Copyright © 2013 by Adriane Leigh
Cover Photo by Scott Hoover Photography
Cover Design by Cover It Designs
Formatting by Angela McLaurin, Fictional Formats
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
PROLOGUE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
EPILOGUE
A WILD PLAYLIST
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT ADRIANE LEIGH
For Amy, my SmutSister, personal assistant/bitch, dedicated reader, and the official Mrs. Wild.
Sunday morning and I felt like ass. Complete and total bullshit ass. Worst hangover of my entire fucking existence.
I stepped through the doors of my small cottage on the beach and headed straight for the bathroom. I needed to get the awful taste of alcohol out of my mouth. I hadn’t gotten so fall-down drunk since I was in high school. The graduation party Jenny Gordon had when we drank vodka and juice and I made out with her brother. Every time I closed my eyes that night, I saw stars. Actual stars spinning behind my eyelids.
I stepped into the bathroom and assessed myself in the mirror: my cheeks, hollow; my hair, a wild mess of strawberry, tangled around my shoulders; my eyes, dark circles underneath with a smudge of mascara rimming the eyelashes. I looked like hell and I felt like hell, and the actual worst part—it wasn’t just me there to witness it. Here I was, stumbling in at six a.m., fresh from crawling out of someone else’s bed.
What a shit storm I’d created last night.
His wild dark hair and sexy grin slammed into my brain. He’d driven me to distraction at the bar last night. I’d only been in town a few weeks, and I’d stopped in for just one drink. I was keeping to myself, but couldn’t help notice his beautiful face and body, which were made for sin, as he threw darts with a few other guys. His laugh was full and hearty and echoed across the room, garnering everyone’s attention. The women fawned over him and the guys hung out with him; he was the most popular guy in the place, commanding the attention of all. And even when I was trying to divert my eyes, I couldn’t help but sneak glances.
So I’d had another drink and pretended not to watch that devilishly handsome grin light his face.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked. My breath caught in my throat when I turned to look at him. He looked at me with a sexy sparkle in his endlessly deep, arctic-blue eyes. His full lips turned up in a seductive grin. He was so much fucking trouble, I could see it pouring off him. If I hadn’t suspected it before when he was flirting with all the girls in the place, it was obvious now that I was in his space.
But, unfortunately for me, I so liked being there.
“Thanks.” I nodded my head and turned back to my drink because there was nothing else I could say. He slid onto the bar stool beside me and nodded to the bartender.
“Haven’t seen you before, passing through?” His deep voice reverberated across the space between us and slammed straight between my thighs. He had the sexiest voice I’d ever heard. How was it possible for one man to be so sexy? To be so blessed with the entire package? A sharp stubbled jaw line, the fullest lips, which had me wondering what they’d feel like trailing across my body, stunning eyes that sparkled mischievously when he spoke. It was obvious he left intelligent women everywhere struggling to find words.
“Something like that. Thanks.” I smiled as the bartender set our drinks down.
I don’t remember much from that point on.
Well, that’s not true; I remember bits and pieces, the most delicious parts.
His hands ran up under my shirt as he pinned me against the door of his truck.
His lips on my neck, teeth nipping at the flesh.
Stumbling up the steps to his house, his body slamming me against the front door, hands locked above my head as one of his palms trailed up my thigh and under my skirt to hook my leg around his hip. A thumb hooking in the delicate lace of my panties before his fingers breached the fabric and ran up my soaking wet slit.
My body writhing against his as he sucked on my earlobe, his fingers working in and out of me before my first orgasm bloomed low in my belly and shot across every nerve I had.
He opened the door and we stumbled into his house, just making it to the foyer before he kicked the door closed and laid me down on the floor, his hard body hovering over mine, caging me in.
The sound of a zipper as he pushed his jeans down his powerful thighs.
His rough hands trailing up my legs and over my ribcage before pulling my dress over my shoulders.
Fingers hooking in my pushup bra and pulling the fabric down to reveal the hardened peaks of my nipples. Teeth dragging across the sensitive flesh as he slid between my thighs and teased his throbbing arousal through my slick folds.
The low growl that escaped his throat as my nails dug into the hard muscle of his back and dragged across his skin when he pushed into me.
My second orgasm in as many minutes as he ground his hips between my thighs and fucked me so hard the only words that escaped my lips were, “Oh, God.”
Oh, I remembered plenty.
But the most mortifying aspect of my walk of shame this morning was the realization that I still hadn’t caught his name.
I stepped into the hardware store of the small Maine town and headed for the heating aisle. The old man behind the counter gave me a friendly nod as I grabbed a furnace filter and cleaning supplies. I’d arrived in town a few weeks ago and had finally found a place to stay. A small cottage, just short of being condemned, but in a perfect location, on the wild and rocky Maine coast. The sound of crashing waves filled my ears, a backdrop to my new life in the small rugged coastal town of Rock Island.
When I’d arrived, I’d asked around about rentals and finally had come across something that was in my meager price range and was available through the off-season. Up here, most places weren’t winterized, especially those with ocean frontage, which this was. The small, weatherworn cabin was situated on a wooded, rocky outcropping that jutted into the angry Atlantic. Most had dreams of living on a white sandy beach, but from the start, I’d imagined living on a rocky shoreline with rolling waves pounding the grey rocks. The tides rolling in and out, the smells of the ocean infiltrating my senses: these were the things I’d dreamed about. Many people complained that they smelled like salt year ‘round—their houses, clothes, even their cars took a beating—but I loved the idea. It served as a reminder that I lived in this wild and beautiful place.
“Sure you got the right size?” an achingly familiar voice murmured in my ear and snapped me out of my thoughts. I choked on the lump that’d lodged in my throat as I turned to find the sexy stranger from a few nights ago at my side.
“Yes, thanks
.” I turned away from him, his broad shoulders and cocky smile burned into my brain.
“Sure about that?”
“Of course. I’m not an idiot. It’s a furnace filter.” I glared and rummaged through some paint chips. The entire house needed a new coat of paint if I was going to spend any time there.
“That what Barton told you?” He was referring to my landlord, and the fact that he had this information at all made me a little uncomfortable.
“No, but furnace filters are pretty standard, I’ve never met one that required anything other than a sixteen by twenty.”
“Furnaces are standard nowadays, but the place you’re staying, Sugar, was built in the forties and I know for a fact that old man hasn’t replaced the old Lennox furnace in the past twenty years, which means you need a sixteen by twenty-five.”
I shot daggers at him as he peered back at me, an amused grin tilting his lips. A slim-cut plaid shirt caressed the lean lines of his biceps and waist. His long legs spread in a wide stance, arms crossed as he took me in, his bright blue eyes shining as he watched me. “Fine.” I swiped the filter he’d picked up from his hands. “And don’t call me Sugar.”
“You seemed to like it the other night.” His lips dusted along my earlobe and sent shivers straight to the apex of my thighs. My breath came out in ragged pants and my eyes fluttered closed as I tried to control my reaction to him.
“Well, that was then; this is now. Don’t call me Sugar,” I replied without looking at him. A hearty chuckle escaped his throat as he snatched the old filter from my hands and returned it to its proper bin.
“You should think about replacing it more often; the salt really wreaks havoc around here on the ducts.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled as I turned to head to the counter.
“Anytime, Sug—”
I shot him a glare that stopped him in his tracks.
“What did you say your name was again?” He tilted his head to the side, dark hair falling over his forehead deliciously. It pissed me off how boyish and devilishly sexy he could look all at the same time.
“I didn’t.” I continued down the aisle and toward the old man at the counter.
“Right. Well, if you need anything, just ask this guy; he knows where to find me. I’m—”
“I’m good, but thanks for the help.” I cut him off before he could say anymore. I didn’t want connections, wasn’t interested in a relationship, and wanted to avoid any reference to the few hours we’d spent in a drunken haze a few nights ago. It was becoming clear I’d made an epic mistake. I hadn’t been looking for a hookup but after keeping to myself for so long, and the way his eyes sparkled when he looked at me, that sexy grin tipping his features, I’d thrown caution to the wind and landed beneath him with my legs spread.
Delicious as it had been, six foot three and sexy was now biting me in the ass.
He arched an eyebrow before shaking his head, a heart-stopping grin lifting one side of his mouth, before he turned and walked out of the hardware store.
“Find everything all right?” The weathered gentleman behind the counter smiled sweetly at me.
“Yes, thanks.”
“What’d you say your name was?”
“I didn’t, but it’s Kat.” I busied myself with digging through my wallet and hoped he wouldn’t ask any more questions.
“Well, welcome to Rock Island, Kat. I’m Murphy. If there’s anything I can ever help you with, just let me know.” He smiled and then rang up my items.
“Thank you, I appreciate it.” I passed him the money I owed and then headed out the door, the little bell ringing as I left.
The following afternoon, I made my way down Main Street after stocking up on groceries at the tiny store in the middle of town. I drove slowly, taking in the small, sea-battered town with graying shingles and bowed roofs. There was a small library in town that I’d already frequented a few times since I’d been here. The kind old lady at the counter always had a welcoming smile and loved to talk books. I was currently devouring Maine authors: Edna St. Vincent Millay, Nathaniel Hawthorne, and a little Stephen King thrown in for good measure.
I passed the bustling marina where lobster boats were docked and rusted pickup trucks were parked. I slowed to a stop and parked in the small oceanside park, taking in the view. Every morning I had the advantage of seeing the lobstermen head out to check their traps. One man buzzed just offshore from my house. I always stopped to watch and gave a wave when he looked up from hauling the traps.
Watching him daily, regardless of the weather or temperature, served as a reminder that I needed to find a job. I had limited funds and needed to find something to bring in some money and help pass the time.
A car door slammed a few spots down from me, interrupting my thoughts. I watched an old guy step up to someone hidden on the other side of the truck. The old man looked battered and worn, probably a fisherman. They shook hands and the man who’d stepped out of the truck moved around the bumper.
Son of a bitch—it was him. Why couldn’t I escape him? I had to get out of there before he saw me. How mortifying. What if he thought I was following him?
I turned the key in my old car and it made a poor attempt at turning over. I threw my head against the steering wheel as my heart thudded in my chest.
Was this a joke? Was karma out to get me?
Please, dear God, don’t let him see me.
I tried turning the car over again. It rolled and revved and then died.
“Fuck!” I punched the wheel, slipping and hitting the horn. “Oh my God,” I moaned and tried to duck my head in case he looked over. I took a few deep breaths and considered what to do. If I just left my car—ran—maybe I could escape him and come back later for the car. It was a piece of shit anyway, and my cottage was only a mile out of town. I could use a walk in the open air, collect my thoughts, and consider ways to avoid the sexy-as-sin stranger I’d had a one-night stand with.
I licked my lips and hoped it was safe to try starting the car again. I lifted my head and fumbled with the key before shooting a glance out of the corner of my eye to find the aforementioned sexy-as-sin Greek god that I’d let take me up against the wall, on his way toward me, a cocky grin lighting his lips.
“Shit,” I mumbled to myself and prayed desperately for the engine to turn over.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were following me, Sugar.”
I glared at him in response.
“You’re an angry little thing, not sure what I did to deserve that. I thought we had a pretty good time the other night.” Amusement danced in his light blue eyes.
Jesus, those eyes.
My gaze took him in, drank him up, scanned his messy chocolate brown hair and full lips. Sculpted, full lips that had trailed across my skin, along my rib cage, down the dip of my back and over the curve of my ass. He’d worshiped me with those full lips and just thinking about the memory had me squirming.
“All right, Sugar?”
“I told you, don’t call me that.” I bit my bottom lip between my teeth, just to the point of pain to get my mind off our illicit night spent together.
“Right. So you followin’ me? Because if you’re looking for a repeat performance, that could be arranged.” One eyebrow arched in the most delicious way.
God, why did he have to be so arrogant and sexy? I hated arrogant and sexy. It was fucking irresistible.
“Don’t flatter yourself. I didn’t even see you here when I pulled in.”
“Sorry to hear that. I have to say, though, the way you were callin’ out to God the other night sounded like you were enjoyin’ yourself.”
My face flamed and I felt the blush prickle up my chest to my cheeks. “You’re an ass.” I turned the key and my old battered Camry flared to life. I threw the car in reverse and heard him laugh as he watched me back out.
“Until next time, Sugar.”
I headed out of the parking lot and caught a glimpse of him in the rearview mirror
, that beautiful grin still lighting his lips as he watched me go.
A week went by and I didn’t run into the sexy stranger.
Probably because I didn’t leave the house.
Well, that wasn’t true. I left to go to the library. But that was it. I’d stocked up on food and given myself no reason to leave the cabin, but running out of books was unacceptable. I couldn’t stand not having something to read.
I’d considered getting an e-reader, but I was old-fashioned. I loved the smell of books, the paper beneath my fingers, the evidence in the back of the library book that it had been enjoyed for many years by many people. It filled me up inside.
One afternoon, I wandered through aisles at the library and the old librarian, Mrs. Barton, who I’d quickly come to realize was the wife of my landlord, offered me a job. She’d offered to pay me under the table, which was more than I ever could have hoped for.
I sighed with relief and agreed without hesitation.
The position was only a few days a week; I’d need more at some point. But I had enough savings to live on for a while, and the rent was so cheap I wasn’t blowing through the money I had. Plus, it would give me a purpose. Something to do with my time instead of staring out the window at that rocky coast, watching the boats troll by.
I felt right at home on my first day at the library. After walking me through the Dewey Decimal System and general operation of the library, Claire, as she insisted I call her, left to run some errands. The library didn’t see many patrons. Small town libraries don’t get much traffic, add to that the popularity of e-readers, and they have even less of a place in the fabric of small town life. Claire explained as she was getting older she wanted to spend more time at home with her grandkids, which is why she’d been looking for someone part-time.
I was glad I could be there to help. It felt good to have a purpose. I’d never had the chance at a career; I’d jumped into my life back home feet first and hadn’t looked back. In hindsight, I regretted not going to school—I think I would have gone for creative writing or teaching if I had—but there was no going back. I could only move forward, and the job at the library in this small New England town was enough for me at the moment.
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