BIG BAD BOY (Big Men Series Book 1)

by Penny Wylder

  Finished changing, I just grab my bare bones camera, no extra lenses or filters or anything. While I plan to capture as many great moments as I can this evening, I’ve decided to allow myself to enjoy this festival, and I can’t do that lugging a twenty pound bag of equipment.

  With that goal in mind, the first place I head to is the beer tent. It has a Bavarian vibe, with low polka music playing on the speakers, and warm soft pretzels with mustard set out on the high top tables. I get myself a little taster half-pint to start, and already I’m addicted to the flavor of this beer, really hoppy, with a great bite to it. That first sip, oh God, I actually moan. Every muscle in my body relaxes. I spend a little time talking to the bartender about the brewery, then ask him for a few photos of the tent, along with some action shots of him pouring a few pints.

  Okay, so I’m a bit of a workaholic. It’s hard for me to turn that side of my brain off, even when I’ve given myself free time.

  After I leave the beer tent, and after a full pint of that delicious beer, I walk around town a bit more. I notice a trail of people heading over to the edge of the forest. I can hear the bass of music playing, seemingly coming from the tall pine trees. The forest feels alive. I follow hurricane lanterns lit along a small path into the woods until I reach a small clearing. Someone’s built a bonfire and set up a sound stage for a local band. There are split logs around the fire for seating, and some couples share blankets, taking sips from thermoses that I suspect have drinks that are stronger than just cocoa. The band turns out to be pretty good, and by the third song, I’m dancing hard enough to need to step out of the direct circle of the fire for some fresh air, to clear my head a little. The dancing combined with the heat of the bonfire and the beer I downed are all making me feel pretty tipsy, pretty fast. I haven’t let myself go like this for a really long time.

  As I’m breathing in the sharp, pine-scented air, tinged with a hint of smoke from the wood fire, and of course the distant smell of icy snow from the Poconos in the distance, something in the deeper woods catches my eye.

  Through the trees, a ways off in the distance, I spy flickering lights between the trunks. It almost looks like torchlight, I think at first, as though someone’s carrying an actual fire lantern or a tiki torch through the trees. But in a few blinks, my eyes clear, and I realize it’s actually the flicker of a normal flashlight as it skips between tree trunks, the shadows playing tricks on my eyes as whoever carries that faraway light weaves through the trees.

  Curious, I cast one last glance over my shoulder at the bonfire dance party—still going strong—and start to head toward the far off lights. I wonder if this is another festival event happening, one I wasn’t aware of. Secret nighttime forest party, perhaps? Flashlight tag in the woods? I’m tipsy enough to be intrigued.

  But the closer I get to the lights, the more my gut starts to tell me something is off.

  For one thing, it only seems to be two flashlights, bobbing around the trees. For another, there’s no path in sight here, and more than a little underbrush clawing at the jeans I’ve donned, some of it thorny and sharp enough that I feel it through the fabric of my casual evening sneakers. I also don’t hear any voices. I don’t see anyone walking around. Just the beams from the flashlights.

  What’s someone doing in the woods at this hour?

  I creep a little closer and start to catch snatches of voices, though they’re lowered, whispers almost.

  On instinct, my hand drifts toward my camera. I raise it, wishing I had my zoom lens on me, or the night camera attachment that would give me a much clearer shot of whatever scene is happening off in the distance.

  The lights stop moving. In the now-still illumination, I catch the sight of two distinct outlines against the night sky, between the trees. I can’t make out much detail from this distance, not even through my camera lens, but I snap a couple shots anyway.

  Then suddenly, one of the figures turns, his whole body whipping around fast. They couldn’t have heard me. I’m too far away to hear anything they’re saying. No way they heard the snap of my camera shutter. But still, the figure stares through the trees, straight toward me where I’m crouched half-hidden behind a trunk.

  “Who’s there?” I hear, a faraway shout, one that must have taken the speaker, a guy to judge by the baritone pitch of his voice, effort.

  I hold my breath and start to back away, hoping that with the firelight at my back, and with his eyes probably lit by the flashlight he carries, he won’t notice me moving. Adrenaline spikes through my veins, but I will my body to move slowly.

  The figures remain standing still, and I don’t hear any more shouts from that direction. Still, I continue to move slowly, glancing over my shoulder every few steps just to make sure they don’t follow me. Eventually, when I reach the outskirts of the bonfire area again—close enough once more to hear the music of the band and the shouts and laughter of the festival-goers, I turn back and notice the two mysterious flashlight carriers have vanished.

  I shrug off the event. Probably just a couple of drunk kids sneaking off to make out in the woods or something. I force a smile back onto my face and set my camera back in my back, heart returning to a normal pace now that I’m back at the fire side, among other people.

  I lean against a nearby tree trunk at the outskirts of the bonfire circle, and watch the revelry, trying to forget the lingering sense of unease that tickles at the back of my mind.

  I think I’m doing a pretty good job of it, but I must still be a little nervous, because a moment later, when a hand touches my elbow lightly, I nearly jump out of my skin, yelping as I do.

  “I didn’t mean to frighten you,” the person who touched me says, a chuckle in his voice. I turn toward him, and my heart catches in my throat.

  Oh God.

  It’s the hot guy I spotted earlier in the festival. The carpenter. The tall sexy hunk of a man who definitely looked like he knew how to use his hands while he was demonstrating the crafts he built…

  I must be staring at him like an idiot, drinking in his chiseled jaw, the thick full beard he’s sporting, and the surprisingly gentle yet amused look in his pale blue eyes. Because a moment later, he adds, “Don’t worry. I don’t bite. Often,” he adds with a wolfish grin, and my stomach tightens as all the blood in my body heats up at once.

  “Well, that’s a shame,” I say before I can think better of it.

  One of his eyebrows rises, and it’s all I can do not to cross my legs right here, because the look he’s giving me, I swear my panties are going to melt straight off. “Good to know,” he says.

  “Know what?” I counter, crossing my arms over my chest, suddenly self-conscious.

  “Your preferences,” he responds with a smirk. “That will come in handy later.”

  My face flushes. And it feels like the rest of my body does too. “Confident, aren’t you?” I reply, though I know the red-hot blush I’m sporting sort of undermines my own confidence levels.

  He leans closer, and I catch his scent—heady, masculine, overpowering. It reminds me of wood chips and the forest we’re standing in. He’s a man who lives in his element, I can tell by his easy stance. The way nothing seems to shake him.

  He wouldn’t have been thrown off by a few teenagers sneaking off to cavort in the woods. He’s from here, a small-town guy, the kind who probably hikes on weekends and chops his own firewood, and whose beard would feel amazing between my legs as he licked and sucked his way up my inner thighs, until his tongue found the exact right spot to lick…

  A shiver races down my spine.

  “Only when it comes to things I’m an expert on,” he replies, and from the way his gaze sweeps over my body, lingering on my chest beneath the casual T-shirt I threw on for the evening portion of this festival, then drops to my hips, visible in the clingy jeans I’m wearing, I know his thoughts are running the same direction as mine right now. It makes me want to know exactly how deep this guy’s “expertise” runs…

  A cur
l of desire unfurls in my belly. “Good to know that as well,” I reply, with a pointed pause at the end where his name ought to be.

  He takes the hint and extends a hand. “Gil.”

  “Jenna.” When I reach out to clasp his palm, his fingers wrap around mine, fully engulfing me. His hand is hot in the chilly evening air, warming my fingertips, the callouses on his fingers striking my soft skin like matches on a matchbox. Tinder catches in my belly, burns through me. I swallow through a suddenly dry throat. “So.” I extricate my fingers from his, with effort. “Do you live around here, or are you just in for the festival?” All I want to do is hold on tighter. But I’m conscious of the voices around us, the other people nearby, festival goers and partiers.

  I didn’t come here this weekend to hook up. I’m just looking for a breather, to get away from the world and relax for a while.

  He could probably show you some relaxation techniques, the devil on my shoulder points out.

  “Local, born and bred,” he says, a twinkle in his eye. “But I wouldn’t need to know every single person in this town to be able to pick you out as a visitor.” His gaze does that thing again, his eyes dripping down my body like molasses and lingering on my hips this time. “Let me guess. City girl, escaping to the countryside for some fresh air because you’ve got a headful of things back home that need forgetting for a weekend. That about the size of it?”

  I laugh. “Just about. You missed the part where I’m here for work, photographing the festival, but otherwise, dead on. How could you tell?”

  “Those jeans hug your ass a hell of a lot tighter than most I see around here—not that I’m complaining,” he adds with a wink. “And the way you carry yourself. Interested in the world around you, but a little bit nervous, like you’re still getting to know it.” His smile deepens. “That, and I can always tell when a beautiful woman is looking to forget the world for a little bit.”

  His gaze lingers on my lips as he says that, and damn if I’m not doing the same thing. Studying his mouth, the part of his lips beneath that full beard of his, and imagining how it’d feel pressed against mine, searing my skin as he trails kisses down my body, over my stomach, toward…

  My thighs clench, involuntary. “Can you?” I say, my voice all flirt. “Well, have you got any recommendations on how to get started?” I raise one eyebrow, challenging.

  His smile widens. “What say we go grab a drink first, and see where things lead from there?” Without waiting for my answer, he turns from the bonfire and strides back toward the edge of the festival, where the cheerily-decorated beer tents are still serving, more pints than ever now, by the look of it. The crowd around the bonfire swells, and the voices singing along to the band are growing increasingly louder and more out of key.

  I take a second to turn my face back toward the woods. I can’t see the bobbing flashlights anymore, or the outlines of the two people I glimpsed far off.

  Just kids having some fun, I tell myself.

  Then, without another thought for them, I spin back to the party, heart beating hard in my chest as I hurry after the sexy, mysterious Gil.

  3

  Jenna

  I sit on one of those split logs and watch as Gil orders two pints of beer. I can tell he knows the bartender. They shake hands and smile at each other. Something Gil says makes the bartender laugh, and Gil’s face lights up in return. God, that man’s smile is electric. I also can’t help but notice how his jeans hug his ass as he leans into the bar.

  He brings over the beers and straddles the log so he’s facing me.

  “So, what should we drink to?” he asks me, a twinkle in his eye.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “How about we just drink to tonight, and wherever it takes us?”

  “Sounds pretty perfect to me,” he says. He raises his glass to mine, looks me right in the eye, and says, “To tonight. Wherever it may take us.”

  And without breaking eye contact, we both drink.

  By the second beer, Gil’s hand is on my knee, and the lazy circles he’s rubbing leave electric sparks shooting through the denim. He’s charming and witty and fills me in on the local gossip as we watch couples and groups of friends dance around us,. He asks me about the party scene in Philly, and I admit I’m the last person he should be asking.

  “I’m kind of addicted to my work these days. This is my first real night out in ages.”

  “Well then, we have to make it count, don’t we?”

  He takes my glass out of my hand and pulls me up off the log, dragging me straight to the clearing with the other dancers. The music is loud and raucous, and I’m pleased to see that this man really can move. We dance around each other, every so often our hands sweeping each other’s. The night air and the rhythm flood my senses. I wave my arms in the air, run my fingers through my hair, and feel Gil’s eyes on me the entire time. He looks amused but also serious. Sexy and serious. And when the band starts to play a slower song, he wastes no time wrapping a strong arm around my waist and bringing me close to his body. My back is pressed against his chest, and with his free hand he moves the hair away from my neck, and just barely brushes his face against my exposed skin. His arm around my waist tightens as he sways with me, and I can feel his erection growing, pressing into my lower back. His sly fingers wander under my shirt, caressing my belly, sending a shiver through me.

  We move like that for so long, the other dancers seem to fade into the background. It’s just me and him in the moonlight. I close my eyes. Breath in the cool air, enjoy the smell of the burning fire, the feel of his beard against my cheek.

  “My place?” he murmurs.

  It’s all he has to say. I wrap an arm around his neck, arch my body up into his in order to whisper in his ear, my lips grazing the soft shell of his outer ear as I do. “Wherever the night takes us. That’s what we said.”

  He flashes me a quick, wolf like grin, and then grabs my hand, tugging me toward the tree line. The same direction where I saw the lights earlier. My footsteps stutter, and he glances back at me, a worried frown on his face. “What’s the matter?”

  “Oh, nothing.” I force a broad smile. “Just, I mean, it’s so dark out in these woods—do you really live out here?”

  “Normally I’d cut through town,” he says, “but walking from this direction, cutting through here will be a lot quicker. Unless you’re prefer we take the long route.” He tilts his head, an eyebrow lifted.

  The look in his eye makes me wonder if he thinks I’m having second thoughts about going back to his place. Little does he know the only thing I’m having second thoughts about right now is regretting that we’re not already alone, holed up in a room somewhere where he can tear all my damn clothes off already. “Not at all,” I say, too quickly. “Ignore me. I just… I didn’t know if I could see the ground okay, and—”

  He tilts his head for a moment and considers me. “If you’d prefer, I can carry you.”

  My cheeks heat bright red. “That’s not what I—”

  But I’ve not even finished saying it before he bends to scoop me off my feet, flinging me over one shoulder like a rag doll, and easily carries me off. “Gil!” I shout, though I’m laughing too.

  “Trust me,” he laughs, “this isn’t a purely selfless act. The sooner I get you naked, the better.”

  He takes off through the woods, footsteps steady and sure. I can’t stop thinking about his hands—he has one wrapped around the back of my thighs, so close to my ass that I’m surprised he can’t feel me getting wet through my jeans, just wishing those thick, strong hands were engaged in a different action right now. I can already picture how it will feel when he pulls my jeans down and traces his fingers between my thighs, grabbing my ass hard before he slides his hands up to my front, along my lips, teasing my pussy until I’m soaked…

  I shiver, and he chuckles, his chest vibrating against mine. His other hand cups behind my knees, holding my legs against his chest so he has a solid grip on me. “Do you… usually�
� carry your dates home like a marauding Viking?” I ask between bounces on the path.

  “I’ve been known to, from time to time,” he answers, not even out of breath, damn him. “How often can you say you’ve been stolen off into the woods like this, Jenna?”

  “This is definitely a first,” I admit, with a little wriggle of my hips to readjust myself over his shoulder. “I gotta say, though, your stamina is proving impressive as hell.”

  That draws another laugh out of him, this one lower-pitched and fuller. “Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

  My belly clenches all over again in anticipation. Our banter has been like this all evening, and between that and the beers, the dancing, and the way he ground up against my ass for the last couple of songs there, it already feels like my clit is so swollen it may explode the moment he finally touches me. We haven’t even kissed and already I feel on fire with want, longing to taste him, touch him, explore every inch of him.

  Before I can work myself up into too much of a state, however, he shifts his weight under me, and swings me down off his shoulder. As he does, his hands slide up my legs to grab my hips, then encircle my waist. His hands are so broad they can nearly wrap fully around my waist, one on each side, and he keeps them there as he gazes down at me, eyes white hot with desire, same as I’m sure mine look to him.

  “Home sweet home,” he announces, without so much as a glance around us.

  Me, I can’t resist the curiosity, much as I’m enjoying my current view. I steal a glance over my shoulder, and my eyebrows lift in surprise.

  We’re standing before the porch of a standalone wooden cottage, the beams thick enough to be visible as they stack one on top of another, a real life damn wood cabin, like one you’d build from toy logs, only much larger, and frankly, adorable. The porch has a double swing on it, a pair of shaded windows look out over the front yard he just carried me down, which is little more than a patchy vegetable garden and a single gravel path that leads up into the forest.