Wylde Fire

by Sarah Robinson

  Wylde Fire

  A 100 Proof Novel

  Sarah Robinson

  Wylde Fire © Sarah Robinson

  Copyright © 2019 by Sarah Robinson

  All rights reserved. This document may not be reproduced in any way without the expressed written consent of the author. The ideas, characters, and situations presented in this story are strictly fictional and any unintentional likeness to real people or real situations is completely coincidental.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please delete and support the author by purchasing the book from one of its many distributors. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  To Trevor, I can’t wait to start this journey with you.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  Bonus Epilogue

  Subscribe to Sarah’s Newsletter!

  Excerpt from Misadventures in the Cage

  Chapter 1

  Excerpt from NUDES

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  About the Author

  Also by Sarah Robinson

  Prologue

  Flames flickered high in the rickyard, the strong scent of sugar maple and whiskey tickling Sam Wylde's nose as he watched the blaze grow higher. There was nothing he loved more than preparing for the first season of his brand-new company launch in Wyldefire Whiskey.

  He'd spent the last five years building toward the launch of this business. Blood, sweat, tears. Name it, he'd done it. But it wasn't without sacrifice. As Sam watched the flames grow higher, he thought of everything he'd lost in the last year and everything he'd sacrificed in order to make Wyldefire the leading new brand of whiskey in the country.

  There was one question he had to keep asking himself…

  Was it worth it?

  Chapter One

  "You cannot do this to me, Cassie," Sam Wylde argued over the speakerphone attached to his truck's dashboard. He cringed as his Southern drawl came out a little thicker than usual. Frustration did that to him, and right now it was taking everything in him to not start cussing.

  With a deft twist of his wrist, he steered his truck into the parking lot next to Town Hall, cutting off another car with a halfhearted wave of acknowledgement. He needed to pick up several permits before the city offices closed, leaving no room for pleasantries.

  Damn, for a Saturday, the lot sure is packed.

  He sighed and forced his attention back to the phone call. "We've got a few months until the launch of the entire brand. Everything I've done the last two years is riding on this."

  "I'm really sorry," Cassie, his event planner, said from the other end of the phone. Or former event planner, apparently. "But I can't be in two places at once, and neither can my influencers and vendors. We're booked for that day now."

  Teetering on the brink of exploding, Sam breathed in slowly. "But. You. Signed. With. Us. First." He ground the words out slow and steady.

  "Technically, I haven't signed an actual contract. I was helping you out as a favor to Noah," Cassie informed him. "And where I go…so do my connections."

  Sam needed no reminders that his cousin was a major pain in his ass. There was no doubt in his mind Cassie quitting on the launch was directly related to Noah Wylde breaking things off romantically between the two of them yesterday. Yes, yesterday. Sam was pretty out of touch with the small-town gossip vine, but even he'd heard about the messy, public break up last night. Bringing his cousin into the business had been at the not-so-subtle suggestion of his father and uncle, and Sam had never regretted acquiescing to their demands more.

  Despite his frustrations with his cousin, Wyldefire Whiskey was still Sam's pride and joy. He and his cousin, along with a silent partner, Caleb Daughtry, had built their own distillery from the ground up and begun crafting their own brand of Tennessee whiskey. The first batch was being bottled now, and, in a few months, they'd be on liquor store shelves nationwide. He'd hired Cassie to plan their giant grand opening launch party at a swanky hotel in Nashville, only a short distance from the distillery—and Sam's hometown—in River Ridge, Tennessee. It was the last step in a massive public relations campaign for the entire brand.

  "There's no one else in town who does events this large, Cassie. Especially last minute." He hated begging, but right now, he had no other choice. Cassie was an extremely well-connected socialite across the South who had come highly recommended by his PR company. He'd already put thousands of dollars into the brand's publicity, and a launch party filled with celebrities and social influencers she'd bring was supposed to be the final piece they needed to make their whiskey a household name.

  "Like I said, I'm sorry," Cassie continued, zero remorse in her tone. "I'll make sure you get your check back on Monday. Have a great weekend!"

  The line went dead and Sam slammed his foot against the brake, coming to a dead stop in the middle of the parking lot. His hands were clenched so tightly around the wheel, there was a good chance he'd snap it in half.

  "Sonofabitch!" His anger bubbled over, exploding at no one in particular.

  Disconnecting the call, he placed his foot back on the gas and turned into the next aisle of cars to look for a spot. Pulling his truck past the open spot just enough to give him room to reverse, he shifted gears and anchored his arm behind the passenger seat, looking out the rear window.

  A little blue coupe turned into the spot seconds before he could. So quick, he almost missed it entirely. Are you kidding me?

  Sam shifted into park right in the middle of the aisle. Shoving the door open, he hopped down from the cab and stomped around the bed of his truck toward the coupe.

  "Hey!" he shouted at the driver, throwing his hands up in the air. "What the hell was that? You stole my spot!"

  Sam’s next words jammed in his throat, startled for a moment when the perpetrator, a tall, slender woman with fiery hair, climbed out of the driver's seat as he approached. As angry as he was, he was first and foremost, a hot-blooded, all-American man. It was impossible not to notice her curvy figure as she crossed her arms over her chest, or the way the sun, just beginning to drift lower in the late afternoon, illuminated the varying crimson hues in her scarlet hair. She leveled intensely silver eyes at him.

  Sam pushed away the distracting thoughts, trying to manage his irritation—and growing arousal. "Darlin, you parked in my spot." He tried for the nicest tone he could muster, but it still came out sounding terse.

  "Looks like I did." Molten eyes, somehow both angry and intoxicating, stared back at him, unrelenting.

  She's admitting it? His anger dissipated slightly, which he realized was a bit odd since the admission s
hould have infuriated him. Something about her blatant honesty was disarming and…refreshing? Or maybe it was those soft pink lips that smirked up at the corners, that had him feeling…forgiving. "Excuse me?"

  The tiniest flash of guilt crossed her expression, but she masked it quickly, firming her jaw and pushing back her shoulders. The seductive smirk returned. "I almost crashed when you cut me off pulling into the lot. Maybe if you were paying a little more attention, rather than yelling at your dashboard, you wouldn't have nearly killed me, and you wouldn't have lost your spot. Really, I'm doing you a favor. You can take a few laps around this pretty parking lot and find your inner Zen."

  His mouth twitched, but he held tight, refusing to let the smile come. "So, you're…what? The karmic delivery man?"

  "Woman, actually, but…yeah. I guess today I am." A black tank top hugged her gentle curves and showed off one arm full of colorful tattoos as she reached into the trunk of her car and pulled out a large cardboard box then set it on the asphalt. "Someone needs to be."

  Her last words were quieter, as if to herself, but he heard them nonetheless. He noted the strain and tightness in her tone, and found himself wondering what the story was behind it.

  But then she bent down. Every coherent thought fled his brain as Sam paused to admire her blue jeans molded to a firm round ass. Damn. It'd been too long. Starting a business and having his heart broken all at the same time will do that to a man.

  Forcing his eyes away, Sam glanced back at his truck, resigning himself to finding another place to park. He didn't have the time to fight with this woman who was making his blood heat, in more ways than one. Plus, admittedly, he had cut her off and not even given it a second thought.

  She kept her back to him, continuing to unload boxes from the trunk of her car.

  "Sorry about cutting you off," Sam grumbled, though he knew she could still hear him. He didn't like apologies. He rarely gave them, but he felt caught off guard by her and didn't like it. "I'll let you have the spot this time."

  She paused slightly while he spoke, but didn't look back at him. "Let me?" When she did whirl around, her hands were straight down and fists balled. "Samuel. Jed. Wylde. You didn't let me do anything. I took that spot to teach you a lesson in manners—something you're sorely lacking."

  Sam raised a brow, a small smile on his lips despite the tightness in his chest. She knows me? Shit. Was she a one-night stand he'd forgotten? Another one of Noah's conquests with a vendetta for the Wylde boys now? He racked his brain, sweating when he couldn't place her.

  "Honestly, I don't know why I even bothered. You haven't changed one bit." Hands on her hips now, she was shaking her head in that same disapproving manner he'd gotten most of his life. He was familiar with disappointing women, and it was one of the many reasons why he kept most of his relationships to only a night or two.

  Between the sheets, he never left a woman less than completely satisfied. It was his life outside the bedroom that seemed to be the problem.

  Sam let his eyes rake over her body—from her cowboy boots to her bright pink lips. How could he have forgotten those lips? "We've met before?"

  She exhaled sharply, obviously annoyed. "High school."

  "I don't remember anyone like you from my high school." His brows raised, and he leaned forward a little, crossing his arms over his chest in a way he knew made his biceps bulge.

  Sure enough, her gaze slipped down ever so slightly, then quickly returned to his. "Well, I was a few years behind you. I was a freshman when you were a senior. Not that anyone could go to River Ridge High and not know the Wylde men."

  That was certainly true. His family was often in the spotlight because of their status. Sam's grandfather had practically founded River Ridge and after his passing, the family name continued to hold a lot of prestige through his father and uncle and their children. It also didn't hurt how affluent the family was, and how their successful, decades-long cattle ranch's charitable giving kept a lot of the town afloat.

  There was a lot of wealth in this little corner of Tennessee, but few families spread it around as much as his did, and Sam was proud of the reputation they'd built. That made it all the more frustrating when people seemed to prefer fixating on a few tales of misbehavior or drama, rather than who he and his family really were.

  Sam let his gaze rake over her body again, enjoying the heated blush that spread to her cheeks as she realized what he was doing. Tilting his head to the side, he adopted his slow smile that he knew had a reputation of making women fall head over heels. Something about this woman made him want to…flirt? He wasn't sure where the urge was coming from, or why he wasn't trying to push it away. "Don't believe anything you heard," he teased. "They're all lies."

  Her lips twitched into a smile. "I'm sure you wish they were."

  She was right, of course. He wasn't a saint by any means. He'd had his brief affairs over the last couple of years, namely when he was out of town, and with women who weren't looking for more than a night or two of his time and wouldn't end up on the town gossip mill. Not a lot of sweet talking was required on those types of evenings, and he was more than fine with keeping the walls high around his heart after his heart had been ripped out and stomped on by his last relationship.

  It had been a while since he'd actually flirted. Sam smiled at her again, deciding to enjoy the momentary lapse into the open, engaged suitor he'd once been. "A man can dream, Miss…"

  He paused, waiting for her to fill in her name.

  "Holly." She reached a hand out after a clear moment of indecision, the tension deflating between them.

  Her hand was small, almost completely encased by his when his fingers closed around her palm. The feeling of enveloping her made his blood heat, the skin connecting them sizzling. He was suddenly imaging what it would be like to slide his fingers up her arm, across her tattoos and every inch of her…

  Jesus, it really has been a while.

  Sam pushed the thought away—he was not going down that road, particularly with anyone in a town where everyone knew everyone else's business. He'd learned that lesson the hard way already. "It's nice to see you again, Holly."

  "Oh. Um…you, too." Holly's cheeks flushed and she pulled her hand back a bit slower than was necessary. He had to admit—he was a fan of her sassy Southern fire. Most women couldn't pull off being so appealing while angry, and yet, she was as soft as she was steely. "I'd chat longer, but I've got to get these centerpieces to the tables."

  She gave him a tight-lipped smile, turning back to the trunk of her car and pulling out boxes.

  Sam stepped forward to offer her a hand. "I—"

  An approaching car suddenly began honking at him for leaving his truck in the middle of the aisle.

  "Crap." Hopping back into the driver's seat, he circled the lot twice more until he finally found another open spot—this time, pulling straight into it.

  Climbing out of his truck, he glanced around, taking more serious notice of the volume of people crowding the entire River Ridge Park directly across from Town Hall. The highbrow festivities extended all the way to the Cumberland River and behind Main Street which was lined with pricey boutique shops. Elegant white tents covered one part of the park, and a stage with a quartet was playing soft country ballads with a crowd of onlookers all dressed in expensive summer dresses and collared shirts.

  Sam pulled his attention from the event to see Holly across the parking lot, struggling with a stack of boxes. He wanted to help her—heck, even if she hadn't been a freaking bombshell, he'd never turn away from a woman in need. But Town Hall closed early on Saturdays and if he wanted the permits today, he didn't have time for any detours.

  He sighed. His mama had raised him right and would be more than a little disappointed to hear he hadn't assisted her.

  Crossing back through the parking lot, he returned to Holly's car just as she was trying to close its trunk with her hip. "Can I help?" He pushed the trunk closed for her, trying not to laugh at the si
ght of her bumping her ass into the car.

  She jolted, apparently startled, causing the top box in the stack to slide off.

  Quick reflexes, Sam grabbed it before it splintered against the ground. "Whoa!"

  "Thanks." Relief flooded her voice. "Actually, some help would be great. If you don't mind?"

  "I think I owe you at this point," he teased, taking the boxes of what appeared to be intricate floral decorations, and following her through the lot.

  "You definitely owe me." Her cheeks and chest bloomed bright red as she ducked her head, obscuring his view from seeing how much farther south on her body the blush extended. "I do tend to overreact when driving though."

  There was more of a story there, but he wasn't about to pry.

  "No need to apologize."

  "Oh, I wasn't." She cast him a sideways glance that seemed downright seductive. "You deserved it."

  She's flirting with me.

  Laughter bubbled up inside him and he readjusted the boxes in his arms as they walked. "Fair enough. I help you with these, then we'll be even?"

  Holly peered at him, inquisitive eyes partially hidden beneath long lashes. "Maybe."

  Sam could deal with maybe.

  "Southern Lifestyle Magazine's Garden Party?" He read the gold lettered sign as they entered the luscious green park which had always been a gorgeously manicured garden, but had been transformed into a stunning party space for the day.