“Who?”

“The current office manager.”

“I think she’s on maternity leave.”

“That must be news to his wife.”

She met his cool gaze. “Okay, obviously I’m new. I don’t know all the details since I’ve only been here a week.”

“Here, being my cabin, of course.”

“Stone told me that the person who used to live here had left.”

“Ah.” His eyes were the deepest, most solid green she’d ever seen as they regarded her. “I did leave. I also just came back.”

She winced, clutching the covers a little tighter to her chest. “So this cabin…Does it belong to an ax murderer?”

That tugged a rusty-sounding laugh from him. “Haven’t sunk that low. Yet.” Pulling off his cap, he shoved his fingers through his hair. With those sleepy-lidded eyes, disheveled hair, and at least two days’ growth on his jaw, he looked big and bad and edgy-and quite disturbingly sexy with it. “I need sleep.” He dropped his long, tough self to the chair by the bed, as if so weary he could no longer stand. He set first one and then the other booted foot on the mattress, grimacing as if he were hurting, though she didn’t see any reason for that on his body as he settled back, lightly linking his hands together low on his flat abs. Then he let out a long, shuddering sigh.

She stared at more than six feet of raw power and testosterone in disbelief. “You still haven’t said who you are.”

“Too Exhausted To Go Away.”

She did some more staring at him, but he didn’t appear to care. “Hello?” she said after a full moment of stunned silence. “You can’t just-”

“Can. And am.” And with that, he closed his eyes. “Night, Goldilocks.”

Cameron Wilder tried to go to sleep, but his knee was killing him, and his bed buddy was sputtering, working her way up to a conversation he didn’t want to have.

“You can’t just…I mean, surely you don’t mean to…”

With a deep breath, he opened his eyes and took in the woman sitting on his bed. She wasn’t a hardship to look at, even though he’d much rather be alone. She had light brown hair, which was currently in bed-head mode, flying in crazy waves around her jaw and shoulders. Her creamy skin was pale, with twin spots of color high on each cheek signifying either arousal or distress, of which he’d bet on the latter since he hadn’t exactly been Prince Charming.

And then there were those slay-me eyes, magnified behind her glasses. They were the color of her hair, and also the exact color of the whiskey he wished he had straight up right now.

Clearly, she needed him to reassure her, but he didn’t have any reassurance in him. She’d asked who he was, and the fact remained-he had no f**king clue anymore. None. He’d spent some time trying to figure it out, in Europe, South America, Africa…but there were no answers to be found. He hadn’t felt anything in months, and yet there she sat staring at him, wanting, needing him to feel something.

They were both shit out of luck.

“I can’t stay in the same cabin with someone who…” She waved a hand at him, at a loss for words.

He had the feeling that didn’t happen to her very often. “Could be an ax murderer?” he offered helpfully.

“Exactly.”

“I told you I wasn’t.”

“But you didn’t tell me who you are. Whoever that turns out to be, you should know, I’m a black belt in karate. I can kung fu your ass.”

Uh-huh. And if that were true, then he really was an ax murderer. He didn’t challenge her, though. He couldn’t summon the energy, not for a fight. Which was a sad commentary on his life all in itself. Not that he started fights as a rule, but he’d sure as hell never walked away from one.

She pushed up her glasses and stared at him with cautious curiosity. And he couldn’t help but wonder if she liked her sex cautious too. He liked his-when he could get it-a little hot and sweaty, and a lot shameless. And definitely, decidedly, not cautious. “You can relax. I’m a Wilder. Cameron Wilder.”

She said nothing, his favorite thing ever, so he leaned back and closed his eyes again, so damn exhausted he could sleep for a week.

And then, finally, the reaction. “Cameron Wilder?”

Yeah, there it was. Once upon a time, at the height of his career, he’d been a fairly common household name. He’d made a lot of people excited. Mostly women. They’d gotten excited and wanted an autograph, a picture, even just to look at him, anything. Any piece of him that they could get.

But those days were long gone. He was damaged goods. Now, apparently, he was reduced to scaring the hell out of women instead of turning them on, and if he hadn’t been so tired, he might have laughed at the irony.

“You’re related to Stone.”

It was a sad day in hell when his brother was better known than he, but he should be used to the bitter taste of humble pie by now. “I’m his brother.”

“And you…you live here? In this cabin?”

“Used to anyway.”

“So you’re the boss as well.”

He hated the idea of being in charge of someone else, had always hated it. Hell, he could hardly be in charge of himself. But fact was fact. At the moment, he was nothing more than part owner of Wilder Adventures. A regular Joe Blow. “For better or worse, I suppose.”

“I threatened to kung fu you. Oh my God.”