Wild with You (11 page)

“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, perilously 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

W
AKING
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.”

B
RODY
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.

“Hey there,” Brody said, kneeling beside the sleeping bag. “Are you Jason Matts?”

“Ah fuck.” The teen rolled over and opened his eyes.

“Your parents reported you missing. They're worried about you, Jason,” Brody said in the same no nonsense voice he'd used to keep his siblings in line when they were younger. “And one of the logging crews spotted the smoke from your fire,” he continued. “You know camping and building fires is not allowed here, right?”

“Yeah, I know.” Jason wiggled out of the sleeping bag. Tall and skinny, the teen was like a beanpole. “I'm sorry about the fire. And setting up camp,” the kid said as he rolled up his sleeping bag. “But I had to do something to get their attention. My parents are planning to move to Florida. My grandma is there. My uncle and cousins too. My dad wants us to live closer.”

“You don't want to go, so you ran away,” Brody said as Mitch checked the makeshift fire pit to make sure it was extinguished.

“Yeah.” The kid pulled on his pack. “Can you imagine leaving all of this for fucking Florida? It's flat there. No mountains. No trees. Just a bunch of old ­people.”

“And your family,” Brody said. “Trust me, kid, you want to be where your family is. At the end of the day, they're what matters. And right now they're worried sick about you. So let's get you home.”

But his thoughts drifted back to Kat as he led the kid to the parking area. His own family was here. He couldn't pack up and walk away from them because he took one look at Kat and thought, She's mine.

This community, the ­people here, his brother and sisters, and yeah even the falling down home that had been in his family for generations—­they were all his too.

D
USK
SETTLED
OVER
the mountains as Brody pulled up to the farmhouse. After returning Jason to his parents, who'd threatened to ground him for the next year—­in Florida—­for running away, Brody had swung by the Moore Timber office and focused on trucking schedules. His sister, who ran Moore Timber's biomass initiative, wanted another semi to haul away the by-­products of the timber harvest, the branches and other pieces that generally fell to the forest floor. Brody had found a used truck for sale, but the mechanical inspection raised a few red flags.

Holding the paperwork on his arm, he walked into his kitchen. Kat sat at the head of the table, surrounded by his brothers. Beer bottles and an empty pizza box lined the table.

“Brody,” Chad called, raising his beer. “Just in time.”

“You saved me a slice?” He went to the fridge and withdrew a cold microbrew before claiming the vacant seat opposite Kat.

Smiling, her green eyes dancing with amusement, Kat laughed. “You're in time for another embarrassing story. Your brothers are telling me all of your dirty secrets.”

“We felt she deserved to know,” Chad said. “Rumor has it she woke up here this morning.”

“They caught me rifling through the cabinets for the coffee,” Kat said.

“And I wanted to prove that there is nothing wrong with my long-­term memory,” Josh added, pushing the pizza box in Brody's direction.

“Kat, did you ever visit the coast when you were growing up?” Chad asked.

She nodded. “I went on a class trip to the aquarium.”

“We should take you back sometime,” Chad said. “They've made a lot of improvements.”

“I'd love to see it again,” she said, lifting her beer to her lips. “But I'm curious about what it has to do with an embarrassing Brody story.”

“Cut right to the good stuff,” Josh said, rubbing his hand. “I like that about you.”

Yeah, me too, Brody thought, reaching for a slice.

Kat let out a bark of laughter and his hand stilled. Did she realize how at home she looked with his family? Seeing her smile, watching her with his brothers, the tension from his day slipped away.

“Not the aquarium, but the coast,” Chad explained. “A bunch of the football players took a trip to the coast to grab some of the Clam Shack's famous chowder.”

Chad reached for his beer and Josh took over telling the story. “Some of the cheerleaders went along and dared the guys to take a dip in the ocean. Brody accepted the challenge.”

“But as he dove in,” Josh jumped in, “a wave rose up and ripped his shorts off him.”

Kat turned to him. “You went swimming in the Pacific without a wetsuit in, what, September?”

“November,” Chad corrected. “And he was in his boxers.”

Kat raised an eyebrow but didn't say a word about the hotel pool.

“The wave ripped them right off and took them out to sea,” Josh added. “Brody had to walk out in front of everyone without a stitch on him. And the way I heard the tale, the cold didn't exactly do him any favors.”

“Hey,” Brody protested.

“You might want to keep him out of cold water,” Chad added.

Kat laughed. “I'm not worried.”

“What about you, Doc?” Josh asked. “What is your most embarrassing story from growing up?”

Brody froze, the lukewarm slice in front of his lips. His brothers could joke about his high school mishaps all they wanted, but Kat didn't need to relive the worst moments of growing up here. And he could only imagine her long list of uncomfortable stories. He'd witnessed the old hurts coming back to haunt her, and he freaking hated that look in her eyes.

But her face lit up as she lowered her beer. “Oh I have a good one. And it involves your brother.”

Chad raised an eyebrow. “Didn't realize you knew each other back then.”

Brody's brow furrowed. As far as he knew, their one and only interaction had occurred in the art room. But there was nothing embarrassing about fixing a pair of shoes out of sheer necessity. “Kat—­”

“Everyone knew Brody Summers,” she said, taking another sip of beer and ignoring the note of warning in his voice. “And I was one of the many girls at Independence High who had a crush on your brother,” she added.

“What?” Brody lowered the pizza.

“A crush?” Chad flashed a charming smile as he rubbed his hands together. “This should be a good one.”

“Kat, how many beers have you had?” Brody demanded, scanning the empty beer bottles on the table.

“She's on her second, bro. We didn't get her drunk,” Chad said. “Calm down and let her tell the story.”

“My sophomore year, some of the guys from Brody's class threw a party in the woods,” Kat said, accepting his brother's invitation. “They got their hands on a keg, built a bonfire and invited half the school. After my first beer, I decided it would be a great idea to declare my undying love for your brother.”

Brody choked on his pizza and coughed. “What?”

Her undying love? He searched his memory trying to determine if the party he didn't remember—­because hell, they'd taken a keg into the woods more than once—­was before or after he glued her sneakers together.

“But I never got the chance.” Kat pointed her beer at him before turning her attention to her audience. “I spotted him in the woods, removed from the party, and thought here is my shot.”

“Don't tell me you caught him with his pants down,” Chad said.

“No, I didn't.” Kat shook her head. “Though I'm sure the girl with him would have preferred that. Instead your big brother was telling her—­and I can't remember her name, even though I was insanely jealous of her at the time—­”