Page 12 of His Untamed Craving
Those dark eyes cut up to me, narrowing slightly against the sun's glare. Then, the barest hint of a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.
"Nice work up there," he rumbles, giving the faintest of nods. "Now quit slacking and pull up the damn rope so I can finish this thing."
Unable to contain my triumphant grin, I haul up the slack line and brace myself, body thrumming with renewed energy. We're so close to the summit now, I can practically taste it.
As Wyatt launches into the final lead, I can't tear my eyes away, utterly transfixed. Up and up he goes, that chiseled form flowing across the unforgiving stone like vapor across a lake. I hold my breath as he commits to each sequence, every fiber of my being silently urging him onward.
Then, with one final heave of those broad shoulders, Wyatt crests the summit ridge and hauls himself up onto the exposed perch. For a beat, he clings there motionless, body silhouetted against the dazzling late afternoon sunlight now bathing the entire massif in a warm, fiery glow.
Wyatt's head swivels toward me, features inscrutable behind the stark backlighting. Then he lifts one hand, extending it toward me in an unmistakable gesture.
It takes me a beat to process what's happening. Then, with a steadying breath, I clip into the line and begin making my way up those final pitches.
The stone is unforgiving, and every handhold and foot placement is an act of sheer will. But I find myself feeding off Wyatt's energy, drawing from that same reservoir of strength and commitment that seems to radiate off him in waves.
One precarious move at a time, I close that distance between us. My calves scream in protest, arms quivering as each reach grows more desperate. But I refuse to let fatigue or doubt cloud my mind.
Then, with one final burst of adrenaline-fueled power, my fingers lock around Wyatt's waiting grip. Our eyes meet as he hauls me up onto that precarious perch, chests heaving in unison.
For a few heartbeats, neither of us moves or speaks. The world seems to fall away until it's just the two of us balanced here on the top of the world. I drink in the sight before me, scarcely able to catch my breath. Jagged, towering peaks stretch out in every direction, their craggy ridgelines bathed in a warm, fiery glow from the slowly setting sun.
"Holy shit..." The words slip out in a breathless murmur. "This is insane."
Fumbling for my pack, I yank out my camera, hands trembling with adrenaline and giddiness. I have to capture this—every heart-stopping vista, every impossible angle.
"Delgado..." Wyatt's deep rumble cuts through my single-minded focus. I glance over to find him watching me, one eyebrow arched high. "You just gonna stay lost behind that lens all evening?"
My mouth opens, ready with a snarky comeback, before snapping shut again. As much as it pains me to admit, the man has a point.
With a resigned sigh, I lower the camera and simply take it all in. The way that fiery sunlight dances across the craggy silhouette of distant peaks. The rich, earthy scent of sun-baked granite mingling with crisp alpine air. The profound silence surrounding us, broken only by the occasional cry of a lone hawk riding the thermals far below.
Wyatt doesn't say anything for a few heartbeats, simply standing there in stoic silence. When he finally speaks again, his deep baritone seems to reverberate through the very rock itself.
"So why are you so desperate to capture all this, anyway?"
I tear my gaze away from the breathtaking vista, meeting Wyatt's piercing stare. "I'm trying to raise money for a scholarship fund—to send underprivileged kids to Camp Silverpine. Give them a chance to experience the outdoors, you know?"
Surprise flickers across Wyatt's chiseled features. "Why would you do that?"
I shrug one shoulder, my lips quirking into a wry smile. "I know firsthand what it means to be a city kid trapped in a concrete cage. The outdoors saved my life when I finally escaped that world."
Wyatt holds my stare for a long beat, those rugged features inscrutable. Just when I think he's going to brush off my explanation, he lets out a slow exhale, squaring those broad shoulders.
"I get it, you know." His deep rumble cuts through the silence. "As a foster kid, I was bounced around the system my whole childhood. Camp Silverpine was the first place that felt like home. The mountains, the trails..." His voice grows thicker, rougher. "They saved my life, same as you."
"So that's why you're so against cashing in on internet fame," I murmur, the pieces finally clicking into place. "It's not about the money. It's about protecting something sacred."
Wyatt gives a slow nod, gaze locked with mine in that piercing way. "The great outdoors gave me a purpose when I didn't have anything else."
For once, I feel like I'm finally seeing the man behind the rugged, stoic exterior—the one who found salvation and purpose out here, just as I did.
My mind churns, struggling to process this unexpected common ground between us. All this time, I've been so hellbent on getting that exclusive story, on proving myself to him. Yet here he is, laying bare the very vulnerability that's driven his resistance all along.
I open my mouth to respond, but Wyatt cuts me off with a dismissive shake of his head. "Look, I'm not saying I'm on board with whatever harebrained scheme you've cooked up." His tone is gruff, but there's a softness behind his eyes now—an openness I've yet to see from him.
"But..." He lets out a low sigh, raking one hand through those tousled chestnut locks. "Maybe there's a way we can work together on this. Do it right, without compromising what's sacred."
My heart stutters in my chest as the implication of his words sinks in. He's willing to consider partnering up, to help make my dream a reality. For the first time since meeting him, I feel a glimmer of hope kindling.
