There was no more talking after that, not for the rest of the day.
When I lay beside her in that dark hours later, I did my best to control the pounding of my heart. I also tried not to think about why I hadn’t taken her out fishing or hunting again since the disaster of our last two excursions.
I definitely didn’t want to think about what would happen in a few days when it was time for her to go back to Denver. How I’d handle it here alone without her.
Freya
I woke to the sound of Beau moving around the room. He was fully dressed. I hadn’t even heard him get up.
“Hey,” I said.
He turned, eyes moving over me. “Sorry, I was trying not to wake you.”
I lifted to my elbows. “What’s going on?”
“I need to go out with Hank today.” He pulled a pair of socks from the drawer. “Will you be okay here on your own?”
“Of course.” Beau seemed a little strange, distant maybe. Did he suspect something? Had he worked out that I’d lied to him? Just thinking about it made me sick with guilt. I needed to come clean, and soon. My stomach rolled at the thought. “Why? What’s going on?”
Beau sat on the end of the bed and slid on his socks. “Grizzly’s been getting too close to Hank’s house. He’s worried about his girls. It got into one of his outbuildings last night and tore stuff up. We’re going to track it, see if we can warn her off.”
I sat up straighter. “That sounds dangerous.”
He shrugged. “Just part of living out here. There’s nothing to worry about.”
I didn’t like it, in fact, I hated it, but a woman who had grown up on a ranch in Colorado would have dealt with bears before, right? This kind of thing wouldn’t faze her. So instead of clinging to him and begging him to be careful, I nodded.
He came around to my side of the bed, leaned in, and kissed me deep and slow. My toes curled under the covers.
“I’ll see you when I get back.” He kissed me again and strode out the door.
I heard his truck start up and drive off a short time later.
I ended up spending most of the day cleaning and pottering around Beau’s house. After I did the dishes and put on a load of washing, I started on the papers stacked high on his kitchen counter—house plans, bills, notes I didn’t know what to do with. I decided attempting to put them in some kind of order would be intrusive, so just planned to tidy them up a bit.
I picked up a small stack and tapped them against the counter to straighten them, then placed them facedown so they’d stay in order. I added another stack and went to gather up the next.
I blinked down at the paper on top. It was a handwritten version of Beau’s online dating profile, with several additions that hadn’t made the final cut, or rather a list of what Beau was looking for and would not compromise on.
Must love the outdoors.
Can hunt.
Likes to fish.
Good cook.
Loves kids.
Not clingy.
Pretty.
I stared down at it, unable to look away. It was like a shopping list. I guessed that’s kind of what it was. Beau had been looking for his perfect mate. My search hadn’t been quite as thought out. I’d seen Beau, fallen head over heels, and then I’d lied so I could have him.
I was a liar.
There was only one thing on that list that I could honestly tick off. I loved kids. The pretty part, I guess I was okay. Beau seemed to like the way I looked. Everything else I’d failed at, terribly.
I squeezed my eyes closed. I needed to talk to him, to tell him the truth, confess that I wasn’t the girl he thought I was, and hope like hell he didn’t drop me like a hot potato. He’d been honest at the start with what he wanted and what he didn’t want. I couldn’t say the same thing and the guilt was eating me up inside.
What I did know was that there was a connection between us, and that was most definitely real. When we were together the air crackled with it. The way I caught Beau looking at me, the way he touched me. I had to believe that he felt something for me, something real. No, he didn’t want love, he’d been open and honest about that, but I knew he felt that connection. That whether or not he wanted love wasn’t up to him because sometimes it just happened.
But first, no matter how hard it was going to be, I needed to sit down and tell him the truth.
Hours later, determined to check another thing off Beau’s list, I was back in the kitchen, trying my best not to destroy dinner. It wasn’t looking good. The mashed potatoes looked kind of lumpy and I got the feeling I’d cooked the meat too long and the beans looked gray and floppy.
I was draining the revolting-looking vegetables when Beau walked in. I rushed to him, unable to stop myself, and wrapped my arms around his waist. “I’m so glad you’re back. I was worried about you all day.”
He curled his fingers around my biceps and leaned back, planting a kiss on my lips, then released me, a smile curving his lips. “There was nothing to worry about. Told you Hank and I had this covered.”
Oh God, I was being clingy. I quickly straightened and took a step back. “I know. I guess I’m a bit of a worrywart.” I hustled back into the kitchen. “Are you hungry? I cooked.”
He smiled. “Starving.”
The meat was kind of hard to carve, but I’d made gravy so hoped that would hide the fact it was a little dry. I dished everything up and put a plate down in front of him, my belly suddenly in knots like this was another test and everything hinged on the results.
He grinned up and me and started with the meat, dragging his knife through, and then again…and again. He started hacking at it, trying to cut off a piece, and I felt my face flame hot. When he finally put a piece in his mouth, he chewed for a really long time.
“It might be a little bit dry,” I said.
Beau grabbed his glass of water and downed the whole thing. He shook his head, grin now strained. “No…no, it’s fine.”
I sat there mortified as he washed every mouthful down, trying not to hurt my feelings while he finished the whole plate. My own hunger had vanished by this point.
“It was terrible, wasn’t it?” I asked.
Beau winced. “Maybe the meat was a bit overcooked, but the rest was…great.”
That was a complete and utter lie, and we both knew it. “You’re nice for trying to spare my feelings,” I said in a way I hoped was light, if a little self-deprecating.
I obviously did a terrible job of hiding how disappointed I was that I’d messed up dinner because his teasing smile dropped.
“Freya?”
The words were there on the lip of my tongue. I lied. I’m not the woman you think I am. “Beau, I need to—”
“Come here,” he said.
I blinked over at him, at the rough edge, the hot command I heard in his voice.
He held out his hand. “Now.”
I was heading toward him before I fully registered my feet were moving. He reached out, fingers curling around my wrist, and tugged me to his side.
“Look at me,” he said.
I was staring at his chin, finding it hard to make myself look into his eyes, not until I said what I needed to.
His fingers slid under my chin and he tilted my head back. “It’s just dinner.”
“I wanted…I wanted it to be perfect,” I whispered, unable to hide how upset I was over another failure.
Beau moved suddenly, shoving his plate out of the way, grabbed my hips and lifted me, planting my ass on the table in front of him. “You’re perfect,” he said in way that sent tingles across my scalp and shooting down my spine.
“I’m not. God, I’m far from it.” I touched the side of his face, his beard tickling my palm. “There’s something I need to—” I gasped when Beau gripped my knees and shoved my legs apart. His hands slid higher until his fingers were at the top of my thighs.
“I’m still hungry,” Beau growled, those fingers moving higher, digging in, fisting my tight
s roughly at my hips. “In fact, I’m fucking ravenous.”
All my good intentions to tell him the truth right then flew out the window. My heart was pounding harder, faster, and I was already wet, aching. “What…what do you have a craving for?”
“You,” he rasped. “Now lie back.”
I did as he asked, and he tugged my tights and underwear down my legs, tossed them aside, and then threw my legs over his wide shoulders. I whimpered, desperate for him. His breath huffed out, warm against my overheated pussy, and he cursed a second time before he growled in a way that could only be described as hungrily and buried his face between my thighs.
His big hands grabbed my bare ass and he lifted my hips. I cried out, my heels digging into his back, when his tongue plunged inside me, swirling in a maddeningly delicious way.
I lifted to my elbows and looked down my body to watch him. The sight was the hottest thing I had ever seen. Beau was big, his body wide and muscled, arms thick and bulging, muscles flexing, dark head bent and those blue eyes…they were aimed at me.
I gasped, my hips rolling. He dragged his tongue through my slit then swirled it around my clit and sucked. His beard tickled my ass and thighs…my pussy.
My hand dropped, going to the back of his head, and I fisted his short hair, lifting, rolling my hips to grind against him some more. His nostrils flared, and his fingers dug deeper into my ass then he ate me in a way that stole my breath, sucking and licking, plunging his wicked tongue inside me then back up to wrap his lips around my clit again to suck and tug.
Beau loved being between my thighs as much as I loved him being there. It was in his eyes, the way he devoured me. I was slowly losing my mind with every swipe of his tongue, and when he licked back up and sucked with an intensity that made my thighs shake, I came with a scream and collapsed back onto the table.
Beau lowered my legs then grabbed my ankles, shoving them up so my heels were against my ass, spreading me wide, and shot to his feet. He moved in, filling the space between my thighs, and shoved his pants and boxers down, took his cock in hand, and with a snarl, tugged on it almost violently. Lying there still sluggish from the orgasm he’d just given me, pussy still pulsing, shudders still making me shake, I watched him as he wrapped those long, thick fingers around his iron-hard cock and stroked himself rough and fast.
“No one makes me lose my shit like you do, Freya. No one.” His eyes slid from mine to my chest. “Lift up your top. Free your tits,” he bit out.
I did as he asked, unable to look away, turned on all over again by watching him.
“You make me want to do things…things I’ve never done before, that I don’t goddamn understand but crave so bad, so fucking bad I can’t stop myself.” His jaw was tight, veins in his thick neck throbbing under his skin. “I can’t stop myself,” he repeated.
“What do you want?” Knowing whatever it was, I wanted it. God, I wanted it.
“To mark you, to cover you in me.” The muscle in his jaw jumped. I could see it even under his beard. “I want to come on you, Freya, on your beautiful tits,” he hissed. “Can I? Will you let me?”
Oh God. “Yes,” I said, taking my breasts in my hands and squeezing them together. “Do whatever you want. You can do whatever you want to me.” And I meant it. I’d never meant anything more in my life.
Beau made a sound between a gasp and a growl as the first jet of come hit my stomach. He pumped his cock harder, leaning in so he could splash my breasts. Then he aimed the head of his cock at my pussy and groaned my name as he pumped the last of his come between my legs. He coated my clit and just the feel and heat of it set me off again.
I cried his name and came, rolling my hips and pinching my hard nipples.
Beau watched, big chest pumping with his harsh breaths, eyes hot and glittering. When I finally collapsed back for the second time, he tugged his pants up, and scooped me into his massive arms, and carried me to bed. He laid me down, and after cleaning me with a warm wash cloth and pulling up the covers, he slid in behind me.
He kissed the back of my neck then wrapped his arms around me, tucked me under his chin, and said in a rough voice, “Night, Freya.”
After the disaster of a dinner I’d made him, I’d been positive I’d screwed things up even more, that I’d given Beau another reason to end it with me. He’d shown me just how wrong I was.
I didn’t think it was possible, but I loved him even more.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I clung tighter to him. “Night, Beau.”
I couldn’t lose him.
What the hell was I going to do?
10
Beau
“It’s not far,” I said, holding Freya’s hand and helping her over a rotten log. I liked holding her hand. But as soon as we crossed the log, she let go. I’d noticed she been…not necessarily distant, but less touchy feely.
The disappointment I felt about that was surprising. I’d never liked clingy women. I’d always felt, I don’t know, like running the other way when a woman tried to initiate that kind of closeness. I felt the opposite with Freya.
I was frowning over that realization when she smiled at me. I forced a smile in return and shoved my hand in my pocket, so I didn’t grab her hand again.
We only had another two days left together before she went home and…
I sucked in a sharp breath.
The impact that thought had on me, was also surprising. I shoved it aside. “Just through here,” I said, leading her into a clearing surrounded by pines and dotted with wildflowers. I stopped and let her take a few steps ahead of me so I could watch her reaction.
Her mouth dropped open and her eyes widened. A light breeze moved her hair gently, carrying the scent of flowers with it. “Oh wow. It’s so beautiful.”
Freya put every flower there—shit, every woman I’d ever met—to shame. “Yeah,” I choked out. “It is.” I pulled my pack off and took out a blanket. “I thought we could have a picnic.”
Her smile grew wider. “I’d love that.”
We sat down, and I handed her a bottle of water. “We used to come here as kids. We’d pick flowers for—” I bit off my word.
“Your mom?”
Why the hell had I brought her up? I smiled and quickly changed the subject. “Hank and I used to play hide and seek in the long grass as well.”
“I bet you two were a handful,” she said, eyes sparkling.
Jesus, she was gorgeous. “Oh yeah.”
She lifted a hand, shielding her eyes from the bright sun. “So how many kids do you want?”
I’d already told her I wanted kids when we first started talking, but for some reason her bringing it up then, there, face-to-face, hit me in a way I didn’t expect. Having kids, a family, wasn’t just something that could happen one day. All of that could happen a lot sooner—with Freya.
My mouth went dry and I had to swallow several times to talk. “Two or three might be nice.” An image of Freya sitting right where she was, among the wildflowers, belly swollen with our baby, filled my head, and a weird ache started up in my chest.
“Me, too.” Her smile turned shy and the ache spread.
I looked away from her, unable to hold her eyes any longer for some messed up reason, and started pulling the food out. A bee was hanging around, so I waved it away.
Freya jerked back and shot to her feet, a panicked look on her face. “We need to leave.”
I frowned. “What?”
“I’m allergic to bees,” she said, voice getting higher.
I shot to my feet as well as another bee appeared, then another. “You’re what?”
“We need to go,” she said again.
Shit.
By then there wasn’t one or two; there was an entire swarm. Shit, we must have disturbed a hive.
Freya cried out sharply and she looked at me. “Oh no…”
“Oh no, what?” Dread tightened like a fist behind my ribs.
Her face wasn’t just panicked—there was real fea
r. “I’ve been stung.” She spun and strode off, crashing through the trees away from me.
“Christ, Freya, wait.”
“I left my EpiPen at the house,” she called. “I need to get back.”
I caught up with her. “What will happen?”
“I could have an allergic reaction, my tongue could swell, and…” She swallowed hard. “You need to get the stinger out.”
I grabbed her arm, pulling her to a stop. “Where is it?”
“My back.”
I spun her around so she could rest her hands on a tree, and shoved up her shirt. I spotted it straight away.
“Use your knife to scrape it away. Try not to pop the stinger sack—that wouldn’t be…good.”
I did as she said, then not messing around, scooped her up in my arms and started running flat out toward the house. Thankfully we weren’t that far away, but far enough that I started to freak out when I saw red splotches breaking out on her skin.
When I reached the house, I ran straight upstairs to my room, where her bags were. “Where is it?” I yelled.
She pointed to one of her bags. Her breathing sounded wheezy. Oh fuck.
I got what she needed and tried to hand it to her. She shook her head. “I can’t…”
Her hands were shaking.
“Where!” I yelled, in full-on freak-out mode. “Thigh,” she wheezed. “Black tip against my outer thigh. Quick motion, push it firmly against my skin.”
I grabbed hold of her pants, yanked them down, pressed the pen against her flesh, and did what she said.
“Now what?” I barked.
Tears welled in her eyes. “It depends how much venom I took in. There’s no time to get to the hospital…”
What the fuck did that mean?
I ran downstairs, grabbed my sat phone and called 911. I explained to the woman on the other end what happened. It was a good thing that we’d gotten the stinger out straight away, but she said the same thing as Freya. The drug she needed had been administered. All I could do was clean the sting site and ice it.
I quickly did as I was told, then I sat there and watched her, going out of my mind, terrified her throat would close or her tongue would swell, and she’d die in front of me.
Wild Man (The Smith Brothers Book 2) Page 7