Wild for You

by Daisy Prescott

“I’d never get tired of this view.” She presses her hand against the glass.

  “Me neither.” I follow behind her.

  Relief and happiness flood my veins. To have her here with me after the uncertainty between us the past few weeks, means everything to me.

  I told her I’m not a patient man, but when she was taking time to figure out her heart, I learned the power of patience. And faith that she’d come back to me.

  “Zoe,” I whisper, nerves adding a rough edge to my voice.

  Her eyes shift to mine as she faces me. In their depth, I can see her joy and own happiness. My chest swells with pride. I didn’t lie when I told her nothing matters in the world more to me than her happiness.

  Her smile brightens her face as she stares at me. I lean into the touch of her hand on my cheek. When she presses her other hand over my heart, I lose control of my restraint.

  It’s too soon to feel this way.

  It’s crazy to think this is real.

  Love is a wild thing we can’t control. Only a fool would try to tame the human heart.

  I blink away the tide of emotion behind my eyes as she leads me over to the big bed. We quietly strip off our clothes, until we’re bare before each other.

  In her studio, I wanted to prove myself worthy of her. I still needed to reassure myself she could love all of me, not just the fantasy. Now, as I lay her down and crawl over her, I know she’s mine as surely as I know I belong to her.

  Today, I make love to her slowly. We have enough time to explore each other until I know her body as well as my own. Outside the mountains deepens into purple and indigo as the sun slips away.

  There will be more sunrises and early mornings greeted with golden light. Time to discover new places in our hearts where new love dwells.

  When I feel her getting close to release, I chase after my own, wanting to break apart and come back together at the same time. Her face fills with beautiful, unrestrained bliss as she comes undone. I will never get enough of her fierce beauty, her untamable passion.

  Epilogue

  A few months later

  A man who feeds me cake for breakfast after making love to me all night can’t be real. But he is.

  Justin Garrison is the most dangerous kind of man.

  He’s a good person.

  He doesn’t play games.

  He owns his mistakes.

  Plus, he makes a pair of chaps sinful.

  I might have fallen for a cowboy, but it’s the man beneath the hat who has my heart.

  Across the crowded gallery, I find his soulful eyes. He gives me a slow, sexy smile that makes his eyes crinkle.

  My body zings and he’s all the way on the other side of the room.

  I grin at him and watch as happiness spreads across his face.

  “Quit making googly eyes at your man.” Sage nudges me with her sharp elbow.

  “I can’t help it. Have you seen how handsome he is?” Tonight, Justin’s in dark jeans and the fitted black shirt he wore on our first date. And yes, he’s wearing a championship silver buckle.

  Around him men in suits look like penguin robots.

  Now that his hair’s grown out more and started to wave, I’m barely able to restrain myself from running my fingers through it constantly.

  “You’re drooling. Right here.” Sage dabs her finger at the corner of my mouth.

  I tear my gaze from Justin. “Why are you being annoying?”

  “Because you’re in love and it’s fun to tease you.” Mae hands me a glass of champagne.

  “Tell us about your art,” Mara says from the other side of Sage. “Why is everything broken?”

  “Because the flaws and scars are what make it beautiful.” I sip my champagne.

  Surrounding us are my sculptures from Ashcroft. Displayed on white plinths, highlighted with beautiful lighting, each porcelain anatomically correct human heart has been shattered and put back together. Lines of silver fill the gaps and cracks of the breaks.

  The idea came to me the afternoon Justin visited my studio. When we had sex for the first time and my heart began to heal.

  Never again will I be the girl who loved a boy who only promised a life of safety and security. My heart bears the scars of that mistake, but new love fills them, strengthening me.

  “Why silver?” Mae asks.

  “For Aspen’s past as a mining town. For the mountains and the veins of silver hiding beneath rock and dirt.”

  And for the man I love. A Colorado cowboy who loves this place with his whole heart.

  We haven’t said the words out loud yet, but I see them in his eyes and feel them when his lips press against my skin.

  Zoe, surrounded by her beautiful artwork and being celebrated by her friends, glows with happiness. In a flowy black dress and colorful, silky wrap covering her shoulders, she looks the part of the hottest new artist in town. I’ve heard brides and pregnant women glow, but she is luminous. Creating art and sharing it with the world could be similar to a wedding or birth, I suppose.

  I stare at her across the crowded museum as she laughs with her girlfriends. Her loose, wavy hair is a Siren’s call to me. All evening my eyes have followed her as she’s greeted collectors and talked about her sculptures. This is her night and she shines like the brightest star in the room.

  Red dots mark most of her works. My grandmother bought two. Mine sits at home on a shelf in the bedroom. I made her promise to give me the one she based on the broken one. The heart she shattered against the wall out of anger and fear.

  She sees the beauty in the fragments. In the cracks, I see strength and healing.

  Before Zoe, I didn’t realize how much my walls of protection had isolated me from living a full life. I believed living on my own terms equaled liberty, but I’d created a different kind of cage around my heart. Loving Zoe has healed me.

  I excuse myself from the group of Ashcroft members. With a purpose to my step, I stride directly over to Zoe.

  “Sorry, ladies, but I need to steal your friend.” I beam at the group, letting my eyes linger on Zoe’s beautiful face. “I might bring her back, but can’t make any promises.”

  Sage and Mara softly giggle as I loop Zoe’s hand through my elbow.

  “Where are we going?” Zoe asks, as I lead us through the crowd toward the doors.

  “I missed you.” Outside, the rooftop garden is mostly empty in the cool October air. “And I missed seeing the stars.”

  We wander along the path to a quiet corner near the edge. For a few moments, we both stare over the buildings. The city lights dim the starlight, but a few brighter dots sparkle near a half moon.

  “It smells like snow.” She tilts her head back and gazes into the night sky. “I wonder if it’s snowing back home.”

  “It might be. Are you cold?” I don’t have a jacket to give her, so instead I wrap my arm around her shoulder.

  Facing me, she curls into me in a tight embrace. “Thank you.”

  “For keeping you warm?”

  “For all of this.” She softly touches her lips to mine. “You make my life better simply by being part of it.”

  “This is all you. Your talent. Your fierce bravery to follow your dream.”

  When she gazes into my eyes, I know this is the moment to knock down my walls.

  “I love you,” I say, filling the space between each word with promises and vows to mean it for the rest of our lives.

  “I love you,” I repeat into the silence because it’s the truth. As real as the mountains we call home and the endless sky above.

  I feel the push of air as she exhales into the stillness. My words float between us, suspended in the air, waiting.

  Her fingers press harder against my heart and tears dot her dark lashes. “I love you. As true as your heart beats, mine is yours.”

  “I’ll take good care of it. I promise. For every new sunrise and starry night. For as long as I’m breathing,” I swear to her with millions of stars as our witness, “I belong
to you.”

  Ready for more love with altitude? Check out Up to You

  I can survive this wedding disaster as long as I pretend my date is someone else.

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  Up to You: Chapter One

  Mae

  “I see one micro penis straw, and I’m out of here. Out. Of. Here. They can’t make me stay.” I’m not complaining. I’m establishing my boundaries ahead of time. Although, I have been talking about plastic phalluses the entire drive up the winding back road into Snowmass, instead of enjoying the view. Gold leaves on a few aspen trees hint at the end of summer right around the corner.

  “Are there usually penis straws at bridal showers? I thought those were banished to the drunken hours of shame and regret during the bachelorette party.” Zoe’s dark brows crease with worry. “I’m here for the cake. Obviously.”

  “Not even cake can fix this disaster. I can’t be around my mother trying to suck on a tiny penis with a straight face.” Not enough therapy in the world could help erase that memory.

  Zoe’s face falls at my dire vision for my cousin’s bridal shower. “That can’t happen. When we get there, we’ll do some reconnaissance. If we find a bag of plastic dicks, we’ll steal them. I’m pretty sure the Snowmass Mountain Club frowns upon a room full of women stirring their drinks with dicks. We’d probably all get banned.”

  She’s right. Some things aren’t done at the club. The whole place screams wealth but using a restrained indoor voice. This isn’t the typical pearls and cardigans uniform of the country club crowd. In the mountains, we prefer everything to be more rugged and outdoorsy—both our men and our clubs. Mounted elk heads mix with diamonds and tennis in the summer; furs and skiing in the winter.

  I park in the lot near the year-round tennis courts. My vintage yellow VW Bug stands out in the crowd of Porsche SUVs, Teslas, and Land Rovers. We step out of the car and put on our game faces.

  “Ready?” I roll back my shoulders and shake out my wrists. Bouncing in my wedge sandals, I throw a few punches along with some bobbing and weaving.

  “Okay, Million Dollar Baby.” Zoe ducks out of the way. “No need to cause physical harm. Let’s assume the best. This could be a lovely afternoon filled with champagne and cake.”

  I stop pretending to be a boxer and give her a look. “You can’t be serious. Have you met my family?”

  “I am serious. Positive thinking. Visualize the best possible outcome.” In her boho floral dress and booties, she’s a lovely earth goddess with her dark hair in a messy braided bun.

  “Which would be? I mean, other than turning around and leaving now.” I twirl my keys around my finger, hoping she’ll give in and agree with me.

  Like her, I’m wearing a floral dress, but mine is mostly black with the occasional red rose. Zoe made me change out of the all black outfit I’d picked out, saying it was more suited for a funeral or a goth club. Either of those options sounds like a better choice than sitting through a bridal shower with my pretentious extended family.

  Undeterred by my grumpy attitude, Zoe continues, “I barely know the bride, so I have zero emotional investment in today. I’m hoping for several options for cake and more cake in the goodie bag.”

  “You’re obsessed. You and Justin should get married. Then you can do a cake tasting. Or several.”

  Her dark lashes flutter as she thinks about this option. “I like your thinking, but a wedding is an expensive way to get cake when I can buy one any time I want. Lifetime commitment in exchange for buttercream is a little extreme, even for me.”

  I’m about to ask her if she and her cowboy have discussed marriage, when Sage’s vintage, wood-sided Wrangler swings through the lot and parks a few spaces down the row. For someone who could afford any car in this lot, I love my friend even more for driving her old Jeep.

  “Sorry I’m late.” Sage jumps down from the driver’s seat and then jogs over to us, her flowy, light blue maxi dress billowing behind her. Her face switches from apology to confusion, a line forming between her brows. “Why are you hanging around the parking lot? Are we sneaking edibles before we go inside?”

  “Why? Do you have some?” I ask her, curious. “I could use a little help from a special gummy bear.”

  “No, I don’t have edibles.” She frowns at me.

  “We should’ve planned ahead.” I’m not upset at her. I’ve failed myself.

  Sage nods in sympathy. “So, if you’re not tailgating by the cars, what are you doing out here?”

  “Mae was warming up with some boxing moves before we go inside,” Zoe answers.

  Sage dips her chin and studies me.

  “Stop with the look. My family isn’t normal. Everyone will ask about my dating life and click their tongues about me still being single. Then give my mother pitiful looks of sympathy for having a spinster daughter. I’m older than dear cousin Twyla by four years. We’re too young to imagine the horrors of having a spinster daughter. How will my mother ever recover from the shame?” I hold out my hands in a pleading gesture. “How?”

  Sage gives me a side hug and Zoe joins us, closing the circle, both of them enveloping me with their arms.

  “That’s why we’re here for you. None of us are married. We’ll be sure to flaunt our naked left ring fingers whenever possible.” Sage shows off her ringless hand. Zoe puts hers over it and bumps my hip to encourage me to add mine to the pile.

  When I rest my palm on Zoe’s hand, Sage says, “To the unmarrieds! Long may we live in sin!”

  I laugh, but I really want to point out that while they’re unmarried, they’re not single. Like me.

  “Let’s do this.” Sage links her arm with mine and then Zoe’s. She may be petite, but her dancer’s body is disturbingly strong.

  River stone decorates the grand entrance, which sits under a huge portico held up by giant logs and thick beams. Obviously, size matters at the Mountain Club. The interior of the club is a mix of hunter green and tasteful plaid with more wood and flattering light cast from antler chandeliers and wall sconces. Somehow it manages to be both rustic and elegant.

  The afternoon is warm enough that all of the French doors lining the far wall of the banquet room are open to the terrace facing the ski mountain and Mount Daly. Clear sunshine pools on the thick carpet and sparkles off of champagne flutes on the table.

  Three tables are stacked high with pastel-wrapped gifts for the new couple. I drop off the small box with a gift card to La Belle Femme creperie near the top of the pile. Couples love crepes and it’s one of the most romantic restaurants in Aspen. I might be biased since I work there.

  Sage adds an envelope and winks at me. “Gift card from Cheeks. No way am I picking out lingerie for your cousin.”

  Equally tasteful women cluster together in small groups like flocks of colorful birds. Conversations and laughter are kept to a respectful murmur. An occasional burst of giggles elevates the general subdued feel. We linger near the door and I glance down the hall to the main bar, thinking if I’m in the building it should count as attending the bridal shower.

  Subtly, I take a step back, shifting my weight to that foot to pivot in the direction of freedom.

  “Uh huh. No escaping,” Sage whispers. “Smile. We’re all delighted to be here. Fake it if you have to.”

  Parting my lips, I show her my teeth.

  “You look like you’re thinking about eating me. Less menacing and more happy.” She grins at me, leading me into the room.

  Off balance, I stumble forward before catching my footing. When I glance up, my mother is shaking her head in disbelief and disproval.

  Resigned, I tap Sage’s arm. “I’ve been spotted. Suppose I should go say hello to my mom.”

  “We’ll get you a drink.” Zoe gives my hand a squeeze before releasing me.

  Inhaling, I straighten my spine and pretend I ha
ve a stack of books on my head. Posture matters to these people. Slouching is considered a personal insult in my family. I believe my grandmother once told me that if you can’t be bothered to keep your head up and your shoulders back, you must not have an ounce of respect for yourself or your parents.

  I greet my mother with a kiss to her cheek and plaster on a reserved smile. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Mae. You look lovely.” She touches my shoulder and covertly tucks my bra strap under the fabric of my dress.

  “So do you. As always.”

  She brushes a hand over her perfectly tailored blue dress—simple, but obviously designer. Her hair has the same rich brown waves as mine, even if hers is colored to hide her grays. Once she joked she stole a lock of my hair to give to her stylist. I totally believe she’d do it.

  “Mae and Margaret.” A woman with a neat, blond bob air-kisses my mother in the general vicinity of her cheek. “I swear you two could be sisters.”

  “Oh, Gwendolyn. You’re so good for my ego.” Mom giggles.

  I’m not sure Gwen is good for mine.

  “Mae, you remember Gwendolyn Roberts. We’ve known her and her husband for longer than you’ve been alive. I believe you and her son were in school together.”

  For a moment I blink in silence at both women as they stare expectedly at me. Roberts.

  “Landon Roberts?” I squawk, my voice a little too loud for polite company.

  Sage appears next to me with a mimosa in each hand. “Ugh, that tool. Who is he screwing over now?”

  The three of us still, like Sage is “It” in a game of Freeze Tag. I’m not sure my mother is breathing.

  Unaware of the foot sticking out of her mouth, Sage scans the room. “I should warn the poor girl and give her a coupon for some self-esteem raising therapy.”

  My mother reaches for a strand of imaginary pearls at her neck. Not finding anything to clutch, she presses her hand over her heart.

  I can’t even look at Mrs. Roberts.

  “Sage, this is Gwendolyn Roberts.” I emphasize the last name to clue her in.