the Alaskan autumn. The path curved toward Lake Sitka. In the stillness of morning, the water’s surface in the center of the lake lay undisturbed, like a pane of glass. Only on the near edge could she see ripples and splashes. She ran further and saw the cause of the commotion.

A dog. He swam to the shore, bounded out of the water carrying a stick and dropped it at the feet of a man standing on the beach.

Her pace faltered. Shit. Clay Bergstrom. She’d stood him up the night before. It wasn’t like her to stand a man up, but he’d left her no choice. During her last three visits to the Lodge, he’d eyed her with a sexy smirk and tried to strike up a conversation. She’d avoided him, but yesterday morning he’d practically cornered her and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

She slowed to a walk and drew deep shuddering breaths, trying to recover. There was no use running past him. She’d have to talk to him. A quick apology. An invented excuse and then she’d return to the hotel and finish packing.

Clay stooped to pick up the stick. The dog noticed her and came bounding toward her, ears up, barking assertively until it recognized her. He stopped a few feet away, his ears lowered and his mouth curved into what looked like a smile. He then shook several times, flinging water droplets in all directions. She jerked her hands up to protect her eyes.

Clay strolled across the rocky shoreline, twirling the stick like a baton. His grey eyes held her with clear resentment. “Missed you last night.”

She wiped her face on the sleeve of her jacket. The lake water combined with her sweat rolled down her neck and past her collar.

“I’m sorry. I fell asleep.” She cringed inwardly. Lame…

“Sure you did,” he scoffed. “When you didn’t show up, I worried about you.”

“Very kind of you. But you didn’t need to worry. We don’t even really know each other.”

The dog barked.

Clay turned toward the lake and hurled the stick. It flew, end over end, arcing over the water and finally coming down with a faint splash. The dog tore over the stony beach and launched himself into the water. Victoria watched as he swam out to the stick, feeling slightly sorry for him. Clay had thrown it far and that water was freezing cold.

“When you didn’t show up I went by your suite,” Clay said. “I started to knock but I heard you talking on the phone. Mostly I wanted to know you were okay.”

Great. Not only had she stood him up, but he’d caught her in a lie too. “Listen, I’m sorry. I really am. It’s complicated.”

“There’s nothing complicated about it.”

Yes, it is, but she didn’t feel like listing off her personal problems. He worked as a fishing guide, taking business men on fly-fishing trips for her mother’s hotel. That meant he was her mother’s employee.

Not only that, but she’d heard three different stories about him taking it upon himself to act like the hotel bouncer, physically apprehending guests who behaved badly. No one had been hurt, but each time he’d frightened the guests so badly they’d packed their bags and left immediately.

He was ex-military and towered a head taller than her. He had a presence that said, ‘Don’t mess with me.’ He was good-looking in a rough sort of way. Incredibly fit. He held himself in a manner that suggested he gave zero interest about what others thought of him.

One of the staff at the hotel mentioned Clay’s nickname, something that had troubled her, but she’d since forgotten. A big, threatening-looking guy was exactly the type of man she tried to avoid, even though his blue eyes made her catch her breath every time.

“Anyway, I’m sorry. I really am,” she said suddenly feeling exhausted.

Clay fixed his gaze on the lake and the dog who’d finally reached the stick. The dog grabbed it and turned in a wide arc back to the shore.

“Do you have to throw it so far?” She folded her arms. “Seems a little mean.”

Clay’s lips lifted into a smile. The skin around his eyes creased, making her wonder how old he was. If she’d gone last night, she could have asked, but now it would seem awkward. Like she was interested. And she wasn’t. At all. That’s what she told herself.

If she had to guess his age, she’d say early thirties. Maybe thirty-three or four. When he smiled at her the first time, two weeks ago, when she’d arrived at the hunting lodge, she couldn’t stop looking at the curve of his lips and the way a single dimple formed to the right of his mouth. He’d stood by the fire that day, talking to a hotel guest, but he’d kept his attention riveted on her the moment she stepped into the room.

His stubble fascinated her too. Normally she didn’t like the rough unshaven look. Not that she liked the carefully groomed short beards of the boys her mother pushed at her.

“Charlie’s just a puppy.” Clay’s tone softened. “He’s got energy to burn, and he’s better behaved when he’s a little worn out.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets and the breeze lifted a hint of his scent. She’d noticed the masculine scent yesterday when he found her in the lodge’s ballroom. Standing on the top of the ladder, wrestling the new drapes, she didn’t notice him until he reached the bottom and wrapped a strong hand around the rung. Perched six feet above him, with his hand steadying her ladder, he’d invited her to eat supper with him in his cabin. His words seemed more statement than question.

The breeze made her shiver. “I’m leaving,” she said.

He said nothing, either because he already knew or didn’t care. He kept his gaze on the dog, giving her a chance to admire his profile. The wind ruffled his dark blond hair.

“I’m going to Napa Valley,” she offered. Why she was telling him this, she couldn’t say.

He let out a small huff, probably disparaging the wine country. Napa was everything he wasn’t. Cultured. Fussy. Pretentious. Maybe not the entire county, but certainly the area she was headed. Her mother had just closed on a winery along with a chalet that would be another feather for her cap.

The chalet is just the darlingest thing you’ve ever seen.

The chalet was nothing more than a glorified bed and breakfast, but there’d be no telling her mother that. And there’d be no way to get out of going and carrying out all the redecorating her mother had in store.

“Next time you’re up this way, we’ll have dinner.” He turned to face her. “No matter what.”

A soft, sensuous gleam lit his eyes. When he’d asked her out yesterday, holding the ladder under her, she’d found it impossible to turn him down, and not just because he held her safety, literally in the palm of his hand, but because he had a magnetism she’d never before encountered. Raw. Animalistic. Primitive. If she found bland, dull CPAs unnerving, she couldn’t imagine being alone with a man like Clay Bergstrom.

“Is that a fact, Mr. Bergstrom?” A shimmer of arousal heated her blood. So wrong. So, so wrong.

She searched her mind for Clay’s nickname from the military. For some reason it fit, perfectly, but she couldn’t recall what it was.

“It’s a promise, Miss Singleton.” He gave a knowing smile, like it was just a matter of time before he plucked what he wanted from her grasp.

Resentment tightened her jaw. Half the women in the lodge wanted to get in line to get acquainted with Clay Bergstrom. As a regular guide to hotel patrons and an expert on the wildlife in the area, he had an open invitation to the Lodge for dinner each night.

The management loved when he came and rubbed elbows with the guests and the guests loved it too. Whether he wore slacks and a dress shirt, or jeans and soft flannel for fishing, he’d cause a small uprising of horny women just by stepping in the room.

He’d been in the Air Force or something like that. It didn’t matter. She was leaving and never coming back so he could make whatever comment about dinner he liked.

“The thing is, I don’t really date. And definitely not big guys,” she said, suddenly not caring how stupid she sounded. “It’s my policy. Nobody over five foot ten.”

Clay had to be at least six four. Men that big always managed to make her nervous. The panicky feeling would come from nowhere. Clay worried her, but he also made her feel a prickle of awareness no other man ever had. It was a potent, dangerous mix, one her instincts told her to avoid.

He flashed a grin. “Policies are made to be changed.”

“I have to go pack.” To her surprise, she wanted to linger. Maybe she was no better than the rest of the tittering women staying at the lodge, wanting to bask in his presence a little longer even if it meant getting sprayed by Charlie.

The dog emerged from the water and trotted up the beach. His head hung a little lower, and his step had a little less bounce.

Charlie dropped the stick at Clay’s feet.

“Don’t throw it so far this time.”

Clay picked up the stick and offered it to her. “Why don’t you show me how interior decorators play fetch.”

A silvery thread of dog drool clung to the wet wood. Did he think she was too prissy to throw a slimy stick for a dog? She wrapped her fingers around the end and flung the stick into the lake where it fell short, barely making it into the shallows.

Clay snorted. Charlie trotted back to the water.

“How did you know I’m an interior decorator?”

“Why did you think I wanted you to come to my cabin?”

She blinked. Last night as she paced the floor, she’d imagined a number of carnal things that might transpire in his cabin, none of which she dared to say to his face. “I don’t know.”

“I wanted a little free advice on my décor.”

He was dissing her and she deserved it for standing him up. His eyes held a gleam that was part teasing and part pay-back.

“Your décor?” She tried to imagine his mancave. Her mother talked about the way men might spend a great deal of money on the exterior of their homes, the roof, the stone work and landscaping. They might also buy top of the line appliances, but the rest of the house? Not so much. Not bachelors. Men were bears with furniture.

He frowned. “What did you think I had in mind?”

She tried to suppress her smile. “What do you like to cook? Nachos? PBJ’s?”

“Come back and I’ll cook you anything you want.”

“Thank you. If I come back, I’ll take you up on it.”

A rumble inside his chest suggested he’d hold her to that. She said a quick good-bye and hurried back to the lodge.

And then she remembered his nickname. Beast. She’d never see him again, and that was just as well. A big, powerful man like him, a beast who settled conflicts with his fists… that could only be one thing – trouble.