Wilder (The Wild Ones 3)

In my dreamy, half-mindless, desperate-for-more-of-that-kiss state, my super intelligent response is, “What?”

“It’s going to be different this time,” he tells me, lips brushing mine so softly.

“Different how?” I ask, unable to help myself.

He pulls back just enough to keep my eyes from blurring, and his gaze stays on my mouth like he’s transfixed.

“I’m not going to keep my hands off you. I’m going to have you all to myself. We’re going to be in the same bed every single night. I’m not going to waste a single second that you’re here,” he tells me, gaze bouncing back up to mine. “How long are you staying?”

Why is it so nerve-wracking to tell the truth?

Why am I internally freaking out?

It just sounds too ridiculous to tell him I’m moving in.

“That depends,” I tell him, licking my lips as I swallow thickly.

“On your business?” he guesses.

I shake my head slowly, and I steel my nerves as I grasp for the courage to answer as honestly as I can without sounding like a freak.

“On you.”

Well, that’s not the answer I meant to give, but it’s like coaxing the words out at this point. I’m almost dizzy with the anxiety building inside me.

What if he rejects me? I’m in love, but Lilah just said he missed me. She knew I loved him, but she didn’t really mention him reciprocating…

“If it depends on me, then you’ll be in Tomahawk for a long damn time,” he says on a sigh, his forehead dropping to gently press against mine as his eyes shut. “Don’t fuck with my head right now. I really can’t take it.”

Some of that nervousness recedes once more with those words, and I feel myself smiling before I can help it.

“That’s good, because Reese is shipping the rest of my things when she gets home. It’d make me feel stupid if I had to move it all right back out because this was too weird for you,” I tell him.

He pulls his head back abruptly, brow furrowing as he searches my eyes.

“Speak a little plainer, Piper. What the hell does that mean?” he asks me, almost sounding…

Is that anger?

Why is he angry?

My smile falls immediately, and I swallow a fresh nervous lump in my throat.

“I’m pulling a Liam and chasing a Wild One. I plan on staying in Tomahawk for as long as you want me here, minus the occasional business trip.”

That’s about as plain and blunt as I can put it.

He goes rigid against me, and I prepare myself for the likely crash before the burn.

“You’re moving here?”

“Well, I’m moving into Gran’s cabin, but yes,” I babble, only getting a silent stare in return. “I like the town, and I like the people. The quirk and charm is nice and stuff,” I ramble on, trying not to sound like I’m some sort of obsessed stalker, now that I think about it.

“You’re moving to Tomahawk?” he asks again.

Since I can’t seem to get any more words out, I just give an overly enthusiastic nod.

His lips crash to mine during one of the nods, and relief swarms me once again. Holy freaking emotional rollercoaster. It’s hard as hell to tell someone you’re in love with them. Someone should have warned me about that.

I still haven’t even gotten that far yet. At this rate, it could take longer than a day.

I decide to simply enjoy the fact he’s kissing me like he’s pleased, his hands running over me…instead of his feet running out the door.

He breaks the kiss abruptly, one of his hands tangled in my hair, the other cupping my cheek as he stares at me once more.

“You’re staying?” he asks once again, as though he needs affirmed.

“Why is that so hard to believe?” I ask, refusing to look away from his intense gaze.

“Because it’s been a shit month. It’s damn hard to believe that you’re even here right now, let along telling me exactly what I want to hear. If this is a dream, I’m going to hack down a lot of fucking trees when I wake up,” he tells me, making zero sense on that last part.

It’s the most random threat I’ve ever heard.

“If it’s a dream, then I’ll still be booking a flight and driving to Tomahawk tomorrow,” I assure him, which only gets me kissed again.

This time, though, that desperation is there. His hands move over me like he doesn’t know what to touch first.

We kiss until I’m wrapped around him and gyrating my hips, searching for friction, because kissing just isn’t enough anymore.

Our lips break apart, and he pants for air as his forehead presses to mine again.

“What’s under the fucking robe?” he groans.

I note that his hand his most of the way up the side of my bare thigh, touching my bare ass.

“Ideally, my fool-proof seduction gimmick,” I deadpan.

He reaches between us, ripping the tie open on the robe, and he leans back as he shoves the robe off my shoulders, revealing the yellow dead raccoon flag that I stitched into a makeshift dress.