by Chant, Zoe
Wild Flight
By Zoe Chant
Copyright Zoe Chant 2015
All Rights Reserved
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Brandon Falco shook hands and said good-bye to his third interviewee of the day. Without an office of his own right now, he was conducting business in his favorite coffee shop. He shuffled through his papers and sighed; trading free rent in exchange for help with the remodeling had seemed like a great idea at the time, but he wasn't too impressed with any of the guys who'd shown up today, plus he still felt weird about letting a mundane stay at the house that had been his grandmother's. All Grandma Joan's stuff had been packed up and divided among Brandon's many relations, but he still worried that something at the house might give the clan's secrets away.
The next guy scheduled had emailed Brandon a resume: Summer Wild was his name. His parents must have been old-school hippies. It looked like Summer had done carpentry from one end of the country to the other, three months here, six months there, never sitting still. Probably following Phish with all the other nostalgic Deadheads, Brandon thought. Or maybe Leftover Salmon was his band... or even The String Cheese Incident. Brandon shuddered. Why did the jam band scene always sound like a fridge that needed cleaning?
Brandon came back to earth with a start, to find a tall red-haired woman standing at his table. A tall, beautiful red-haired woman, with her head tilted quizzically to the side. “Mr. Falco?” she asked in a husky voice.
“Yes?”
“I'm Summer Wild.” The woman held out her hand.
Brandon felt the room tip sideways. What? Who? After a moment the woman started to pull her hand back, disappointment on her face, and Brandon made a desperate grab for her. “Sorry! Sorry. I'm just not good with surprises. I was expecting someone more... male?” Brandon looked down at her hand, realized he was still holding it, and regretfully let it go. This was more than just confusion – the surprising Summer was having a strange and powerful effect on him.
“I get that a lot,” she said with a sad and tired smile. She sat down in the seat across from him.
“Can I get you a coffee or anything?” he asked, still trying to regain his bearings. Was the table trying to float away?
“No, I'm fine.”
Summer was wearing sturdy jeans, a white shirt that hugged her luxurious curves, and an old corduroy blazer. Her hair was pulled back in a braid, but wisps were escaping all around her face. She had two silver hoops in each ear, and Brandon could see just the tantalizing edge of a tattoo near her collarbone – a leaf? A letter? The tip of a wing?
And how long had he been staring, anyway? He coughed. “So the project! The remodeling project. It was my grandmother's house. She was an amazing person, just amazing, but after my grandfather died she didn't like to spend a lot of time at home. She was always busy with her other interests, and let all the maintenance go.”
“Really? What interests?”
“Oh, hiking, fishing, that sort of thing.” Grandma Joan had been an osprey shifter whose deep-water dives were legendary – and who just didn't see any point in vacuuming.
“Cool. So what kind of work do you need done?”
“The studio had a leaky roof, so I had to gut that completely. The wiring and subfloor are good to go now, but I need all the finish work done. That's where you'll be staying – where you'd be staying if you got the job.” Brandon winced at his slip-up, and tried to pull his attention away from Summer's rosebud lips as he rambled on. “The main house mostly needs minor repairs, floors refinished, that sort of thing. There's wallpaper, so much wallpaper; I don't even know what kind of paste they used, but it's evil.”
Was he really going to offer her the job because of a sudden and inexplicable crush? Oh yes he was, he absolutely was. He had a vision of picking her hand up again, turning it over, and pressing a kiss into her palm, tasting her skin.
What the hell?
Summer tilted her head again and took a deep breath. “I have a question for you. It may not be a savvy question, but it's an honest question, and honest is what you get with me. Which would be more likely to land me this gig: reviewing my extensive interior finish experience,” she said, pointing toward her resume, “or telling you the story of why I really need this job?”
“Telling me the story,” Brandon admitted, and the way-more-than-half of him that was completely smitten cheered YES GIVE ME AN EXCUSE TO HIRE YOU YES.
“I left home when I was eighteen,” Summer told him, “and I've been traveling ever since. I said yes to every adventure that came my way. I was so sure that I was on the path toward something – some kind of meaning? Or destiny? I don't even know. It sounds so ridiculous now. Because here I am, thirty years old, and I'm flat broke and fresh out of rehab. I can't go to my old friends for help because that's just not safe for me right now. A place to live and a job to do would mean the world to me.”
By the end of her story, her eyes were locked on his. She didn't turn away, and suddenly Brandon was sure she felt the connection too. He took her hand again. “The job is yours.” He found himself running his thumb over the back of her hand, but at least he stopped himself from kissing it – for now.
“I really can do the work.”
“I know you can.”
“Okay then. It's a deal.”
Chapter 2
Summer shoved the faded armchair into place then reached upwards, stretching out her back. Trickles of sweat running down her neck made her shiver. With the workday over, it was time to get out of her jeans. She grabbed a tank top and a light cotton skirt from her backpack and stepped behind the heavy folding screen to change. The small studio had contained only a cot, a mini fridge and a hot plate when she arrived, but Brandon had said she could move in any furniture she wanted from the main house. She picked out the screen, the armchair, an ottoman, and a threadbare Persian carpet that had once been beautiful.
Brandon had headed back into town right after dropping her off. She spent the afternoon drawing up a supply list and a schedule, and then she attacked the wallpaper. He was right, it was pure evil.
Summer grabbed an ice tea from the fridge and went to sit on the front steps, bathed by the setting sun. It was hard to say which was more breath-taking: the wild mountain view before her, or the spectacularly bad decisions she'd made so far today. She sighed. So much for changing her ways! Sure, random hot guy, I'll come live with you in your isolated cabin, half an hour walk from the nearest town, with no car of my own! What could possibly go wrong with that?
But she had felt that pull, that same crazy pull that had moved her so many times. It wasn't about him being gorgeous (although god knows he was), it was just a feeling of rightness. A feeling that the next step of her journey was here. She didn't want to trust that feeling any longer – but apparently her heart hadn't gotten the message.
She pulled the elastic from her hair and untwined her braid, running her fingers through her hair and enjoying the little curls of breeze that touched her scalp. When she looked up, Brandon's car was approaching the house. He parked and walked toward her, carrying a grocery bag.
Brandon stood uncertainly at the foot of the steps. She waved him to sit down beside her, and he started unpacking his bag. “I've got bread, and cheese, and a couple different salads –”
“You don't have to feed me every day,” she said. “I've got enough
money left for some basic groceries.”
“Oh, it's no trouble! It gets kind of depressing, eating alone.”
“Okay, then. Help yourself to some tea.”
He came back with his drink and they started enjoying their picnic in silence. Summer glanced sidelong at him whenever she thought he wasn't looking. He had dark, shining hair that ruffled in the wind, amber eyes, and an aquiline nose. He had strong, compact muscles, but also a fine bone structure that made him surprisingly graceful. Summer wanted to see him in motion – swimming, maybe, or dancing.
When the silence eventually become awkward, Summer said to him, “So I told you about some of my bad decisions this morning. How about you? Any mistakes along the way?”
“You cut right to the chase, don't you?” Brandon smiled.
“What, should I start with 'Come here often?'” Summer laughed.
“I do, actually,” he said. “I come here a lot. But I didn't live here until just a few months ago. I had a nice, normal apartment in San Jose and a nice, normal job as an IT manager... and then I got laid off. And I couldn't seem to get any interviews. So eventually I retreated.”
He was looking down at his hands, his fingers clenched together. “The whole thing has messed me up more than I like to admit. My whole life, I've always been focused on success. Follow the rules, compete hard, only stand out in the right ways... and it seemed like it was working. But somehow I screwed up. Financially I'll be fine for ages, that's not really the issue – it's just that I don't know what to trust anymore, if I can't trust the rules.” He shrugged and looked over at her.
She leaned sideways and bumped shoulders with him. “Well, I can tell you that breaking all the rules doesn't work out any better.”
“That's not very comforting,” he laughed.
“Nope. No, it's not.”
The sun had fully set behind the mountains now. The fading light brought other senses into play. The wind had a faint scent of ocean beneath the dusty grass smell, and thunder rumbled far off in the distance. Summer heard crickets and katydids off in the brush, and she thought she could even hear the faint rush of Brandon's breath.
He stood up, and for a moment she was sure that he was going to hold out his hand to her, and she was just as sure that she would take it. But then he started cleaning up to-go containers, and the spell was broken. He took a few steps toward the house. “So I'll see you in the morning?”
“Sure. Good night.”
Chapter 3
Summer woke up to a whip crack of lightning, with bone-rumbling thunder only a split second behind it. Her heart hammered and she curled in on herself, uncertain for a moment where she was. The next lightning flash lit the angles of the folding screen, and the day came back to her.
Rain pounded on the roof and splattered against the windows. Her heart wouldn't calm. A storm shouldn't affect her like this – she'd ridden out worse in leaky tents. Pulling her sleeping bag around her, she went to the window. Across the lawn, she saw Brandon in the main house, lighting candles in the living room. Just that glimpse of him, that moment of human connection, felt like a life line thrown to her. She stood at the window and watched him. He came to his window and looked out, and Summer knew in her bones that he was watching for her.
She let the sleeping bag drop, and after the next lightning strike, she opened her door and ran barefoot toward the house. The rain hit everywhere; she was drenched to the skin in moments, her thin clothes clinging to her sensitive skin. Brandon opened the door before she even stepped on the porch. He had been watching.
She stood dripping in the doorway, suddenly unsure. Brandon took her hand and drew her in, closing out the storm behind her. Here in the sturdier house, the storm sounds were less wild – almost cozy, even, like a cocoon around them. Brandon pulled her closer and then changed his grip so their hands were palm to palm, fingers interlaced. They stood so close to each other, but not touching yet. Summer could feel his breath on her damp skin.
“This is probably a terrible idea,” said Brandon, his voice hoarse with desire. His hand tightened on hers.
“It must be, because I have the same idea,” she said, “and all my ideas are terrible.” She was the one who closed the space between them and lifted her mouth up to his as she nestled her body against him.
His arms came around her immediately, one a band of iron across her back, the other lower down, grabbing a handful of her soaked skirt. She gasped at the drag of wet fabric on skin. Suddenly she wanted the clothes off of her, but she couldn't tear herself away from Brandon, the way her breasts were crushed against his chest, the way that she felt so supported by his strong arms, like she was almost floating.
He kissed her more deeply. She opened her mouth to his. Now his hand cradled her head, fingers entwining in her hair. They traded kisses this way for a few minutes, falling into a rhythm, deeper, then gentler, lips, tongue and teeth. Heat pooled and grew between them. She nipped at his lip and he moaned, then panted as he pulled back just a little. “Summer, are you sure?” he whispered, brushing ghosts of kisses immediately across her cheek, like his lips could hardly stand to be away from her long enough to speak.
“I'm sure,” she said. “Tonight, I'm sure.” She stepped back and peeled off her wet tank and skirt, cool air and arousal turning her nipples to stone. She paused, uncertain about her last garment, but Brandon reached out and tugged down her panties and she stepped out of them, completely naked before him.
His eyes gleamed in the candlelight, a look of amazement on his face, and suddenly she felt shy. I'm not worth that look, part of her insisted. Not from someone like you. As a distraction, she reached out to him and started pushing up his soft, worn t-shirt. He got the idea and slipped it off. Summer ran her hands up his chest – perfectly defined, with just a sprinkling of dark hair.
Her hands followed another sprinkle of hair down to the waistband of his jeans, but before she could undo them she found herself crushed in his arms again. His kisses now were ravenous and she responded with abandon, not ashamed now to moan desperately as his hands cupped her ass, as she writhed trying to get more friction between her legs.
He knew what she wanted. He caressed her there for a moment, just a brush of fingers against her soft folds and a pressure of thumb against her clit, before he stepped back to finally pull off his jeans.
She hardly paused a moment to look at him before they were wrapped in each other's arms again, finally skin to skin, blazing with heat. But she explored him with her hand, the hard length of him and velvet-smooth tip, the curling fur at the base. He groaned. “Condoms are upstairs,” he whispered hoarsely.
“I'm good if you're good,” she whispered back, desperate to have him inside her now. When he nodded, she got a wild idea and pulled him over to the window. The storm continued, each flash lighting the valley beneath them, each crash rattling the window in its frame.
He settled in behind her, pulling her back against his chest, dipping his fingers between her legs again. “Watching the storm?” his voice rumbled in her ear. She nodded, unable to explain, but he didn't ask, just tilted her hips back and entered her. She cried out at the sudden, amazing fullness, the pressure as he thrust. She rested her forehead against the cool glass, her breasts brushing against it too as her body was rocked by his motion.
He held one hip firmly, and used the other hand between her legs. She moaned gratefully when he found the right rhythm, electricity building between the heat of her cunt and the cool kiss of the glass until she shattered, gasping and whimpering and slamming her hips back against him.
He paused, letting her recover her breath, but she knew he hadn't finished yet. She'd had enough chill. She slipped off of him, turned in his arms, and nodded toward the sofa. He picked her up, effortlessly, and they fell together onto the couch. Impatiently she wrapped her legs around him and they fit together once more. He slid home like he belonged there. Once he was buried in her as deep as he could get, he paused again and rested his forehead on
hers.
In that moment, Summer had a vision of them as lovers, real lovers, two people with a shared life, completely comfortable with each other. This would be the moment when they would whisper silly endearments to each other, or say “I love you so much.” It seemed so impossible, it hurt to imagine it, but at least she could have this, tonight. She writhed beneath him, clenching her inner muscles on him, nibbling at his jaw. He groaned and started moving again, getting the angle just right, and Summer moaned loudly to encourage him.
She ran her fingers up and down his back, loving the way he gasped when she dug her nails in a bit. His thrusts were getting wilder now. Summer could feel her pleasure building again and she focused on each movement, meeting him when he shifted, the pounding rhythm overwhelming her senses.
They came together, breathing each other's breath, and shared lazy little kisses afterwards as they calmed. There wasn't really room to cuddle on the couch; Brandon withdrew from her, then sat on the floor at her side, keeping touch with her the whole time. She gazed into his eyes, without the slightest idea of what she should say now, but Brandon went for the practical: “I have a bed upstairs. We could sleep in it?”
“Yeah, I guess that works,” she laughed. He pulled her up from the sofa and they walked toward the stairs hand-in-hand. She prodded her pile of wet clothes with her toe as they passed. “I've got t-shirts,” he told her.
And that's how they slept, spooned in his bed wearing old t-shirts. Summer's sleep was dreamless.
Chapter 4
When Brandon awoke, Summer was still in his arms, and he knew immediately that this was how he wanted to wake up every day for the rest of his life. Without even meaning to, his arms curled possessively around her. When she shifted a little, he relaxed.
What he really ought to do is smack himself in the forehead. Brandon sighed. Like all birds of prey, eagles mate for life. He'd dated plenty of women in college and grad school and never felt a pull like this. Every time he broke up with someone, he'd had to put up with smug “I told you so's” from older relatives (and even sometimes younger ones) who said that they'd known from the start that this girl or that one wasn't right for him. It drove Brandon nuts, and he was pretty sure that the whole “you'll know your mate” thing was just self-serving nonsense propagated by the happily married. He eventually stopped introducing his girlfriends to his family.
