“Sit down,” she tells me as she opens the oven and I do as I'm told.
I won't disappoint Waverly.
I'll be the gentleman she needs for now, and later, in the loft, I'll be the beast she craves.
“It smells good,” I tell her, and she carries over a cast iron skillet. Two steaks fried up, and green beans, mashed potatoes; it’s a goddamn feast.
“You found all this in my kitchen?”
“The potatoes were instant,” she says with a smile. “But I was able to make some gravy. You had some frozen green beans. I'm not sure if this is beef or not.” She bites the corner of her lip.
“It’s venison.”
“Oh, I wondered,” she says. “I’ve never cooked venison or even eaten venison, but I'm willing to try.”
“You'll like it,” I tell her as she plates us our food and then sits down across the table.
Her shoulders bunch up and she looks nervous. “I didn't know what you liked, but you seemed like a meat and potatoes kind of guy.”
“I am,” I tell her. “And you're right. We don't know a lot about each other.
She nods. “And considering you said I could stay here as long as I wanted…” Her words trail off. “I figured maybe over dinner we could get to know each other a little bit more. Is that lame of me to say? I don't know how to do this. I've honestly never dated or lived with a guy.”
“Waverly,” I say resting my hand on top of her across the table. “You don't need to be all jumpy with me. I'm not going to scare you off. Believe me when I tell you I want you to stay.
Relief seems to wash over her, her shoulders relax. She laces her fingers with mine and there's something in that gesture that softens me to her in a whole new way. Like she is asking me to take the lead here. I will.
“Well,” I say, digging into the food. “Let me tell you about myself since you asked so nicely.” I catch her blue eyes and they sparkle; she lets out a pleased laugh and I make the choice to open up to the woman I so dearly need in my life. “I grew up in San Diego.”
Her eyes widen. “Really? I grew up in Los Angeles.”
“Look at us,” I say. “We both made it all the way out here to the middle of nowhere.”
“How long have you been here exactly?” she asks, picking up her fork.
“A little over a year. I was tired of living in the city.”
“Tired of the sun?” she asks.
I shrug. “It was more the people I wanted to get away from. I wanted to have a quieter life.”
“Did you have a high-profile job or something?” she asks.” Did you work with a lot of people?”
“Yeah,” I say, choosing my words wisely. “It was a complicated job. I worked for my family and after my father died, I had to make a decision if I wanted to take over or not.”
“I'm guessing since you live out here all by yourself in the middle of nowhere you chose not?”
I laugh. “Yeah, I chose not, and my brother took over and so I moved up here.”
“That sounds pretty idyllic. Just get to choose where you want to go and start over.”
“I saved up enough that I figured I could make it on my own for the rest of my days.”
Her eyebrows lift. “You saved up enough money for the rest of your life? How old are you? Sorry if that was rude to ask, but wow.”
“It's not rude. You can ask me anything you want. I'll tell you best I can. I just turned thirty. What about you?”
“I'm twenty-two.”
“A twenty-two-year-old virgin. Huh?” I smile “Guess I’m a pretty lucky man.”
She nods. “So, why did you decide to move to Alaska if you had the money to move anywhere?”
I think about that for a second before answering. “It might sound strange, but when I was a kid, I loved these stories about people who were adventurers. Old westerns with gold miners living off the land, frontier men. Anyways, I always had this idea in my head that I would try and make a claim for my own. Since the west was won, Alaska seemed to be the last great frontier on Earth, something like that.”
Wavy smiles. “Oh, I see. You're a romantic.” She lifts her glass of wine and takes a sip.
“Maybe. I never thought of it like that, Wavy. I always thought it was about looking for independence.
“Doesn’t it get lonely? That's what I mean about you being a romantic. Seeing this kind of life as beautiful and not unduly hard.”
“It has been hard,” I tell her honestly. “I won't beat around the bush about it. It’s dark out here for months at a time. And it’s lonely as fuck. I’ve only got my neighbor to talk to. I’m just learning to live off the land. Thankfully I'm a bush pilot by trade, so that gives me something to do to stay occupied.”
“Do you fly all the time?” she asks.
“No. I fly a few days a week, just enough to get me out and about or to grab supplies that I need. Ask questions of some of the locals when it comes to hunting and preparing for winter. I’m not exaggerating when I say I'm just learning.”
She nods slowly, swirling the tines of her fork at me playfully. We are just learning about one another, but it feels so easy with Wavy. Like we’ve been in one another’s orbits our entire lives. “So, you're a newly relocated mountain man.”
“Sure,” I chuckle before taking another bite of her mashed potatoes and steak. Damn. It feels good to have home cooking. “I figure ten years in I'll be the burly mountain man I was imagining back when I was a kid.”
She smiles. “A burly mountain man. Huh? I like the sound of that.”
“Do you?” I ask, lifting my eyebrow. “I wasn't sure women were interested in men with thick beards and flannel shirts.”
She licks her lips. “Oh, they're interested.” She swirls her wine. “I have a Kindle full of romance novels about them to prove it.”
“Do you now?” I ask, my interest piqued. “So, you like to read?”
“I like reading romance, at least,” she says. “I like the story of two people finding one another in the midst of unlikely circumstances, making it work despite all odds.”
“Would our love story make it in a romance novel?”
“Love story huh?” she asks, eyes meeting mine. She exhales. “Well I must say, this is a heck of a start. Our first date and I’ll end up in your bed. That's not something I've ever done before.”
“Actually,” I say grabbing another piece of meat. “That isn't exactly true, is it?” I lift my eyebrow and she giggles covering her face with her hands.
“Fair enough,” she laughs. “I still can't believe I slept with you the first night we met.”
“God,” I groan, leaning back, memories of the night we shared filling my mind. “Can I just tell you something?”
She lowers her hands. “Is it going to embarrass me?”
I laugh. “No, Waverly. But I haven't been able to stop thinking about our night together.”
“Really?” she asks.
“You have to ask really? Damn girl, you were everything. When I woke up and you weren't there at the motel, it killed me. I spent two days looking for you. I got lucky with Jameson being my neighbor and figuring out that he'd taken you on that run to the commune.” I shake my head. “Speaking of, it’s been bugging me. Why did you leave as you did? Didn't you feel it? Feel this.”
She sets down her fork, wiping her mouth with her napkin. “It was just something I had to do. It's hard to explain and it wasn't what I expected.”
“You can try and explain it to me,” I tell her. “I’m here for you.”
“I know. It's just, look, my sister died recently. I think I told you about that. Anyways, she really wanted to come to Alaska. She had a friend who moved up here to that commune and I wanted to kind of keep her memory alive by doing this last big thing that she wanted.”
“Did you find her friend? Was she there?”
Waverly nods. “Yeah, she was. And part of me wanted her to come back with us, but she didn't want to leave. There's something abo
ut her that has unfinished business at that place. She still has to figure out what she wants. Her life had been really hard and, in her mind, that commune isn’t a prison. It's a refuge.”
“But not for you?” I ask. “It wasn't a refuge?”
“No. Maybe if I hadn't met you right before I had gone there and didn't have this idea of what life could mean or be like with you. I mean, maybe I would have been more satisfied there. Maybe I wouldn't have held back because it would have been my only option, but I couldn't give myself to that place. I didn't want to because I wanted to give myself to you, Walker.”
“You mean that?” I ask her. My eyes are fixed on hers.
“I mean that,” she says softly.
I exhale. “You have no idea how much I wanted to hear that. How much I hoped that would be true.”
We sit in silence for a minute before I clear my throat. “Since we’re trying to get to know another… how did your sister die?”
“Drugs,” she says with a bitter laugh. “What a way to go. Huh? She was so beautiful. So full of life. So full of possibilities and then it's all gone. Just like that. Such a waste.”
“God, Wavy. I’m so sorry.” A deep well of shame floods me. Knowing how closely linked my life has been to the drug trade, hating the idea that my work had anything to do with her sister's death, however, indirectly it may be.
“She wasn’t perfect but dying like she did… it’s so sad.” She wipes her eyes tries to put on a brave face. But she doesn’t need to be brave for me.
“Look,” I say. “I know you've had a long day. A long week. Hell, it sounds like a hell of a month. And I told you before, I can sleep on the couch and let you have the bed upstairs. I don't want you to feel like you—”
She shakes her head, stops me from talking, pushes back from the table. “No, Walker, please. I want to be with you more than I want anything. Please,” she repeats, taking my hand and pulling me up to stand. “Take me to your bed tonight.”
14
Waverly
We hand wash the dishes together, side-by-side. I didn’t think such a simple, humble act could be sensual, but here we are, scrubbing the tines of forks and drying the plates with a flour sack towel, our hips hitting and our desire growing. All the while, knowing what was to come.
We work in silence, maybe we’re both considering the conversation we just had. The one that cut deep, to the heart of things. The one that told me Walker was no threat, not like any man I’d ever known before. He was a man from the Whiskey Mountains even if this wasn’t where he was born and raised. He may come from the golden sand beaches of Southern California, but his heart wasn’t made for the bright light of Sunshine Coast, the turquoise water, warm water lapping at toes, where surfboards rode waves.
No. Walker was made for this place, the dark glacial waters, cold enough to wipe away all fear. He was made for black soil and dark earth, for pine trees that stand a hundred feet tall, roots twice as deep. He was made for the wilderness.
And maybe, just maybe, he was made for me.
Soapy suds reach my elbows, and when water slops over the edge of the sink and soaks my shirt I laugh softly.
“Let me help you with that,” he says, turning me toward him. The light is low, a soft glow cast over the room and it is just he and I, with no one around. No one knows we’re here. No one knows I’m facing this burly man with a thick beard and thick arms and a thick everything else. My body warms despite my clothes being wet and I bite my lip as his fingers run down the buttons of my white linen shirt.
I’m still dressed as all the women at the commune were. White on white, pure in someone’s eyes but I’m not sure whose. Underneath, I don’t have on a bra or panties. I’d just stepped from the shower when Bellamy rushed into our room and told me to come. Quickly. Telling me that my Walker was here.
Mine.
“He thinks Walker is your husband,” she had told me. I stilled, half-dressed, considering the words. Walker as my husband.
The thought didn’t make me recoil then, and it doesn’t make me now. Walker is different. He held me and he kissed me, and he didn’t take a single thing from me. He gave and gave and then I left without a word before the new, blue dawn broke.
“The lie seemed to work,” Bellamy had said. “John’s biggest fear is getting the cops out here.”
I understood why. There was more than hallucinogenic mushrooms out there. The moment I saw someone using cocaine, I knew this would never, ever be my home. The thought of Jemma dying while high sends another wave of sorrow through me. It happened too fast.
And now this, this is happening fast too.
But this is a different kind of rush. The kind I’ve been dreaming of my whole life. Walker undresses me and I close my eyes, holding my breath while his fingertips brushing against my bare skin and I inhale sharply. He stills.
“Do you not want this?” he asks.
I open my eyes, blinking back tears, hating that I am forever crying, wondering if there will ever be a time when I’m not grieving one thing or another. If there will ever be a time when I am utterly and absolutely happy.
God, I hope so.
“I want this, Walker, I want you.” I press my hands to his chest, and he dips his mouth to mine and when he kisses me it’s not a kiss at all. It’s a ravishing of my mouth. An undoing. A promise of forever.
His mouth is hot, and his skin is too and then it’s not slowly unbuttoning anything. It’s tearing off our clothes, stripping bare and soon he is naked and so am I. He pulls me to him gently though. His thick cock against my belly and my core so warm, so wet, so ready for wherever Walker wants to take me. To the depths. To the bottom of the glacial lake. I don’t need sunshine and sandy beaches. I need rocky shores and whipping winds and his arms wrapped around me, protecting me from the elements.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he rasps, lifting me from the wooden floor and my legs wrap around him as he sets me on the counter. My bare ass on the butcher block and he stands before me, chiseled and fine, his muscles carved from the earth and he wants me. Me, Waverly, a girl on the run without a home or hope. Until now, until him.
He runs his hands over my breasts, and I whimper as his tongue swirls over my nipple. I brace myself on the counter, my head falling back letting my loose hair swish against the hardwood. A smile breaks out across my face as he licks and kisses my breasts, massaging them and making my skin tingle with anticipation.
“You are the only girl I’ll ever want, Waverly. You understand that?”
I nod because somehow, I do. Somehow this stranger has become my own. The man I will not let go of. The man who I need to shield me from the world. I’m on the run for a reason.
“I understand you, Walker.”
“Good, then understand this, Wavy. I’m taking you to my bed and I’m going to make that sweet little pussy of yours learn my name. Learn to bend to my will, learn to get wet when I’m near.”
I lick my lips, liking the way he takes control. I want him to teach me what he likes, what he needs. I want to learn from him. Only him. “Do whatever you want to my body, Walker. It’s yours alone.”
Those words seem to send a primal urge coursing through his body because he is no longer looking at me with hunger, but with an appetite that needs taking care of. A wave of excitement rushes over me at the realization I am what he wants to satiate his manly needs.
He lifts me up and carries me through the kitchen to the ladder leading to the loft. “Climb, Waverly. Let me watch.”
I do as he asks, knowing my bare butt is in plain sight. He grabs my ass as I walk past, his fingers running between my thighs making my pussy wet. I smile with satisfaction when he growls as he presses his face against my ass. My hands grip the railing as he kisses my butt, my spine, and reaches around me and pinches my nipple in a way that says yes, now, please.
In a way that says I am going to fuck you until you are screaming my name, begging for more. And then I will give it to you.
&n
bsp; I know he will.
Up in the loft, at last, he tells me to lie down on his mattress. It’s not a large bed and I’m glad because I want to be pressed against him all night, all day, forever.
My head is on one of his pillows and he climbs onto the bed, his eyes on mine. Seeing everything. Every curve of my body. Every inch of my skin. Every flaw of my flesh that I wish was smoother, firmer, smaller. Suddenly, it all seems perfect in Walker’s eyes.
He looks at me with both admiration and so much devotion that my heart seems to crack open. For him and him alone. He looks down at me and sees everything. He makes me feel beautiful and I don’t want to cover my skin, hide a thing. I want him to see it all and take it all because I know there will still be more to give. It’s not possible to take until there is nothing left because that is not how true love works.
Love. Yes, because as Walker spreads my knees and runs his hand over my pussy, beginning to caress my tender folds, I know this is not make-believe. Not a one-night stand.
This is real.
15
Walker
I suck her pretty cunt until it’s dripping wet. And then I go back for more. My fingers find her sweet little hole and I open her up, the way we both want and need. She gasps, biting her lip, and then moans as I finger her, and I love it. Making her squirm. Making her body melt into the mattress.
There is no one around, so she can scream my name as loudly as she likes, and I plan on making her do just that.
My cock throbs it’s so damn hungry, but I need to get her gushing before I take anything for myself. She needs to let go. I can feel her orgasm begin fluttering in her cunt, and so I press a third finger into her and she slams her hands against my solid chest. “Oh, Walker, I can’t… it won’t…” And then her words lose power and they trail off because she can. It will. And she’s just realizing it.
Her knees drop wider and I begin to run my thumb over her clit as I finger her harder, then softer and harder again until her pussy walls are throbbing with the heat and warmth of her blood filling her sex. She’s so fucking close.
WALKER: The men of Whiskey Mountain Page 7
