I show up at his door drenched, desperate, and not wearing any panties.
Some vacation this is. All I wanted was to finally write my romance novel. Only the deluge of the century strands me in pouring rain with no transportation, no food, and severe chocolate cravings. The kind of hunger that drives me to bang on a stranger's door.
The snarly, grumpy mountain man who answers is all brooding glares and reluctant hospitality. His scowl doesn't hide the pain in his eyes—or the way they flare onc...


