“Beau—”
“Don’t tell you how much I goddamn love you?” he said, voice ragged.
My fingers flexed convulsively against his chest. “What?”
“I love you, Freya.”
“You love me?”
His breath rattled from him as he pulled me closer and lifted me in his massive arms. “So fucking much.”
I was stunned speechless as he carried me to the couch and sat down, pulling me into his lap.
“When my mom left and my dad died, I learned a lesson, and that lesson was when you love someone, you have something to lose.” He palmed the side of my face. “I didn’t want to lose anyone else, so I cut myself off from even the possibility of loving anyone…of loving you. You were right, I was punishing myself for leaving the only people that cared about me, for not being there for my grandfather, my brother, when they needed me.”
I blinked, my eyes suddenly stinging.
“But then you came into my world and shook me up. I tried to convince myself that I wasn’t feeling what I was, but deep down I knew it. I knew it, and it terrified me. Then you were stung and the thought that you could have died, that someday something like that could take you away from me…I couldn’t deal with it. I freaked out and I pushed you away.”
I cupped his face in return. “You’re not afraid anymore?”
“I’m terrified,” he said. “But I think that’s just part of loving someone.”
“You really love me?” I said, my mouth an inch from his.
“Yes,” he growled.
“Even though I can’t fish—”
“Freya—”
“Or cook?”
“I don’t care about that, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work.”
I blinked, and a tear streaked down my cheek.
“If you want to stay here, I’ll move. I’ll live here with you. I’ll get a job. We can get an apartment. I don’t care, as long as we’re together,” he said, determination in his deep voice.
Another tear streaked down my face. “I can’t believe you’d give up your home, the mountain, for me.”
His big hands gripped me tighter. “It doesn’t feel like home without you there, not anymore. Home’s wherever you are.”
I pressed my mouth to his, kissing him with everything I had, all the emotions filling me to bursting. Finally, I lifted my head a little. “As lovely and sweet and generous as your offer is, it’s not what I want.”
His Adam’s apple slid up and down his thick neck and his arms flexed around me. “Freya, please, don’t…”
I realized how that sounded and quickly added, “Do you think you can teach this city girl to fish?”
“Are you saying you want to…” He swallowed hard again, his words trailing off.
“I love you,” I said. “I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you. My wild man. What I’m saying is I want you to take me home.”
Beau took my face in his big, rough-skinned hands and kissed me with a fierceness that said all that needed to be said.
When he finally ended the kiss, his gaze moved over my face, my hair, lingered on my mouth then went lower, and he growled. “You’re wearing my shirt.”
I smiled. “I stole it, so I could still feel close to you.”
He huffed out a breath and dragged it off over my head, flinging it aside, and started kissing me again. The sound of my underwear tearing from my body came next. I dropped my hands to the front of his jeans, yanking them open.
A second later he was inside me.
His big body moved with mine, our mouths fused, feeding each other moans, rushed words, and desperate pleas until we came apart together.
Later I lay against his chest, listening to the sound of his heart pounding, his solid strength, his arms surrounding me, and he was right—as long as we were together, we were home.
“I love you,” I said.
He tilted my head back and pressed his lips to mine. “I love you, too.”
Epilogue
One year later
Freya
Hank and Birdie’s laughter and their little girls’ giggles followed me as I headed up the stairs in search of my husband.
It was our turn for Sunday night dinner, and Beau had taken Connor upstairs after I’d fed him to put him to bed.
I pushed our bedroom door open and paused, just taking in the sight in front of me. No matter how many times I saw it, the impact never lessened. Beau was standing by the window, moonlight streaming in, so big and strong. Solid thighs braced apart, wide back, biceps bulging, and cradled in those massive arms was our infant son. So tiny and precious.
Beau was rocking from side to side, his face tilted down, eyes soft and on his son, and he was humming.
“Is he fighting it?” I finally said.
Beau turned to me, a gentle smile on his lips, and shook his head. “No, he was out before I hit the top of the stairs.”
I walked over and leaned into his side. “You’re a good dad, you know that, right? Seeing you with Connor…you have no idea how beautiful it is.” I brushed my fingers over our son’s head. “He’s not ever going to feel alone or unloved. He’ll know, he’ll always know how much his parents love him.”
Beau made a rough sound and planted a kiss on the top of my head before carrying Connor to his crib and laying him down gently. He tucked the covers around him then strode back to me. His expression was intense, determined.
Then he was there, his arms came around me, and I was lifted off the floor and pressed against the wall, and his mouth came down on mine. He kissed me hard and deep and hungry until I was breathless and squirming against him.
Finally, he lifted his head and stared into my eyes. “And he’ll always know how much his father loves his mother, that before he found her he was an empty shell, searching but never finding what he truly needed because he’d closed himself off to ever finding true happiness.”
“Beau,” I whispered, words failing me. He had a way of doing that. Saying something that was so sweet, so profound, it simply blew me away.
He kissed me gently again. “It took a determined city girl to make me see the light.”
I smiled even as my eyes stung with happy tears. “And it took a stubborn wild man to make me realize I deserved the happiness, the love, I’d always craved.”
“I love you,” he said.
“I know,” I said back. “And you make sure I know it every day.”
I pressed my mouth to his one more time. “We better head back down. Hank and Birdie will wonder where we are.”
Beau scowled. “I don’t want to go back down. I want to throw you on that bed and fuck you until neither of us can see straight.”
I did some more squirming. “You can’t say things like that to me when we have guests.”
Beau smirked. “They’re not guests. It’s Hank and Birdie.”
“And the girls.” I gave his shoulder a little shove, but he didn’t budge. “Beau…”
“I don’t want to let you go,” he said. “What if I’m quick? I’ll bend you over the dresser and fuck you hard and fast, how about that?”
The man was killing me. “You’re not playing fair,” I said, trying not to laugh at his hopeful expression. “The answer’s still no. We have to go back down.”
Beau’s lips flattened. “I can’t go down like this.” He ground his cock into me, and I gasped.
“That has to be uncomfortable.”
“No shit,” he grumbled.
“I’ll make it better as soon as they leave,” I said.
He dragged his mouth up the side of my neck, his beard tickling my skin. “You promise?” he said, low and rough. “Are you going to let me fuck you on the living room floor as soon as they walk out the door?”
I was panting. “Yes.”
Reluctantly, he stepped back.
I swallowed, mouth dry, body hot and achy, and forced myself to head for the door, legs more than a little shaky. Before I walked th
rough, I looked down at myself to make sure I was presentable. My nipples were hard and could be seen through my shirt. I glanced back at Beau, who was still by the window and his eyes were on me. The look he was giving me had me squeezing my thighs together.
“Fuck waiting,” he bit out and charged.
I darted out the door, unable to control my laughter as I ran down the stairs with Beau coming after me like a deranged bull.
When I hit the bottom of the stairs I expected to see Hank and Birdie, but the living room was empty. I spun around just as Beau exploded into the room.
“They’re gone,” I said. “How embarrassing! We’re the worst dinner hosts in the entire world.”
Beau kept coming as I backed up.
“You haven’t noticed them disappearing when we’re there?”
“Well, yes,” I said as my back met the wall.
“They were being nice. They obviously worked out we needed some alone time,” he said.
“Beau,” I warned as he closed in.
“I’m gonna fuck you on the floor now,” he said, and then he was lifting me and taking me down on the rug in front of the fire.
I gave up the fight instantly. I mean, why would I fight it? I wrapped my arms around his neck and my legs around his hips.
“You ready?” he asked.
“Always.”
THE END
Thank you for reading Wild Man!
Have you read Mountain Man yet? Hank’s story is the first in The Smith Brothers series.
MOUNTAIN MAN
(The Smith Brothers #1)
Hank Smith saved my life, carrying me through a blizzard to his mountain cabin. He doesn’t like strangers, and he doesn’t like leaving his sanctuary. Now I’m trapped here with him until the snow melts.
I see him looking at me. He tries to hide behind a gruff exterior, but I see the longing and the heat burning in his eyes. I know he wants me, and I can’t resist him. I want to feel those big, rough hands all over my body.
But once he’s unleashed his raw, barely tried desire on me, will I be able to leave my mountain man behind, or will he make me his?
If you’re in the mood for more heroes like The Smith Brothers, larger than life with a heart of gold, you could try Hugh from SWERVE (Boosted Hearts #1).
Or Elijah from BREAKING HIM. Keep turning for an excerpt of chapter one!
I’d love to hear what you thought of Wild Man. If you have a few moments to leave a review, I’d be incredibly grateful.
Also by Sherilee Gray
The Smith Brothers:
Mountain Man
Wild Man
Lawless Kings:
Shattered King
Broken Rebel
Beautiful Killer
Boosted Hearts:
Swerve
Spin
Slide
Axle Alley Vipers:
Crashed
Revved
Wrecked
Black Hills Pack:
Lone Wolf’s Captive
A Wolf’s Deception
Stand Alone Novels:
Breaking Him
About the Author
Sherilee Gray is a kiwi girl and lives in beautiful New Zealand with her husband and their two children. When she isn't writing sexy, edgy contemporary romance, searching for her next alpha hero on Pinterest, or fueling her voracious book addiction, she can be found dreaming of far off places with a mug of tea in one hand and a bar of Cadburys Rocky Road chocolate in the other.
To find out about new releases, giveaways, events and other cool stuff, sign up for my newsletter!
Connect with Sherilee via Facebook, Instagram, Twitter or Pinterest.
www.sherileegray.com
BREAKING HIM
CHAPTER ONE
The dry Montana heat was unforgiving today. Dust coated the back of my throat, my sweat-slicked skin prickling from the harsh midday sun. The thunder of hooves drew my attention from unpegging the laundry and over to the field behind the house. Two of my horses galloped along the fence line, kicking up more dust as they passed. I lifted my ponytail from my sticky neck and shielded my eyes to watch.
They slowed, danced around each other, sizing the other up.
Beautiful.
I wiped the sweat from my brow and looked to the sky, searching for rain clouds. We were in the middle of a drought, suffering the highest temperatures we’d had in over ten years. I had animals to feed, a ranch to keep afloat. If the rain didn’t come soon, I’d have the bank manager out here again, hounding me. These were the things that should be occupying my mind as I tugged the last towel from the clothesline.
But how could I concentrate on any of that with the low, steady murmur searching me out, coming to me on the light breeze? The way that gravelly yet soothing voice was being used to gentle one of my skittish mares made me tingle all over, until I was forced to squeeze my thighs together.
Folks around town called Elijah Hays a monster. They were intimidated, scared of him. Even said he was dangerous. Not to his face. Never to his face. You’d have to be a stupid son of a bitch to say any of those things to Eli—and crazier than they accused him of being. But I’d never seen him that way. Not once. I trusted him to take care of my ranch just like my father had.
The ranch’s main income came from cattle, but with the drought and everyone selling stock to get by, unable to afford the feed, cattle prices had dropped to an all-time low. If we sold now, we’d never recover. We usually survived the dry season by selling off the wild horses we brought in and broke for a nice profit. My dad loved horses, had wanted to eventually expand that side of our business. But this year, with him gone and only Eli here to work them, I didn’t know if we’d make it through.
Pushing back the strands of hair that had come loose from my ponytail, I turned to watch him, unable to help myself. How could I see him as the townspeople did when I witnessed him like this each and every day? Eli had a way with horses unlike anyone I’d seen. It fascinated me, watching this huge, at times unnerving, man care for and baby them. The way he could break a horse with kindness—taming, bending them to his will with whispered words and those big, gentle hands—until they seemed desperate to please him.
He stood beside the mare, one hand gripping the wide brush, dragging it over her shiny coat, the other following in its wake while he whispered sweet nothings in her ear. My attention was drawn to his forearms, corded and veined, dusted with dark hair. Pure strength. His hands never left her once. And God, they were beautiful hands—huge and so damn rough. I knew this because when I brought him coffee in the afternoons, his fingers would brush against mine. But what had my nipples hardening against the soft cotton of my dirt-streaked tank top was his unbelievably wide back. It was bulked up with thick slabs of lickable muscle, deeply tanned from hours spent outdoors. My gaze dropped to soft, worn Levi’s sitting low on his hips, cupping an ass that was meant to be squeezed, and often.
But if what people said was true, no one had ever squeezed that magnificent ass. No one had seen what he had hidden behind that straining zipper, either…
He swept the brush across the mare’s side again and again, biceps—thick as one of my thighs—bunching and rolling, dancing as he worked. I’d never seen the likes of him in my life. The man was beautiful, masculine on a whole new level. And he absolutely fascinated me.
The sound that had been steadily building in my chest slid past my lips before I could stop it. The needy moan loud enough for him to hear. I spun around before he caught me staring, quickly bending to pick up the wash basket at my feet. But it was too late. I’d been caught. The rhythmic cadence of Elijah’s deep voice cut off suddenly, followed by the crunch of gravel under his boots as he spun around.
He didn’t say anything. He rarely did, not to me—besides the “please and thank yous” he quietly rasped whenever I brought him food or drink. Otherwise he kept to himself. Had done so since he started working here twelve months ago.
I shivered aga
in, that familiar zip of electricity shooting across my shoulders and down my spine. His eyes were on me. He had beautiful eyes, wide and thickly lashed. They were often on me, maybe as much as mine were on him. I liked it. I didn’t see Eli as a monster. Because if he had murdered his father when he was just a boy, like everyone said, the man had deserved it. My dad, God rest his soul, had said so many times. Said Wyatt Hays had been a mean son of a bitch and he was surprised no one had done it before his son took a kitchen knife to him defending his mom.
But the folks here were still wary of him. I’m sure people who visited Deep River thought they’d stepped back in time. The people born in our isolated, backwater town generally lived and died here. And that’s the way they liked it. Anyone different from them…scared them. They didn’t like the way Elijah rarely spoke, the way he kept himself apart. Though plenty of the women liked the way he looked just fine. I’d seen the lust-filled glances cast his way. Still, they kept their distance, would never dream of approaching him, frightened by his dark past, the gossip that surrounded him. His size and strength were intimidating, not that I’d ever seen him use them against anyone in anger.
No, Elijah preferred his own company, and I didn’t blame him. Not when he’d only ever been subjected to the ugliest versions of everyone around him.
When he wasn’t busy with the ranch, he was reading, or giving the sand-filled bag he’d suspended in the corner of the barn a beating.
He was a mystery, and I hadn’t gotten any closer to him, learned any more about him, in the six months since my father passed away and I took over running the ranch. Because despite the way he watched me, he sent off unmistakable don’t-come-any-closer vibes that could be felt fifty yards away.
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