Wild with You

by Sara Jane Stone

  “You’re like the dream contestant for one of those reality shows,” she said. “Just think, you could have your own TV show with a hot tub full of women waiting for the chance to fall in love with you.”

  After witnessing her unmasked emotional response to his words, seeing the awe tinged with confusion, he let her hide behind humor. “Yeah, but then I’d have to tell millions of viewers, including my friends and family waiting back home, that I want whip-­cream sex. At least once a month.”

  “Kinky sex is a deal breaker, huh?”

  He picked up a rosemary fry without taking his eyes off her. “Seems that way.”

  “You can’t find a woman in Independence Falls who wants you to tie her up and lick you clean?” she asked, her leg “accidentally” brushing his again.

  “To be honest, I haven’t been looking all that hard,” he said. But who gave a damn about the past, when he’d found her now?

  She set her fork down and rested her hand on his forearm, her fingers pressed into the sleeve of his flannel shirt. “It’s because you’re so sober. They assume you want serious sex.”

  He laughed, allowing his temper over her rotten childhood to fade. He wanted to keep her here, laughing and joking with him. “Serious sex? Sounds pretty damn boring.”

  “Like two ­people who keep their clothes on instead of using them for bondage,” she murmured, reclaiming her fork.

  “Kat.” He set his burger down again. He was hungry, but he didn’t want the fancy French version of an American classic. Lowering his arm, he placed his hand on her thigh, his fingers running up it. “There is nothing serious about what I’m picturing right now.”

  SHE SURVIVED DINNER. Barely. Every stolen touch, every movement of his body, propelled her desire forward. They’d reached the car and she was tempted to beg him to pull over. She’d wanted him to take her in the front seat of his truck. And if her mind was ready and willing to grant him control—­here, now, anywhere—­she knew for a fact the physical pull bordered on overwhelming.

  Let it sweep her up and drag her under like a fast moving current, she thought. Focusing on the bulge in his jeans kept her mind from playing back his words.

  I want to spend the rest of my life giving my wife everything I have in me to give. And everything she needs.

  She’d spent years fantasizing about his warm smile and beautiful eyes, but she’d never stopped to fully picture the boy as a grown man. His broad shoulders tapering off to his waist, not an inch of fat on him. That she’d found anyway. She would be happy to resume her search. The muscles that screamed: I can tie you up, hold you down and make you scream with pleasure.

  And she’d certainly never fantasized about the grown-­up Brody’s desire to settle down and give the woman he loved everything. She never focused on the future with anyone—­real or fantasy. If she began dreaming about forever, the inevitable moment would come when the rug was ripped out from under her. The person holding her heart would show her the door, wishing her the best, and then go on with his life as if she’d only been a momentary blip.

  “Kat?”

  She turned her attention back to him as he sped down the driveway to his home. “Yes?”

  Stopping, he threw the truck into park and glanced at her, his gaze burning with reckless, unrestrained need. Kat drew a deep, unsteady breath. The physical she understood. Momentary desire, no matter how potent, was as fleeting as an orgasm.

  “Where’s the whip cream?” he asked, his low tone teasing her senses.

  “In the fridge. I’ll race you.”

  She hopped down from the truck and ran for the screen door leading to the kitchen. Footsteps sounded behind her. And Brody’s strong arms banded around her, drawing her back against his chest. Her hands wrapped around his forearms, pressing into the bulge of muscle. So much strength . . . She arched into his hold and felt the hard proof that he wanted her.

  “I want you to go inside and head upstairs. My door is the first on the right when you reach the landing.” He lowered his mouth to her neck, brushing a gentle kiss. “I want you in my bed.”

  “How?” Her hips rocked against his erection. “Tell me what you see.”

  He loosened his hold, his hands capturing her hips. Holding her tight against him, he murmured, “Take off your clothes, lie on my bed and close your eyes. Wait for me. Let the excitement build. By the time I walk into the room, I want you wild.”

  His hands fell away, but he didn’t step back. Hovering close, Brody Summers offered a wall of muscle. He didn’t push her to go, or leave her standing alone in the dark corner of the yard, waiting for her to race into the house. He gave, she realized, as much as he took. Maybe more. Even when it came to games firmly based in desire and mutual need.

  Focus on his bed, the whip cream, and this moment . . . nothing more.

  “Bottom shelf on the right.” She moved to the house. “The whip cream.”

  Opening the door, she slipped into the kitchen and headed for the stairs. Inside his bedroom, she surveyed the space. The furniture stole her breath away. Everything from the cherry dresser to the rich red textured wood posts of his bed frame defined this place as his.

  She walked over to the room’s focal point and ran her hand over the large wooden footer. The bed dominated the room. The square posts rising up from the four corners gave the piece a distinctly masculine feel due to the blunt, sharp lines.

  Standing in the center of Brody’s space, she stripped off her shirt, tossing it over an easy chair. It was possibly the only piece of furniture that wasn’t made from the trees lining this property. Her pants and underwear followed, until she stood naked in his room, surrounded by the handcrafted testaments to his love of this land.

  Climbing onto his bed, she drew comfort from the fact that Brody Summers was tied to Oregon. The job he loved involved saving ­people on the mountains cloaked in darkness beyond the walls of a home that had been in the family for generations. His room was filled with pieces of this place, carefully molded to highlight the best of Oregon.

  Lying back on his bed, she closed her eyes. She could appreciate the natural beauty. But when she thought of what Oregon had to offer, her list stopped at Brody Summers.

  The door opened and she heard his footsteps on the floorboards. Desire pulsed through her with each sound. His hand touched her ankle and she let out a gasp.

  “Roll over, Kat.”

  She obeyed, spreading her legs wide as her feet pushed against the footboard’s smooth surface. Planting her palms on the bedspread, she rose to all fours and rocked back and forth, creating the fantasy he’d described in the truck.

  “Like this?” She glanced over her shoulder.

  “Yes.”

  Her gaze fell to his hands holding the whip cream. She raised an eyebrow. “No ropes?”

  His brown eyes darkened, narrowing in on her legs. “I couldn’t wait. I had to taste you.” Setting the container on the bed beside her leg, his gaze met hers. “May I?”

  She nodded, holding back the words Take me, make me yours!

  “Close your eyes, Kat.”

  She obeyed. Lowering her head, she allowed her hair to fall forward as she blocked out everything beyond the here and now. She heard the rustle of clothes and the pop of the Tupperware container opening. The bed shifted, forcing her to adjust as he climbed up beside her.

  “Oh,” she gasped. The cool feel of whip cream on the back of her calf surprised her senses.

  His fingers swirled higher, running up to her knee. His touch disappeared and returned with another dollop of sugary goodness on the back of her thigh.

  “Your mouth, Brody.” She allowed her knees to slide farther apart on the bedding. “I want your mouth.”

  “Not yet.” His fingers traced small circles, moving upward over her backside.

  “Brody,” she growled, rocking back and forth, p
erilously close to begging for his fingers to slide inside her, followed by his tongue and his cock.

  “When I first saw you,” he said, his voice low and rough, suggesting his need matched hers. “I thought you looked pretty damn perfect.”

  “And now?”

  Whip-­cream-­covered fingers touched her low back and moved down, down, down . . . She opened her eyes, glancing over her shoulder. On his knees behind her, his hands on her butt, he looked like a wicked version of her fantasies. This wasn’t the boy who fixed her shoes. This was the man who gave her the best damn orgasms of her life.

  “What do I look like now?” she demanded, her voice low and needy.

  “Messy.”

  Lowering his mouth to her back, Brody ran his tongue through the cream. Everything slipped away, her world narrowing to the feel of his lips on her skin, licking her clean.

  “I warned you,” she gasped.

  “Hmm.” His mouth remained focused on her.

  Just when she thought he’d finished teasing her and was ready to reach for a condom—­please God let him have a condom—­his lips retraced the path up her legs, moving between them. The pleasure rose up, rushing forward—­

  “Not yet, Kat,” he murmured. “Not yet.”

  “Wait, what are you doing?” she protested, her eyes wide, her body burning for the promised orgasm. “You can’t stop now.”

  “Roll over Kat.”

  Lying on her back, she watched him move to the hand-­carved nightstand, open a drawer and retrieve a condom. Within seconds he was on the bed with her, his body hovering over hers. He kissed her, long and slow, as one hand moved between her legs.

  “I’m ready,” she murmured, breaking the kiss. “Please, Brody.”

  His gaze locked with hers. “You say that word and I’m lost, Kat. Please. That’s all it takes and I’m lost in you.”

  “Please,” she whispered, rocking her hips up to meet his.

  Brody listened, gently pressing into her. There it was—­a flash of pure possession in his brown eyes. This man didn’t need ropes to dominate her. She was ready and willing to melt into him, to give him everything in silent response to the wanting written on his face.

  “Please, Brody. More.” The words escaped on a gasp of pleasure. He increased the pace, thrusting harder, faster, deeper.

  “I want you, Kat.” Holding his weight on his elbows, Brody hovered over her. “You’re mine.”

  No. She didn’t belong to him, not beyond this moment.

  “You’re mine,” he repeated, his voice a low rasp as he thrust into her, driving her toward physical release.

  She focused on the sexual challenge in his words, narrowing her world to the feel of his powerful body. “Then take me.”

  He let out a low growl as he pushed her closer and closer . . .

  “Brody!” She tumbled over. “Oh Brody.”

  Pleasure washed over her, taking her to a place of momentary bliss. He might desire her now, but she’d wanted him for so long. And now, in this moment, he was hers.

  But like the orgasm, it wouldn’t last. She couldn’t open herself up to the possibility. If she did, the hurt, the rejection, would crush her. And it would come. It always did.

  Still, she’d hold tight to this moment. And maybe demand another before she headed home to New York.

  Chapter 13

  WAKING UP IN Brody’s bed offered a different view of Independence Falls. Dawn peeked over the mountains beyond his window. But the postcardworthy scenery was nothing compared to the man in the room. The six-­foot-­plus wall of muscle who’d proved last night that he knew how to use every inch of his perfect body to his advantage—­and hers—­stood by the dresser pulling a shirt over his head.

  “Going somewhere?” she asked, rising up on her elbows.

  “Work.” His gaze lingered on her chest.

  “Maybe you could call in sick?” She sat up, allowing the sheet to drift to her waist. “With a case of the Monday morning blues.”

  “I’m not heading to the Moore Timber offices. Though with Eric away on his honeymoon, I need to swing by at some point.” He pulled on his jeans, opened a drawer and withdrew a pair of socks. “The sheriff called. A teenager went for a hike in the Valley of the Giants on Saturday and never came back. He didn’t call the BLM—­the Bureau of Land Management—­before he went in, just told some friends. No one is sure how he got in there. The old logging roads leading up there are a mess this time of year.

  “His family reported him missing early this morning. The police think the kid might have run away and decided to set up an illegal camp on protected land, surrounded by five-­hundred-­year-­old trees.”

  “Maybe he has his reasons.” She drew the sheet up, covering her bare chest. She’d had a laundry list of whys when the police threatened to arrest her for spending the night hidden by those trees. Seventeen years old and facing move number twelve, she’d run before the social worker showed up. The cops had let it slide that time. And the next day she’d received her entrance letter to Harvard. She’d turned her life around. But it hadn’t been easy. And for some it was downright impossible.

  “For building a fire in an old growth forest?” Brody secured a long, sheathed knife to his belt. “Even this time of year, the kid could start a forest fire. And who knows if he packed in enough food and water?”

  “He probably didn’t, not if he was running away.” She hadn’t. She’d just fled, driven by overwhelming teenage emotions and logic that forgot things like food and water. “I hope you find him.”

  “Me too.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead. “I should be back tonight. And when I return, we should talk.”

  “I’m in as long as the ‘conversation’ involves dessert.”

  “Kat, I’m serious—­”

  “So am I.” She reached up, wrapping her arms around his neck, holding his lips close to hers. “I’m yours.” For a few more nights. “Go out there and save the kid. Then come home and take me.”

  BRODY FOLLOWED THE retired Bureau of Land Management forester through the trees. Hiking across the lush, fifty-­odd-­acre parcel lined with five-­hundred-­year-­old trees offered a window into what Oregon’s forests looked like hundreds of years ago. It was a great way to start the day, apart from the fact he was here on a mission. And he’d left a beautiful, naked woman in his bed.

  “I doubt anyone’s here,” Mitch said, moving down the narrow path. The search and rescue team had voted to split up, each taking one of the more experienced guides with them. “No trucks by the trail head,” Mitch continued. “And getting up here on those logging roads isn’t easy.”

  “My truck did all right.” Brody easily kept pace with the sixty-­year-­old volunteer. “One of Eric Moore’s crew harvesting the private parcel north of here reported smoke.”

  Mitch frowned. “Campfires aren’t allowed up here. Although hell, neither is camping. But it happens from time to time.”

  “Tourists?”

  “No, they follow the rules and contact the BLM to find out if the roads are open before planning a trip. They stick to the trail, get their pictures with the giants, and head out. Teenagers are always the troublemakers.”

  “How often do you find runaways up here?” Brody asked, scanning the forest beyond the path.

  “Every ­couple of years. Like I said, it is hard to get here. Most of the time we catch them before dark and send them packing. Your friend, the visiting doctor, she was the last one to camp more than a night or two.”

  “Kat?” Brody’s eyebrows shot up. She hadn’t said a word when he’d left, except . . .

  Maybe he has his reasons.

  And Brody had a feeling he understood hers too.

  “Kat Arnold. She was a handful. But I guess any kid kicked to the curb and left with nothing ends up taking a wrong turn or two. I remember when the
cops came they cut her a break. The officer in charge said she was due to move again. Claimed nobody wanted her. The previous foster family just wanted the check for housing her.”

  I want her. The word roared in his mind.

  “And to think she went on to become a city doctor,” Mitch continued, shaking his head. “I bet some of those families are kicking themselves right about now. If they’d adopted her, she would probably be sending money back to them.”

  Brody picked up the pace. The thought of a teenage Kat sitting up here to avoid the ­people who wanted the money she represented, not the child herself, tore at him. He hated the thought of anyone using her. Smart, determined Kat deserved love, dammit, back then and now.

  The path turned muddy and he slowed his steps. Where did that leave him? Down on one knee promising forever? Trying to juggle a long distance relationship with Josh’s recovery, his jobs—­paid and volunteer—­and the work on the house? Falling in love with her?

  “Smell that?” Mitch said.

  Brody pushed his own questions aside and focused on the scent of burning timber. “Yeah, someone built a fire around here recently.”

  The experienced forester headed down the path without a word, stopping abruptly twenty feet ahead. He pointed to boot marks on the ground. “Not much to take pictures of over there. The famous trees are behind us.”

  Brody nodded and followed the trail. Behind a pair of giant firs, he spotted a navy blue sleep bag. A makeshift fire pit filled with ash stood a few feet in front of the kid. Anger took hold and Brody ground his teeth. Those flames could have destroyed a piece of protected forest, burning trees that had stood on this ground for hundreds of years. And after it erased the Giants, the flames would move on, threatening homes and possibly lives.

  It was hard to imagine this kid had a solid reason for taking the risk and building that campfire.