Waffling back and forth between his desire to see Zoe, which was a bad idea, and the fact that he had absolutely no reason to go back up to her cabin, Logan finally gave in to temptation. Even without a solid reason to go, he found himself walking up the hill in her direction, eager to see her and to smell that sweet, enticing scent that was just her. That sweet, honeyed scent had haunted him all night long.

He’d never in all his life met a woman who got to him that way. It didn’t matter that she was all wrong for him. One look at her ridiculous footwear and fashion spread clothes was all he needed to know that. But that didn’t get her out of his head or out of his blood.

Even after he’d let his bear free again to roam the mountainside, he’d found himself staying close to her cabin. Hiding in the trees and watching, waiting for the lights to go off. Even in that strange hinterland between human and animal, where everything was driven more by instinct than thought, he’d wanted—needed, to be honest—to be close to her. It was a new and unfamiliar situation to be in. Not that he didn’t like women and not that he hadn’t enjoyed his time with them, but he’d never felt compelled to be in their presence beyond the bedroom, so to speak.

It bothered him on some levels, unnerved him on others, and in some ways actually scared the hell out of him. But that didn’t seem to be halting his progress in her direction. He was halfway up the hill on the path to her cabin, calling himself a dozen kinds of fool with every step. He was courting disaster and he knew it, but he couldn’t forget what it had felt like to hold her, to feel that soft, curvy body pressed against his. God above, that woman was temptation personified.

Reaching the cabin, he knocked on the door. It was a mistake. He knew it was a mistake, and he was doing it anyway because he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

Logan’s frown deepened as he waited. There was no answer. He knocked again.

Had she left? Encountering a bear and a naked stranger within minutes of arriving would be enough to put anyone off. Fighting down the disappointment, he knocked once more.

* * *

Zoe awoke slowly, a little uncertain of her surroundings. The pounding wasn’t in her head after all; someone was knocking at the door. Sitting up in bed, the room swayed alarmingly. With a glance around her at the mini bottles littering the bed, it was easy enough to figure out why. The fact that she didn’t feel sick, didn’t even have a headache, told her one very important fact – she was still a long way from sober.

“Housekeeping will love me,” she muttered as she got to her feet. Swaying, less than steady, she pressed the heel of her hand against the wall to balance herself. It was imperative to keep her Cheeto-dusted fingers off the paint job otherwise the security deposit was history. Big orange fingerprints on their nice white walls would send her already wheezing credit card into full blown cardiac arrest.

“No more gin. No more gin. No more bears.”

At the thought of bears, another memory surfaced. A hot, sexy, well-hung, and deliciously muscly memory. Her rescuer from the night before was still a mystery, but the tingle between her thighs told her it was a mystery she needed to solve. It was rare for her to meet a man who instantly and with no effort made her want to lick him like a cat.

Zoe tried to take a step toward the living room, but it didn’t work. She stumbled and swayed, before sinking back onto the bed, and winced as whatever she sat on crunched beneath her. Shifting to one side, she pulled out the now crushed remainder of her chocolate chip cookies.

Another pounding knock at the door. “Great. Just great.”

Dropping her head into her hands, she willed the room to stop spinning. “Fuck me, how much gin did I drink?”

Struggling to her feet again, she walked into the living room and discovered her answer. In addition to the assortment littering the bed, there was a pyramid of mini bottles stacked on the coffee table. Apparently, she hadn’t just stopped with gin.

“Oh, no. Oh, no,” she whispered over and over again. This was so bad.

Another knock. “Just a minute,” she called out.

Turning, she made her way to the small kitchenette and scrubbed her hands. Her fingernails were still tinted orange by the time she was done, but at least she wasn’t leaving a trail of Cheeto dust in her wake.

As she dried her hands, she wracked her brain to figure out who could be at the door. Room service was clearly not a thing at the Bear-a-dise Lodge. Frowning, she crossed the room to answer it, and when she finally managed to unlock the door and get it open, she stared at the man on her doorstep as realization slowly sank in. She was face to face with the penis. Well not exactly the penis. She found herself face to face with the owner of the penis. Though, being face to face with the penis wouldn’t be so bad if her memory served her correctly. Apparently alcohol wasn’t the only she thing she wanted to suck down.

Her blood rushed in her veins, her face flushing and not with embarrassment. Just looking at him made her want to climb him. As good as the memory version of him was, the reality was even better.

Shaggy brown hair, with a few remaining hints of blond from the summer sun, curled against his neck and just made her itch to run her fingers through it. His eyes, a deep forest-green, were thickly lashed and deep set, making his expression difficult to read. Mystery men were so fucking sexy. An image flashed in her mind of her up against the wall, him cupping her ass with those incredibly, manly hands while he pounded into her. She could feel the heat of it. She swayed under the intensity of the overwhelming lust. Or maybe she was getting ready to pass out again. Either was a possibility.

“It’s you,” she uttered. It wasn’t the snappiest response but at least it was moderately more functional than “take me now”.

He reached out to steady her, his strong hands closing over her arm as she leaned into him. Oh, muscles. Firm with the just the right amount of chest hair peeking out the top of his thermal shirt. She squeezed her thighs together and tried not to whimper.

“I just wanted to make sure you hadn’t suffered any ill effects from last night’s encounter with the bear,” he said, his brows furrowed and a concerned note in his voice.

“I’m suffering ill effects from my encounter with those deceptively small mini bottles, but otherwise I’m okay… Pants,” she said, pointing at his jeans. “You do actually own them, then?”

* * *

Logan stared at the woman. She looked a little worse for wear and smelled like a bar room floor. It was having zero effect on him. He was still in the same painfully aroused state he had been last night, because underneath the alcohol and the Cheetos, he could still smell that honey scent that made him want to lick her from head to toe, while paying special attention to a few particular spots in between.

What the hell is wrong with me? He’d met his fair share of gorgeous, curvy women over the years and been entertained by more than a few of them. No one had ever affected him like her. She hadn’t even touched him. Hell, she had Cheeto dust on her forehead like it was Ash Wednesday at the Quick Stop.

“Yes,” he finally managed to mumble. She leaned heavily against him and pressed her face against his chest. The loud sniff as she inhaled against him was impossible to ignore. “I own pants.”

Looking down, he noted that she wasn’t looking up into his face. Instead, she was devouring him with her eyes. Her gaze roamed over him from head to toe in a way that made the pants completely pointless. He’d had women undress him with their eyes before, but never like that.

Her tongue darted out, licking her lips in a way that made him sweat, before she replied, “I’m okay. The bear freaked me out a little, but I’m all right. You’re very strong. Do you work out?”

“Ms. Hawkins, you’re rambling… and a long way from sober,” he said.

She laughed so hard she lost her balance and nearly toppled right out the door. “You’re observant too,” she replied breezily. “I’m drunk as a Baptist on a backroad!” That started whole new peels of laughter. And with every great guffaw, she leaned forward and showed him far more than was good for either of them.

He sighed, looked down at the welcome mat in front of the door, since that was a safer place for his eyes to rest than on her truly impressive tits. Damn his brother’s rule about fraternizing with guests. What was he even doing there? There’d been no good reason for him to come up there and see her. He should have just left well enough alone and avoided her. But there was that scent that just would not let go of him.

She shifted in his arms, and her breasts pressed against his chest just as her hip brushed against his agonizing erection. He groaned like a man being tortured. Truthfully, he was.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “Look, if you’re embarrassed because I saw you naked—”

His head snapped up. “I asked you not to look!”

She stepped back from him, at last standing on her own two feet, and gestured toward the mirror directly across from the door. “It wasn’t like I meant to. Besides, if my memory serves me correctly, you have no reason to by shy and every reason to wave that thing around like a light saber on a nude beach.”

Logan looked at her then, really looked at her, past the smeared makeup and the Cheetos crumbs, past the bed head and the blouse that was half unbuttoned and driving him crazy. Her eyes were glassy and dilated, her cheeks flushed. She wasn’t hungover. She was still drunk. Even if he had been entertaining the notion of breaking his brother’s rule, he wouldn’t do it while she was still impaired.

“You need coffee. And a shower.”

She cocked her eyebrow at him. “Are you going to help me with that?”

It shouldn’t have made him even hotter for her. It should have been physically impossible for his dick to get any harder, but it did. The teeth of his zipper would be imprinted on his cock for life. But there she stood, drunk, orange in places, and clearly saying things she would regret.

“No, I’m not,” he said, striving for a firm tone. “I’m going to make you coffee while you shower, and we’re going to try to get you sobered up before this all goes to hell.”

“Too late,” she said, turned on her heels, and sashayed back inside.

Logan’s eyes were drawn to the lush curves of her bottom. A dozen mildly pornographic fantasies featuring his hands on that ass were running through his mind. Walking into the cabin behind her, he shut the door. As he turned back around, his eyes were drawn to the mirror she’d used to sneak a peek at him the night before. She was unbuttoning her blouse. Turn about was fair play, he told himself. If she could steal a glance or two, so could he. He was already painfully erect, how much worse could it get?

The blouse dropped to the floor, and the bra hiding beneath it left very little to the imagination. The cups were completely sheer save for the little bit of floral lace that barely covered her nipples. He was wrong. It could get a lot worse. His jeans were about to castrate him.

“If I fall in the shower,” she whispered in a seductive manner as she looked at him over her shoulder, “will you come save me?”

He forced himself to keep his eyes on her face. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to look elsewhere. He did. He really, really did. But that wouldn’t go well for either of them. Does it count as premature ejaculation if you go off before anything even happens?

“No.” The response was short and terse, mostly because his teeth were clenched together so hard it made his jaw ache.

Her mouth dropped open. Again, it led his mind to dangerous places. “Seriously?” she asked, her voice pitched low and seductive. It ought to be ridiculous. It wasn’t. It was so fucking hot he thought his dick would explode. “You won’t help me?”

“No,” he replied firmly. Where he found the strength of will to turn her down, he didn’t know. “So don’t fall. And you ought to keep the rest of your clothes on until you’re in the bathroom. You don’t know me. I could be any kind of psychopath!” He sounded like a prude. Like an old, dried up spinster. When the hell had he ever asked a beautiful woman to keep her clothes on?

“I was only trying to level the playing field,” she offered, turning to face him as she leaned nonchalantly against the wall. The pose thrust her hips forward and her breasts upward. Christ almighty, she was killing him. “You’ve shown me yours, I thought I’d show you mine.”

Trying to put the train back on the rails, he adopted a professional tone. “Look, ma’am—”

“Zoe,” she corrected. “No ma’am. Ma’ams are old and wrinkled and wear orthopedic shoes and cotton underwear. Do I look like a ma’am?”

No. She most assuredly did not. “Please, just go get in the shower, and I will make you coffee… Zoe.” Saying her name was a mistake. It felt right rolling off his tongue. He could imagine other ways of saying it, like when she was sitting astride him, riding his cock, or when she was on her knees in front of him, taking him into her mouth.

Logan turned around and faced the kitchen. Maybe he could stick his dick in the ice bucket. Hell, the ice would melt and the water would fucking boil. Christ almighty.

He heard the shower turn on. She wasn’t even in the room with him, and he didn’t have eyes on her anymore, but it didn’t help. His mind was filling in all the blanks for him. All he could see in his mind’s eye was a pair of truly glorious tits covered in soapy water and occasionally her hands, sans Cheeto dust, as they ran over them in a way that was far more about his fantasy than her need for cleanliness.

Logan leaned his forehead against the wall, and hoping to stave off some of his lust-induced stupidity, banged his head there a couple of times for good measure. “I’m going to die from lack of blood going to my brain.”