Chasing The Wild (Crimson Ridge Book 1)

I’m tipsy, exhausted, and pissed off. Better yet, there’s a man-sized bullmastiff beside me who looks set to snap the steering wheel in two.

While my fists are balled in my lap, I’ve run through a mental checklist of every scathing insult I can imagine hurling at the man occupying the driver’s seat.

The silence between us is as gritty as the rough road beneath our tires for the entire trip back up Devil’s Peak.

Colt slams us to a halt when we arrive in the yard, leaving the headlights on so that we can unload the perishable supplies. I’m really fucking hoping he doesn’t intend on forcing me to get all the hardware and other crap out of the back of the truck while it’s cold and dark.

But I wouldn’t put it past him, in his current mood.

Colton Wilder: alpha asshole. He’s acting like I’m the problem here, as if I’m running around inviting attention left, right, and center. When all I want is for one single shred of it from him.

Although, I’m so angry with him for embarrassing me like that, I’ll gladly go another week without seeing him. Hell, he can spend the next six weeks out of my sight for all that I care.

“Kayce.” He bellows as he carries a box of groceries through the back door.

Oh, fuck.

Between the long day, and the shots, I had totally forgotten that Kayce was coming back up the mountain today.

Well, that’s going to make it extremely fucking easy to steer clear of Colt. Even though I don’t want to have to spend time with my douchebag ex, he’ll be a good buffer between us for my remaining weeks here.

As I reach in and drag out the final box containing the fresh produce we picked up today, I glance around the empty yard. It’s only Colt’s truck that I can see parked out here, and I furrow my brow trying to put my finger on what looks out of place with this scene.

If Kayce was back, he’d have a vehicle here… wouldn’t he?

I make my way inside and I can hear Colt crashing around inside his tiny office. The box he carried in has been dumped on the island in the kitchen, so I roll my eyes and start putting things away in the fridge and pantry. He obviously expects me to do this part, I guess since I’m the one who insisted on doing the majority of cooking for us these days anyway.

He can go back out in the cold and unload whatever else he thinks needs taken care of tonight.

I’m done.

Ready for this day to be over and to crawl into my big, lonely bed.

Colt is still in his office, and I glance at the stack of supplies, waiting to be put away in the kitchen.

Whatever. He wants to hide out there tonight? I’ll get this job done and be gone to bed any minute.

I run my fingers through my hair a couple of times to shake it loose, along with an attempt to dislodge all memories of just how damn good it felt to wear his hat earlier and get back to storing the groceries.

While I’m in here, I hear Colt head outside and turn off the truck, before he stomps back in, barging through the kitchen without looking at me. I nearly have to jump out of his way as he reaches up into one of the high cupboards and drags down a bottle of whiskey. He roughly splashes some into a glass, picks it up, but then slams it back down on the bench. Without even touching the damn thing, or taking a sip, Colt disappears again, empty-handed.

Jesus. This man is as bull-headed and temperamental as they come.

My nostrils flare.

It’s not often that I lose my temper, but right now, Colt is acting more like a four-year-old than a man in his forties. Not that I know for certain how old he is, but I’m guessing he’s somewhere around that age—having pieced together Kayce’s birthdate and knowing the two of us were born in the same year—I can only assume that Colt must have been pretty young himself, maybe seventeen, eighteen at the most, by the time his son came along.

Which is what spurs me on to do the most thoroughly passive-aggressive tidy-up of this kitchen it has probably ever seen. Including tipping out his untouched drink abandoned on the counter. By the time I’m finished, the fridge has been cleaned, there’s not a single dish left unwashed, and every surface has been polished.

I’ll earn every fucking dollar of my paycheck, and when I’m gone, this man will never have to worry about seeing me again.

When I flip the lights off in the kitchen, I see the glow of the fire illuminating the lounge. Of course, Colt is in there, sitting with his head lowered and his forearms resting over his knees in what must be his favorite night-time-brooding chair.

I curse my body for the way it remembers how he looked at me the last time I crept in here late at night.

“Kayce isn’t here.” He says, talking to the floor but aiming his words at me. There’s an ugly sneer in his voice.

Logically, I knew that. It was pretty obvious, but I had been too busy rage-cleaning to bother looking around for his drunken ass. He’s not who I want to be seeing.

“He’s not coming back anytime soon, Layla. Sent a message to say he’s got some things to take care of in town.”

“Fine,” I bite out. At this point, I’m tired and beyond caring. The money shit with Kayce isn’t time-urgent, it’s really his father he owes it to now anyway.

“Thought you’d want to know.” Colt tilts his head up to look at me. There’s a curl to his top lip, like he’s waiting for some kind of reaction.

“Ok.” I shrug. Ignoring the way his dark hair falls across his eyes.

“Guessing you want to go back down there.” He narrows his eyes. “To him.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. We’re back on this bullshit again?

That puts a fire under me. I cross the open plan space and get right up close, folding my arms. “Like I told you. There’s nothing between me and Kayce. I’m not his girl. I’m not his property. What I am is someone who is here to do the job I was hired for. So I’d really appreciate it if you quit jumping to conclusions about me and my life.”

My pulse thunders in my ears.

Colt cracks his knuckles as he looks up at me.

I realize I’m almost standing between his knees, but I’m not backing down. He’s got to understand this once and for all, that I’m not Kayce’s girl and I’m not going to be made to feel like it’s my fault every time another man looks at me.

“He says otherwise. Says you’re his.” There’s a warning and an ugly snarl in his voice.

“Well, I hate to say it, since he’s your son and all, but he’s an idiot, and he’s probably got about ten girls he calls his. I’m sure as hell not one of them.”

The man in front of me is wound so tight, I think something in his jaw is going to break.

“That guy with his hands all over you at the bar sure as hell thought you were his.”

I roll my eyes. A burning log lets out a loud pop as we remain locked in this standoff.

“No more than that woman wanted you to be hers. She seemed awfully friendly.”

Colt launches out of his seat and I have to crane my neck just to hold his fierce stare. I’m frozen, and he’s impossibly close. His scent washes over me, and a tingling sensation spreads right through to my fingertips.

“I don’t give a fuck about random women who try to talk to me in a bar, Layla.”

He looms over me, and oh, god. My core tightens at the way he says my name. The insinuation is right there, screaming loud and clear into the silence of the darkened room.

He doesn’t care about receiving attention from a woman in a bar, because there’s someone else he does want it from.

“Kayce is my son.” His voice is a strangled whisper.

There’s a wild fluttering in my throat where my pulse should be. Every inch of skin beneath my sweater and my jeans feels electrified.

“I’m supposed to do right by him.” He pauses, and his eyes drop to my mouth. “I’m trying my fucking best to do right by him.”

“You are.” My throat is so damn tight, and I feel the way his eyes bore into me. Warmth seeps low in my belly and my clit throbs.

“Then tell me why every night is a battle, Layla. Tell me why I have to damn near lock my own door.”

“Why would you—”

His gritty noise cuts me off. “Because I’m in so much trouble when it comes to you. Tell me why the fuck I’m spending every night talking myself out of visiting the bedroom just down the hall of the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, just to see how she tastes.”

My breathing is heavy and shallow as my chest heaves. Those shots from earlier are still making themselves known in my veins. “Is that my lips, or somewhere else, cowboy?”

Colt lets out a groan mixed with a growl, and my breathy words are hardly out of me before his hand dives into my hair.

“Fuck it.”

His mouth crashes against mine.

Oh, my god…

My pulse races up the back of my throat as he sinks into me, consuming my mouth, with his tongue swirling heat right through my body. He’s so overpowering, as his hand slips into my curls and the other fists the waistband of my jeans to hold me steady. Warmth pools low at the junction of my thighs. It’s all I can do to moan as I’m kissing him back before I even have a chance to realize I’ve made the conscious decision to do so.

Holy fuck.

Colt tastes like the crisp night air and glow of the fire rolled into one. I can’t breathe as he holds me against him, and everything feels so fucking good. His body is so solid and powerful pressing against me.

I want more. I need more.

My body is so damn hungry for his, I want his mouth on me. To taste me everywhere like he threatened to. I want him to own me and keep me in his bed, and I don’t want to resurface, ever.

“Fuck. Layla. I can’t stop this. I can’t fucking fight it,” he says the words against my mouth, like it’s paining him, before slipping his tongue past the seam of my lips again. The stubble of his beard drags across my skin, and I can feel the slickness of my pussy soaking my panties.

“Tell me to stop.” He kisses and nibbles my bottom lip, and I whimper with each gentle tug.

“Please don’t.” I cling to his strong forearms. Letting out a tiny gasp when his grip on my hair tightens against my scalp.

The hand he’s been using to hold me by my hip now slides to the front of my jeans. I moan into his mouth with a pleading noise as he pops the button on my fly. Keeping my bottom lip tugged between his teeth, he yanks the material open. My spine bows under the force, and my core clenches in anticipation.

Colt spins me around so that my back is against his torso, and his hot mouth sucks down on the sensitive spot right behind my ear.

“Oh, god.” I’m moaning at how good it is to finally have his lips and hands and body on me. All I can do is arch my neck to give him more access, and he works the zipper of my fly down. The metallic noise sends a flurry of goosebumps across my skin, and my nipples are hardened points rubbing against the lace of my bra beneath my sweater.

He runs his teeth across the curve of my shoulder, licking and sucking, and biting a dizzying path. The rigid length of his erection rubs up against me through his jeans. The feel of him is too much, too spellbinding, and nowhere near fucking enough all at the same time.

“Jesus. Fuck.” His hand shoves down the front of my jeans, and his fingers graze the spot just over my clit, pressing against me through the drenched, silky material of my panties.

“You’re so fucking wet.” Colt sounds angry. His mouth is hot at my ear, and he starts to rub me over the soaked fabric. My breath falters while he keeps massaging my pussy, and sucks my earlobe into his mouth.

His other hand is hungry, sliding up inside my sweater, blazing a trail across each inch of my bare skin he touches for the first time before grabbing a handful of my aching breast. Kneading and squeezing and pinching my tightly furled nipple.

“Please. Don’t stop.” I’m begging and whimpering as he teases me, feeling like I’m going to explode. The ache is unbearable, and my hips start chasing his touch in search of relief.

I’m so high on this man right now, I just want everything and I want it immediately.

“Touch me.” Properly. Silently, I’m willing him to cross that forbidden line for us. To slip inside my panties and let me feel the roughness of his fingers sink against the most intimate part of me, like I’ve been craving for this man to do ever since I first laid eyes on him.

Colt grinds against my lower back. His cock is rigid and thrusts against me as he grips and rubs the fabric covering that tiny bundle of nerves. The way he’s expertly massaging my swollen, needy bud has me melting in his arms.

“This is all for me?” He grunts against my neck. I feel his fingers slide down further, hard and low inside my jeans, cupping the drenched material against my entrance.

I whimper and nod. “All for you. Only you.”

Colt curses. In that moment, it’s like something shifts inside him. It’s as if reality bursts through the front door with a flurry of ice coating the two of us, and he tears himself away. Yanking his hand out, he pushes himself off. Backing away from me while panting.

Meanwhile, I’m left with a chill sweeping through me right down to my toes.

“Fuck.” When I turn to face him, one hand is shoved in his hair, and his wild eyes sear into me with longing. “No. We can’t do this.”

I take a step nearer, but he scrubs his other hand down over his mouth and shakes his head. Warning me not to come closer.

“Why not?”

When his desperate stare meets mine, Colt’s features show the strain of everything about our circumstances.

The lines in his face show the intricate mess of unwritten rules we just bulldozed through, and shouldn’t have.

“I’m sorry. Is it me? Something I—” Faltering a little, words abandon me. Maybe I’m the problem here. Perhaps I’m not what he wants after all.

That brings Colt rushing back to me, at least. Fisting the hem of my sweater, it’s like he can’t bring himself to risk touching me again, but can’t fully let go either.

“Look at you, baby.” He lets out a low growl. “Jesus Christ. The things I want to do to you.”

My cheeks are flushed and my lips still tingle from the force of his kisses. The scratch of his beard feels as though it has imprinted itself, indelibly left a mark on my memory. In the flicker of the low flames I see the creases deepen around his hooded eyes. My fingers itch to reach out and stroke those fine lines, to press at them in an effort to smooth them away. To maybe be that person who can help ease the burden of what he carries alone.

“But we shouldn’t.” My eyelids squeeze shut. This cannot be happening. It’s so fucking unfair I want to run out into the frozen night, drop to my knees, and scream until my lungs burn.

“But we can’t,” he echoes.

I feel his knuckle tilt my chin up, and the pad of his thumb rubs over my puffy bottom lip.

“Layla… look at me.” His voice is low as he speaks my name. When I open my eyes, all I see through my damp lashes is his own battle raging beneath the surface. That sight makes it worse. Makes it so much more fucking unbearable to know that he wants this as desperately as I do.

“You’re perfect and beautiful, but right now, I need you to do as I say, baby.”

I hate how much I love hearing him call me that.

“Go to bed. Don’t stop. Don’t pause. I need you to do that for me.”

He knows he can ask this of me, and of course I’ll be good for him. Because he knows I want to please him and if I don’t obey him right now he’ll never forgive himself for giving in to this thing between us.

I want to be so fucking good for him.

My face cracks as I duck my chin away from his touch, and I wrap my arms around myself. His stiff grip relents, with his hand dropping away from my sweater. Unbuttoned jeans hanging loose over my hips are a taunting reminder of what nearly unfolded in the shadows and firelight.

Reluctantly, I head away from him and toward my room. Just as he asked.

As I reach the doorway to my bedroom, I can’t help myself, sneaking a long look back down the hall. When I do, all I see is the sight of his broad frame. Colt stands in the gloom gripping the mantelpiece above the fire with two hands and his head dropped down between his shoulders.

My tortured cowboy.