Page 6 of His Untamed Craving

Clearing my throat roughly, I tear my wandering gaze away, refocusing instead on the mesmerizing sway of the flames. "So, Croft... you know my story. What about yours? How did you end up out here living the life of a lone wolf in the wilds of Silverpine?"

The flickering flames dance across Wyatt's chiseled features as he seems to mull over my question. For a beat, I don't think he's going to answer—that same stoic, guarded look clouding his eyes.

Just as I'm about to brush it off, he lets out a low, rumbling sigh. "It's not a very interesting story."

I shrug one shoulder, offering a small smile. "Well, we don't exactly have anything else to do tonight."

Wyatt holds my stare for a moment longer before giving the faintest nod. "Fair enough."

Tearing his eyes from mine, he reaches for a stick and prods at the crackling flames, buying himself a few extra seconds of silence. When he finally speaks again, his deep timbre seems to vibrate with a quiet intensity.

"I didn't really have a normal childhood, you know?" He lets out a rueful chuckle, eyes distant. "Bounced around the system, foster home to foster home. The mountains were the only real constant in my life."

My brows lift in surprise at this unexpected glimpse into the man's past. I stay quiet, letting him continue at his own pace.

"The wilds were more home to me than any four walls ever were. Still are." He glances up at me, a wistful sort of smile ghosting across those full lips. "Out here, it's just me against the mountain, stripped down to the most basic elements of survival. No distractions, no bullshit, just pure, untamed freedom."

There's a beat of silence as I watch the play of shadows dancing across the hard planes of his face, trying to picture a young Wyatt tearing around these peaks with reckless abandon. The image makes me smile despite myself.

"So you're telling me you were just born this way?"

Wyatt blinks, his intense stare snapping back to me with a mixture of surprise and—dare I say it—amusement.

"That's one way to put it," he rumbles, the barest hint of a smile tugging at those sinful lips.

We lapse into a surprisingly comfortable silence again, the only sounds the crackle of burning wood and the distant call of a lone hawk soaring high overhead.

Unable to resist, I sneak another sidelong glance at the rugged man beside me. Gone is the gruff, standoffish vibe he's been giving off since I arrived. In its place is a quiet openness, an ease about him in these wild surroundings.

Almost like he's finally letting his guard down a little.

Wyatt must sense my stare because he shifts slightly, pinning me with his eyes. "What are you thinking?

"Just trying to picture you all tousled and tan as a kid, tearing around these mountains like a little hellion."

One dark brow arches high as Wyatt lets out a low chuckle. "Oh, I was definitely a handful. The number of times my foster parents had to send search and rescue out to drag my ass home..."

His words trail off, but there's a story there—I can feel it. But I know better than to push. Instead, I let the moment breathe, simply watching in silence as the flames cast their flickering glow across Wyatt's face.

The easy flow of conversation finally ebbs as the last streaks of fiery sunset bleed into inky twilight. Wyatt makes his way over to the smoldering embers and crouches beside me without a word, busying himself with stoking the dying flames back to life.

I open my mouth to tease him about not being able to sit still, but the words die in my throat as he shifts closer to the growing fire. The flickering glow casts his chiseled features in stark, sensual relief—the hard cut of his jawline, the smoldering intensity behind those eyes...

Lord, even coated in a day's worth of grit and sweat, this man is unfairly gorgeous.

I tear my gaze away before I can get too lost in ogling him, focusing instead on the mesmerizing dance of the flames and reflecting on everything that's transpired today.

From the moment I first laid eyes on him, I knew Wyatt would be a tough nut to crack. And yet, over the course of this single day, I've already started to glimpse hints of the passion burning behind those gruff exterior walls. The way his face lit up when talking about his love for these mountains, the surprisingly playful side that emerged once he let his guard down around me...

I shake my head, unable to stifle the grin spreading across my face. Looks like Wyatt Croft's turning out to be one hell of a multi-layered man, full of unexpected depths and hidden fires.

And something tells me I've only started to scratch the surface.

As the night chill begins to seep through my layers, I can't suppress the slight shiver that racks my frame.

Wyatt's head swivels toward me. "Cold?"

I wave off his concern. "I'm good."