Part 1 (1/2)

Wild Man.

Kristen Ashley.

Dedication.

To Erika Ann Moutaw Wynne and Roy Gilbert ”Gib” Moutaw, My big sister and my little brother.

Everything we are is based in love and history and loyalty.

Thank G.o.d.

Prologue.

Wild Man.

”Oh my G.o.d, ” I breathed as I came, my mind blanking, every inch of my body tightening as bliss like I never felt before coursed through me.

When I was done, my neck righted, my eyes slowly opened and I saw him still moving over me, in me, G.o.d, G.o.d, he looked good. Beautiful. And he felt good. Amazing.

His gorgeous, silvery gray eyes were locked to mine, heated, intense, glittering, searing into me, all of this in a way he'd never looked at me before. Not once in the four months we'd been together.

And I knew, feeling the burn of his eyes, what that look meant. I knew this man, this fantastic, striking, wild man was mine.

Mine.

I felt it in my blood.

”Jake,” I whispered, my limbs growing even tighter around him, one of my hands sifting up into his thick, dark, unruly hair and his eyes closed at my voice sounding his name and they did this in a way that seemed like he was in pain.

Um... what?

Then he shoved his face in my neck, moving faster, thrusting harder, his breath labored against my sensitive skin and my mind turned to his body, my hands glided across his skin, my legs gripped him harder as I clenched his driving c.o.c.k with my s.e.x.

”f.u.c.k, Tess,” he growled against my neck then I heard him groan as he kept thrusting and he came.

I held him tight.

He gave me his weight.

I held on tighter.

Then he pulled out and rolled off me, falling to his back. The instant he did, eyes on the ceiling, he lifted the b.u.t.ts of his palms, pressed them to his forehead and closed his eyes.

Um. Not good.

”Jake?” I called softly.

”Yeah?” he grunted, not soft and also not opening his eyes or moving his hands.

Okay, uh, what was going on?

Feeling suddenly exposed and vulnerable even after just moments before feeling like I'd finally, finally found my dream man, he was there, in my bed, in me and the joy that brought evaporated. I moved quickly. Nabbing the throw at the bottom of the bed, I pulled it over my naked body.

”Is everything okay?” I whispered.

”f.u.c.k no,” he answered and I felt my body go still.

He dropped his hands, his head turned to me, the look in his eyes not heated, glittering, intense, burning into me. It was conflicted and... I stared, not believing it but seeing it...

filled with regret.

Oh no. Oh G.o.d. Oh s.h.i.+t. Oh no.

I pulled the blanket closer to me thinking Martha had been right.

d.a.m.n. She'd been right.

His eyes dropped to my hand clutching the blanket to my chest then I watched them melt to quicksilver as they lifted to me, his face gentling, his body turning my way, his hand coming out and then his phone rang.

His hand stilled and he muttered a p.i.s.sed off, ”f.u.c.k. ”

Then he rolled the other way and reached out with a long arm to grab his jeans. I was staring at the contours of his back, the sleek skin, the defined muscles, thinking that wasn't for me. It wasn't for me. None of it.

I knew it.

I'd always known it.

From the instant for months ago when his silver eyes. .h.i.t me, travelled the length of my torso, all he could see of me behind the display cabinet, and when his eyes again hit mine, he'd smiled s.e.xy, lazy and slow, I knew it.

He wasn't for me.

There was no dream man for me.

But he was so beautiful, I went for it anyway.

”Yeah?” he asked into the phone and then I felt his mood hit the room and it grated against my skin like sandpaper.

In the four months we'd been together, Jake did not hide his moods. Ever. Not even in the beginning. And Jake had a lot of moods. If he was p.i.s.sed, you knew he was p.i.s.sed. If he was happy, you definitely knew he was happy. If he was feeling playful, annoyed, frustrated, amused, distracted, content, whatever, you knew it, you sensed it; it was like he controlled the atmosphere of the room.

And whoever was on the other end of that phone was p.i.s.sing him off and frustrating him.

”Give me an hour,” he said into the phone, paused then went on, ”No, man, I'm tellin'

you, I need an hour.” Another pause then, ”f.u.c.k, you've got to be f.u.c.kin' s.h.i.+tting me.” Pause then, ”This can't happen now.” A very short pause then, ”I'm tellin' you, this cannot f.u.c.kin'