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- Herausgeber: Lynn Burke
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
A man searching for peace. A woman determined to save her family name. Fulfillment is attainable ... but at a price neither expect to pay.
I’m an adrenaline junkie.
I get off on tempting fate—until the day I make a reckless misstep that claims three lives.
The Alaskan bush offers the perfect opportunity to overcome survivor’s guilt and find peace: Live off grid in seclusion where a mistake only threatens one life—my own.
My only tie to humanity is a feisty bush pilot who hates everything I am. Even though the connection between us blazes like a forest fire, she’s determined to keep her distance.
The backcountry has other plans, however, and I end up with her life in my hands.
Unknown to me, there’s a tenacious huntsman on her tracks, shadowing her every move, and one wrong choice leaves her vulnerable.
He takes what's mine.
A wild beast rises inside me, and the hunter becomes the prey. I will level mountains, fight the untamed wilderness, to save her—even if I leave a path of carnage behind me.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021
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Wilderness
Midnight Sun 1
Lynn Burke
Copyright © 2020 by Lynn Burke
All rights reserved.
Editor: Avril Stepowski
Cover Art by Golden Czermak / FuriousFotog
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review or article, without written permission from the author.
Visit my website at authorlynnburke.com
Wilderness
I’m an adrenaline junkie.
I get off on tempting fate—until the day I make a reckless misstep that claims three lives.
The Alaskan bush offers the perfect opportunity to overcome survivor’s guilt and find peace: Live off grid in seclusion where a mistake only threatens one life—my own.
My only tie to humanity is a feisty bush pilot who hates everything I am. Even though the connection between us blazes like a forest fire, she’s determined to keep her distance.
The backcountry has other plans, however, and I end up with her life in my hands.
Unknown to me, there’s a tenacious huntsman on her tracks, shadowing her every move, and one wrong choice leaves her vulnerable.
He takes what's mine.
A wild beast rises inside me, and the hunter becomes the prey. I will level mountains, fight the untamed wilderness, to save her—even if I leave a path of carnage behind me.
Contents
1. Brock
2. Jessie
3. Brock
4. Jessie
5. Brock
6. Jessie
7. Brock
8. Jessie
9. Brock
10. Jessie
11. Brock
12. Jessie
13. Brock
14. Jessie
15. Brock
16. Jessie
17. Brock
18. Jessie
19. Brock
20. Brock
21. Jessie
22. Brock
23. Jessie
24. Brock
25. Jessie
26. Brock
27. Jessie
28. Brock
29. Jessie
30. Brock
31. Jessie
32. Brock
33. Jessie
34. Brock
35. Jessie
36. Brock
37. Jessie
38. Brock
39. Jessie
40. Brock
41. Jessie
42. Brock
Bonus Material
About the Author
Also By Lynn Burke
Brock
The Alaskan wilderness stretched around me as far as I could see, mountains cutting the sky shut on all sides of the horizon, offering what I sought—that fucking high, that rush of life coming at me, screaming—daring—me to grab hold and ride the storm. Rugged and untamed, the land called to me in a way I hadn’t experienced in far too long.
I’d left the East Coast in search of solitude away from the public eye and the judgmental stares of those who recognized my face from being plastered over the news two years earlier. Need to prove myself kept me driving away from Fairbanks, a lone cabin, off-grid and out in the woods, my final destination.
Mom had asked while hugging me goodbye if I would ever return to Boston. I doubted it.
Unless a grizzly decided I would make a tasty snack, I planned on growing gray-haired and hobble-y far from man—or woman. I’d seen a half-dozen of the huge, hairy fuckers in the past couple of days, and I’ll admit to a bit of fear at the thought of being faced with one. Way bigger than my six feet if standing on its hind legs, way broader than my wide shoulders, one of those brown, bushy bears would take me down with one damn swipe of its massive paws.
Nightmares from my childhood contained snarling grizzlies and still shivered my skin—but bring on the snow, ice, and howling wind. Bring on the negative temperatures and snug log cabin smelling of wood smoke and roasting wild game.
I’d outfitted myself with the best money could buy, and the supplies packed underneath the fiberglass cap of my truck spoke truth of that fact.
The old man’s cabin I’d bought off his son six months earlier had come fully furnished, and I’d bought the property as-is without having seen more than online pictures. No electricity. No running water. No sewage. No heat other than what I would supply by hand with my chainsaw and axe.
I’d climbed the highest mountains. Gone spelunking in the deepest caves. Thrown myself out of planes with nothing more than a sheet of nylon to keep me from face-splatting on the earth. Deep sea diving had placed me in shark territory. Anything that offered an adrenaline rush drew me in like a red, waving flag to a bull hell-bent on defeating its opponent.
One mistake, one second of losing focus, had made me responsible for three deaths—and had left me sitting with therapist after therapist trying to deal with survivor’s guilt. It was time to move the fuck on.
Start my next adventure.
My lips twitched into a grin as I passed a worn-down sign announcing the next shit town—if it could even be called such. No stop lights, no sprawling shopping center. One bar and one motel-like place in desperate need of a coat of paint flanked the road with a few other dilapidated buildings farther up the two-lane highway.
I pulled into the motel’s gravel parking lot, having already made reservations for the night.
In the morning, I would head an hour up the road to the airstrip of Midnight Sun Charter and fly out into the wilderness where I would be reborn. Having come highly recommended by a friend of a friend of a friend, we’d discussed details by email, confirming for a morning flight including all my supplies.
I could have gone with the bigger charter service out of Fairbanks, but I’d always been a supporter of the local businesses, the small fish in the pond who tended to scurry and be ever watchful in order to fill its belly. You wouldn’t get laziness from those boys—something I couldn’t stand in myself or others. Deep in the wilds, there wouldn’t be time for lackadaisical attitudes. If I didn’t work, I didn’t eat. Didn’t enjoy heat. Didn’t get to rest comfortably.
Yearning to start the challenge ahead of me pumped adrenaline through my system, and I knew attempting sleep before nine would be an absolute joke.
A turn of the key shut my truck down, and I drank in the silence I’d never had issue with. While my brother needed the chatter and phones in our family’s office building back in downtown Boston, I hadn’t been able to stand the fucking place with its constant noise. As the oldest, he would be taking over when Dad decided to retire. But he’d be running the business alone—without me or his fiancé whose death I’d been responsible for. Not that he’d wanted me within fifty yards of him since.
Lips in a grim line, I hopped out of my truck into the cool evening, giving my stiff, aching leg a few seconds to relax. Determined to focus on the present rather than the past like my therapists suggested, I filled my lungs with clean air scented with soil and pine.
Country music played from somewhere behind me, and I turned, taking note of the propped open doorway of the pub across the street. With it being the only food joint around from what I could tell, I planned on heading there once settled. A car door slammed, and a horn honked somewhere close by, drawing my gaze around an area too settled for my taste. Less than a dozen people meandered in the vicinity, but I drew each and every ones’ stares.
Stranger in town, just passing through—at least that’s what I told anyone curious enough to ask. And there’d been plenty of nosy fuckers every place I’d stopped on my trek across the continent.
Stretching out my neck, I started off toward the door stating Office in faded white lettering, my bum leg loosening with each step. The old woman manning the desk handed over a key in exchange for cash—no signature, no credit card on file. No questions either, surprisingly. No Wi-Fi, something I would gladly live without.
Needing to make a few calls before hiding myself away, I let myself into my room and dropped my overnight bag onto the double bed. Worn out bedspread, saggy mattress in the middle, and limp pillows didn’t promise a good night’s sleep, but I hadn’t slept more than four hours straight in two years, anyway. Even with help from meds, I couldn’t find rest. Night after night, my mind went to that day that had changed the course of my life.
Dropping onto the bed, I grimaced at the squeaking box spring, and powered my satellite phone to life. I’d paid a pretty penny for the damn thing only because my mom insisted I have some means of communication.
I called Mom first, letting her know I’d made it safely to Alaska, offering my final goodbyes to her and Dad once she put me on speaker phone so he could hear. She promised to call me on my birthday, at Thanksgiving, and Christmas. She shed a few tears, but my eyes remained dry as the dust in the Sahara I’d gotten my fill of. While I loved my family, things hadn’t been the same since I’d killed the love of my brother’s life.
I missed my buddies more than my blood. If shit got too real out there in no-man’s land, they’d be the first I would reach out to. I’d set up a 4-man text group prior to leaving the Boston area, and we’d been in touch throughout my cross-country trek. Adam seemed the most disapproving with the route I’d decided to take with my life, but having a couple of kids, I thought, would change a man’s mind on living a selfish life.
I didn’t want kids. No fucking thank you.
Rian and his woman were still trying, last I’d heard.
Both Jordan and Garret also had rug rats—one each.
Once their marriages had turned into families, they’d stopped congregating at Adam’s estate up in New Hampshire to play in the old church he’d outfitted into a BDSM paradise. Not that I’d ever partaken in their lifestyle. Knew all about it, though. Knew how all three men met their submissive wives, went to their weddings, and watched them tie knots with their claimed soul mates.
Personally, I didn’t think such a thing existed. I’d had my fair share of women and not a single one had tempted me into offering a chance at forever. I had too much living to do, and since the accident, I knew I never wanted to be responsible for another soul ever again.
My final night in society, I texted the group.
Of course, Jordan’s reply came through first. Any pussy to be had?
Me: Haven’t gone looking.
Jordan: Get your ass in gear, man. You’re going to be shut up with nothing but your goddamn fist.
Adam: If that isn’t deterrent enough…
I ignored Adam’s invite to argue. Been there, done that, and nothing would change my mind.
Rian: Best of luck out there, buddy
Jordan’s, I hope you find peace, my friend, came through at the same time.
Feeling as though I’d already started to, I found my lips twitching again. I will, I texted back.
Garrett: May your cupboards be full, and may you find a cute little Eskimo woman to warm your lumpy mattress in that ramshackled shit box you spent good money on.
Jordan: He likes blondes, asshole.
Rian: Didn’t you date a redhead once?
Chuckling, I shot back a thumbs up. Let the fuckers take it however the hell they wanted. I did spend too much for my wilderness getaway like Garrett had said, but the cost hadn’t dented my bank account or investments.
Adam: I give him three months.
Me: Before? A frown dented my brow. Fucker hadn’t been anything but a Debbie Downer since I’d told them I was going off-grid.
Adam: You’re on the hunt for pussy. Might want to consider taking a goat along. Fresh milk and all that.
I barked a laugh. Go fuck yourself.
Adam: A hole is a hole is a hole…
Garrett: Sick fuck. Leave the man alone.
Rian: I gotta side with Adam on this one.
Jordan steered the conversation, telling me to take care of myself and call at any time, for any reason. The other three chimed in with the same.
A pang of something I couldn’t name ached through my chest, and I rubbed over my pecs before replying. Water stains ran across the motel room’s ceiling, its lone light bulb in the middle of the room barely illuminating the chair and small table in the far corner. Nothing like the five-star hotels I’d stayed in across the world.
I wouldn’t want to be any place else, though.
Deciding on one last text before powering my phone down, I took my time typing out the words to my best friends—just in case they were my last. Fuck knew what the morning would bring. My first flight since the day that Old Betsy went down...
Throat swelling, I read over my text.
Thank you all for your friendship, especially over the last couple of years. I appreciate your loyalty even when half of my family turned their backs on me. I’m not saying goodbye for good, but if this is my last adventure in life, know that I’ll be thinking of you when my life flashes before my eyes. Take care of yourselves, love the hell out of your wives, and kiss all those cute brats for me. Rian, best of luck in knocking up your sexy little Luna. I’ll see you on the other side.
Lips pressed in a tight line, I hit send and turned off my phone.
Time for one last burger, fries, and a couple of beers. Hopefully, the shit hole across the road could make my last night around humans a good one.
Jessie
Talk about a shitty day from hell. First, having to drive into Fairbanks to meet with my CPA to get my taxes filed—late as usual—and having to hear the know-it-all man spew shit about a woman having no place being a bush pilot.
Well fuck him and the pencils that had to endure his too-smooth-palm touch.
Then running into him, the asshole who didn’t understand the meaning of the word “no”, the bastard who’d stolen my father’s charter business when he’d hit troubled waters. Spoiled rich asshole who thought he owned the world, or that he could buy what he didn’t already lord over.
Getting groceries for the next couple of months was usually a chore I enjoyed, loading up a couple of carts with bulk supplies, but that fucking ass just happened to appear at the end of the first aisle, ruining my mood I’d managed to pull out of the gutter after leaving my CPA.
I pretended I didn’t see him, but every inch of my body became aware of his presence as he neared.
His blue eyes twinkled in a way that most women would find attractive, his mousy brown hair with hints of gray tumbling in curls over his forehead in a seemingly innocent air, but something in his gaze hinted at an unhinged mind. Beyond spoiled, something a bit more … something not quite right.
“Hey, Jessie.” He nudged against my shoulder like we were long lost pals or some such shit even though he had a good fifteen years on me.
I showed him my teeth with an audible snarl and kept walking, trying to shake off the creepy vibes he’d dumped over my head from a simple, totally intentional, bump of his arm against me.
Cort Endsley freaked me the fuck out.
Not for the first time, I ignored his sense of entitlement when it came to women. I loved that I couldn’t be bought, that I could stand on my own two feet—he hated it.
I thought I lost him when he didn’t show up in the next two aisles. My shoulders relaxed, and I focused on the long as hell list in my hand.
“It doesn’t have to be this way,” he whispered against my ear, and I squeaked, jumping damn near a foot in the air.
“The fuck!” I whispered harshly and spun, ready to clock him in the damn nose, but too many people stood close by. While I might not be able to obtain a restraining order due to his cousin being the sheriff, he had the money and status to drag my name through the shitter and ruin my family’s business that I’d struggled to rebuild the previous five years.
“Fuck off, Cort,” I muttered, list crumpled in my fist as I shoved the cart forward.
“I’m tired of waiting, Jessie,” he called after me.
“Then find someone else to bother,” I shot over my shoulder, giving him my best resting bitch face.
“But you’re the prettiest thing I’ve seen. Your fire draws me in like a moth to the flame, baby.”
I rolled my eyes, ignoring the titters of two grandmotherly types I paused beside.
“You’re sunshine and moonlight,” Cort continued, drawing an, “Aw” from both women. “I dream about you barefoot and pregnant in my kitchen every night.”
I snorted. The fucker probably hated that my reputation as a pilot, a mere woman, rivaled his own. In his mind, I expected, a woman had no business being anywhere but pregnant and in the kitchen.
“He only wants to get his dick wet,” I told the old women, bending to grab a case of diced tomatoes.
One old lady gasped. The other snickered and dragged her friend away as I hoisted the flat of cans into my cart.
“Jessie.”
I ignored Cort, grabbing up a case of canned corn a few feet farther down the aisle. The old ladies disappeared around the corner, and we stood alone.
Fuck.
The hairs rose on my arms, and my heart kicked into high gear in the worst way possible.
“I always get what I want.” The heat of him pressed close—but didn’t touch—and still, a shiver slid down my spine, curdling the frothy cappuccino in my stomach I’d splurged on in attempts to forget my earlier meeting.
“Not this time, you don’t,” I reminded him, my voice shaking as I hurried up the aisle.
The asshole grabbed my arm and spun me, his fingers digging into my flesh through the light flannel I wore. “Give me what I want, and you can have your daddy’s precious plane back,” he spit.
I jerked from his hold, hissing a few curses under my breath. My daddy’s plane that I longed to own but couldn’t afford—and I refused to pay for it with anything but cash. Cort wasn’t having it. “You fucking touch me again, you sick prick, and I’ll get that restraining order.”
“You can try.” He grinned, contrary to the harsh hold on my arm, flashing pearly whites I wanted to knock back into his throat. Maybe he would choke to death…
“Fucking crooked ass cops.” I shoved my cart forward, yanking free of his grasp.
“I’m tired of this cat and mouse game,” Cort said, sticking to my backside, his voice losing all trace of jollity. “Don’t give me what I want, and I’ll destroy you, Jessie Blacke. Your business. Your Daddy’s precious name. Your reputation.”
He’d said the same once before—I’d even gotten his damn voice recorded with those threats—but the cops in his back pocket didn’t give a shit.
The smart fucker never approached me in private where I could retaliate without fear of retribution. All I needed was one time, one opportunity, to get him in close proximity where no witnesses would see me take revenge for ruining my family’s name.
Temptation to give in to what he wanted for the sake of getting him alone warred with my sense of self-preservation. At five-foot-one, I had to crane my neck to meet his lascivious gaze with a hardened one of my own. He packed muscle while I barely managed to hold up a pair of jeans with my too-small, good for nothing, ass. At least I had tits aplenty, so I didn’t look like a teenage boy from a distance.
Popping a bullet into his brain from afar was my best bet, but I couldn’t even stomach shooting an animal to feed myself through the winter.
“No, no, and no. It’ll always be no, Cort. Leave. Me. Alone.” I bit out the words and spun, praying like hell he’d listen.
“You forget the funds at my disposal, Jessie.”
Fucking asshole.
“You’re going to regret that answer, one way or another,” he called after me.
I ignored his threat and kept walking. Two aisles later, I breathed a sigh of relief while grabbing the last item on my list, and I managed to pay for my over-flowing cart full of groceries and get the hell out of town without running into the rich asshole again.
My shitty day got worse when I stopped to fill up my old truck’s tank and checked my messages.
The supply shipment I had scheduled for the following week had cancelled.
“Goddamnitalltohell,” I muttered and pressed my lips tight. I needed every penny to stay afloat. Losing one shipment wasn’t so big a deal, but with it being a long-time customer who stated Cort had offered him a better rate…
I could only imagine what else my archrival and creepy stalker had told the man about me—all because I refused to fuck him.
Still cursing in my head, I topped off my tank and climbed back into my truck, the rusty door slamming from my over-zealous yanking. Windows down, I tore off toward home, scowling and ready to punch something. Someone. The state I found myself in, had Cort been close by, I’d have attempted to make him choke on his pearly whites.
I need a fucking drink.
Home lay a couple hours away—too far away. If I’d had the funds, I’d have stayed at a hotel in town with a bottle of Jameson to make love to all damn night long. My luck, Cort would somehow find me and force his way into my room. Wouldn’t put it past the fucker. The energy rolling off him lay far beyond the creep factor, straight into rapist-city if I had to wager a guess. No amount of pleading or money would get me alone with him willingly.
I’d left him in Fairbanks, wishing I could leave behind the memory and oily feeling on my skin lingering from his hot whispers near my ear. Another shiver slid over me, and I cursed him to hell and back again.
A little shit town lay halfway between me and home, and I decided to stop in at The Watering Hole for some whiskey. Even better would be a good hard fuck. Hadn’t had one of those in so damn long, I couldn’t remember. Whoever the last had been, he didn’t haunt my dreams with a big cock or talented tongue. Hell, no one I’d been with had rocked my world. Not even one had launched me into the stratosphere or sent me soaring into the clouds like my old ’56 Beaver.
Best bush plane ever. My baby cost me every cent of my inheritance when my great aunt Silvia passed, and it’d been the best money I’d ever spent.
A few years older than Dad’s Beaver, mine purred like a kitten and floated in the sky, every gust of wind like a lover’s caress over her solid frame. She’d been updated with modern electronics, making my job an absolute joy.
My throat tightened as memories of Dad teaching me to fly slid through my mind. We’d spent hours together, had been tighter than anything. Two damn peas in a pod who looked alike, with Mom being our carrot. A perfect combination, the perfect family and home life.
That perfection had ended two days after my fourteenth birthday when they had scrounged up enough money to go out to dinner for their anniversary. Something had distracted Dad enough he’d turned the car sideways while on the open road, rolling it four times according to the police report. There’d been no witnesses, no evidence of what had made Dad lose control.
An excellent pilot, a driver with a clean record who didn’t speed, Dad had always stayed alert. Didn’t drink and drive. Didn’t even have a cell phone to fiddle with while behind the wheel.
Years later, once I learned what had happened to Dad’s planes and business due to a gambling debt of all things, I wondered over the “accidental” part of their deaths. Dad wasn’t a stupid man, but once of age, my great aunt and Dad’s CPA finally told me he’d been gambling for years and owed a very rich man—Cort Endsley—a hell of a lot of money. What was left of their estate upon their deaths didn’t come close to covering that debt.
At least I hadn’t been liable for the rest of it.
Cort got the family business, all my parents’ assets, and our old home in the sticks to cover part of what had been owed him. I ended up an orphan and got nothing—until my great aunt died, leaving me her sole heir. With the monetary inheritance, I’d begun rebuilding my family business. With her twenty acres and old log cabin out in the sticks, I’d kept the home I’d known since fourteen.
Eyes hazing, I fought to focus on the road and tiny town growing in the distance ahead. No sense living in the past. I couldn’t do a damn thing about it but trudge onward and make my DBA, Midnight Sun Charter, as successful as it had been when I’d been a kid.
If I could rebuild the business to where Dad had taken it before losing it all to Cort, I knew I could get back a piece of what I’d lost. Accomplishing that goal wouldn’t bring my parents back, but at least a part of me would feel complete.
I had a twenty in my back pocket, enough for a couple shots of whiskey. Sitting in the bar and unloading on Dale, the old bartender, might help to ease the burden of my shit day. He had a good ear and had known Mom and Dad. He also knew about my stalker and how the cops wouldn’t do jack shit to keep me safe. And even though he was partial to the three S’s—shoot, shovel, and shut up—he didn’t support my wanting to bury the asshole.
Slamming my driver door after hopping from my old Ford gave me a sense of satisfaction, and I strode into the bar with a rush of wind whipping my chin-length hair around my head. Tucking it back behind my ears, I focused on Dale behind the bar and the bottle of whiskey he grabbed upon seeing my scowling face.
Brock
The bulk of patrons at The Watering Hole lounged at tables behind me, their voices a din atop the country music filtering through out of sight speakers. No TVs. No pool tables or dart boards. No hot women to tempt me into living my last night with humanity to its fullest.
Just as well. I wasn’t in the mood to make small talk or get personal enough to weasel my way between a woman’s thighs.
If the patrons of the shit bar knew what I’d done, I’d be ostracized just like I’d been back home. Staying private kept inner turmoil brought on by assholes away. I had enough of my own to deal with.
Best to keep to myself. Dale, the bartender and owner, had taken my one-worded answers to his prying questions as the hint I’d meant them to be and left me alone.
My love of adrenaline highs and survivalist camps never mind my month-long stint on the popular TV show, Seclusion, held my confidence at a cocky high as I considered the path ahead of me. My drive for life, to find a reason for my sad existence, had kept me barreling forward at an alarming rate all through my teens and twenties. Kept me walking the edge, climbing the mountains, flying to new heights, and leaping downward, spiraling with my arms wide open. Adrenaline junkie, my family had called me.
It’s what brought on the end of too many lives.
Scowling and absently rubbing at my knee, I drank down the rest of my warm beer, ready to order something a bit stronger.
The bar’s door opened, letting in a blast of cool spring air, and a petite woman strode in like a hurricane, stealing my thoughts and breath. Her hair hung on the shorter side, white-blonde and blunt cut at her raised, pointy chin. Glacial blue eyes hinted at her intent for entering. Gaze on Dale, she moved with purpose in worn-out hiking boots without sparing a quick glance around the bar, her lips in a thin line.
A whole lot of piss and vinegar wrapped up in one tiny package in tight jeans and a blue flannel that buttoned tight to her slight waist and spilled open around huge tits smooshed into a white tank top beneath.
My dick took interest in pussy for the first time in two years, and the second she rasped out, “You read my mind, Dale,” I bit back a groan. Husky voice, low and sexy as fuck, fully woke my dick the hell up.
Dale nodded and served her a cheap whiskey without a word. She slapped a twenty on the bar with one hand while lifting the shot with her other.
“You okay, little girl?” the older bartender asked, his gray eyebrows furrowed.
“Will be.”
“The asshole?”
“Yep.” She downed the liquor like a pro, without a flinch, licking her lower lip when finished. “Another.”
Dale poured, and I shifted on my seat, two stools away, my dick aching.
My movement caught her attention, and that blue-eyed gaze landed on me, snagging my breath again clear from my lungs again. Her slow, crooked smirk and swelling pupils did funny things to my insides, and I couldn’t decide if I liked the foreign feeling or not.
“Hello, there, stranger,” she purred and held my stare with a hungry one of her own while pointing at the stool beside me. “Seat taken?”
Shaking my head, I sat back as though comfortable as hell, hands on my thighs, beer forgotten, while the nerve endings in my body came alive with a sexual adrenaline high I’d used to chase after every damn chance I’d gotten—and hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever.
The sexy vixen slid onto the seat beside me and glanced at the bottle on the bar in front of me. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“Sure.”
“Dale,” she said without looking at him, her knee starting to bounce with pent-up energy or nervousness. “New to town?” Her voice didn’t betray the latter. The little vixen was pure confidence, and if I had to guess, just as driven and impatient as me.
“Just passing through.”
Dale poured me a shot in my periphery.
“Where ya headed?” she asked, grabbing up her shot glass.
I did the same. “Up the road a bit.”
Her lips twitched with a hint of her crooked smile over my vague answer, and we drank together, our gazes locked, energy crackling the air between us. The pulse in her neck thrummed in time with mine, and my dick jerked inside my pants at the thought of getting my teeth on the hard nipples poking against both the tank top and flannel.
It’d been one hell of a long time since I’d felt instant lust for a woman, and the fact she felt it, too, decided my mind for the rest of the evening. Small talk would come easy, I didn’t doubt, since there wouldn’t be a need to weasel between her thighs. The vixen was ripe for the plucking, all but begging for my dick with her eyes. I expected I wouldn’t even have to spill a single piece of shit of my past to end up where I felt sure we both wanted me to be.
“I had one shitty day,” she said before I could officially hit on her, setting her glass back on the bar.
Dale poured without her asking, as though she was one of his loyal patrons and he knew when she needed her drink. I didn’t wave off his offer to refill mine while considering the woman’s statement.
“The rest is on me,” I murmured to Dale.
“Why, thank you, handsome,” the vixen purred again, forcing me to bite back another groan.
I wanted those damn tight jeans off her legs, and if being an ear for her to unload about said shitty day got me between her thighs, I wouldn’t mind listening to her husky voice. Strangely, I actually wanted to know what had put the cold glint in her eyes, what prompted her to down cheap whiskey like water, and kept her knee hopping a few inches from mine.
That fact made me feel less like an asshole.
“I’m a good listener,” I said, knowing I spoke truth. Being a personal pilot for a handful of bastards even richer than myself back in the Boston area had been the same as acting like the local bartender. A few had become friends, the only people besides Mom who would miss me.
The woman glanced down over my attire again, from the Ray-Bans sitting atop my head, down over the Arc’teryx long-sleeved t-shirt hugging my pecs, the same brand hiking pants I hadn’t skimped on, and the EverStep hiking boots I had propped on the stool’s rails.
“Rich boy from Boston,” she murmured, her brow furrowing.
Guess my attire and accent gave me away. Not bothering to argue, I grinned.
She returned to her drink and tipped her head back to swallow the whiskey down, drawing my focus to the smooth white skin of her neck.
So, she didn’t like men with money—that much was obvious, but mind set on having her, I wasn’t going to give up without a fight.
“So, are you going to tell me what lit that craving for whiskey in your gut?” I toyed with my shot glass while she considered her empty one, her lips returning to that line.
I sipped, waiting for her to spill.
