Wilder (The Wild Ones 3)

The sound of a snowmobile draws my attention.

Racing to the window, I look out as Cougar stretches with her ass in the air, her attention trained on Kai as he pulls his ski mask off and heads this way.

His beard is shorter than it was earlier—more neatly trimmed. His hair has grown out some, giving it a wispy look.

Kai grins at me through the window like he didn’t speed away from me earlier today. Confused all to hell, I go to swing the door open just as he steps onto the porch.

“Why did you blow me off and embarrass the hell out of me?” I ask him, crossing my arms over my chest as I stare at him expectantly.

I think my foot is tapping.

He shrugs a shoulder.

“Fourteen guys. One cabin. No shower. Five days. A lot of hunting,” he explains.

My foot stops tapping, and my lips form an O.

It’s as though my anger and embarrassment flees.

“If it helps, I abandoned my Jeep, caught a ride with someone else, and left my brothers with the task of getting it and my meat squared away so I could shower and come see you,” he adds.

My knees turn wobbly.

I really want to kiss him now.

Why don’t you bake me some brownies and find out? That’s what he said to me once, and it almost sounded like a flirty dare.

I move out of the way, and he steps in, never touching me. I go to the counter where all the desserts are, and I tap my chin, looking for the brownies.

“How was the trip?”

“Fourteen guys. No shower. Five days. How do you think it was?” he asks dryly. “The best part was the avalanche,” he adds too casually.

Surely that’s an attempt at dark humor and there wasn’t really an avalanche.

Spotting the brownies, I grab the pan, turn to face him, and find him watching me like he’s curious.

I expect him to go all crazy hungry man when he sees them, but his eyebrow quirks up.

“Here. You can have these as a Welcome Back present,” I tell him, starting to feel stupid about giving him a gift a random guy’s mother made for me.

They didn’t have a problem eating food from others thou—

My inner ramble cuts out when his eyes lift from the brownies and level mine with an intense stare that I feel down to my toes. He casually takes the brownie pan, eyes never leaving mine, and I hear it clang against the counter when he drops it there.

Before my mind can process what’s going on, one of his hands shoves in my hair, the other grabs me at the waist, and in the next instant, his lips crash to mine.

My entire body tries to go limp when I feel the warmth of his touch licking throughout me, causing that dull ache to turn into heated torture. The possessive grip, the hungry kiss that turns almost feral and unpracticed, as he desperately devours me like it’s all he’s wanted.

Now I know baked goods is the ultimate form of seduction around here, and I’m starting to understand why everyone brings desserts as a gift.

My arms go around his neck, dragging him impossibly closer, as he lifts me by my ass. When my legs wind around his waist, he starts carrying me toward the living room.

He drops to the couch, and even though I should keep this PG13, I still end up dragging his shirt up his body, feeling the hard lines of toned muscle against my touch as I do so.

He only breaks the kiss to let me toss his shirt aside, and then he’s back on me. I barely even notice his beard, aside from the occasional tickle of it. It’s soft, non-abrasive, and actually sort of a turn on.

Why is he so addicting?

Why do I feel like I can’t stop?

Why do I want to strip naked and have sex with him on my late Gran’s couch in front of the fireplace?

His arms come around me, as he deepens the kiss, and my fingers tangle in his hair. I like it better a little longer. It suits him more, and I can hold onto it like this.

He groans into my mouth, his hands exploring my body in all the safe zones, teasing me when his thumb barely brushes the underside of my bra enough for me to feel it. A tremor racks up my spine, and I feel teased again when his hand slides up my thigh but stops just shy of where I want him.

I don’t care if it’s stupid.

I don’t care if it’s just a vacation fling.

I don’t care if I’ll regret this later on in life.

The only thing I care about is right now and what I want in this moment.

He kisses me harder when I start undoing the buttons of his jeans, wishing they had a zipper. Abruptly, he stands with me still strapped around his waist, and he carries me to the bedroom like I’ve given him all the signs he needs to progress this from make-out session to full-on fun times.