Page 3 of Wild Daddy

"No actually. I’ve done neither. Nineteen years of playing it safe," I whisper, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Always doing what's expected, what's smart. Calculating, assessing, making safe choices based on data or what my parents tell me to do." I rise up on my toes, my nose barely to his chin. "Tonight, I want to do something stupid."

For a moment, he doesn't move. Just studies my face like he's memorizing it, his breathing picking up speed. Then, without breaking eye contact, he lifts the glass of whiskey to his tipping it back, his throat moving in a way that makes me feel weak.

His eyes stay pinned on mine as he sets it down on a table against the wall with a quiet click, and then his hands are on me—one cupping my cheek, the other sliding around to the small of my back. A rough thumb rasps over my lower lip.

"Little girl looking for trouble all dressed up in pink with a little champagne courage?”

The endearment should offend me. Instead, it sends heat spiraling through my belly and the tendons around my knees seem to soften into overcooked noodles. I nod, not trusting my voice. My calves start to cramp from being on my toes but I don’t want to lower myself. I don’t want to retreat.

He clicks his tongue on his top teeth as his brow furrows, nostrils flare. "Then let me do this right."

I am going to ask what that means, but before the full thought can form, sis mouth is on mine, and the world explodes into a cacophony of sensations I am woefully unprepared for. This isn't the tentative, fumbling kiss I expected. This is a master class in kissing. His lips are firm and warm, moving against mine with a confidence that turns my windpipe into a pinprick.

By the time his tongue sweeps across my lower lip, I’m ready. His tongue pushes deeper as I fist the fabric of his shirt in my hands to keep from toppling over backwards.

There’s a slight sting from the whiskey left in his mouth, like everything dangerous and forbidden I've ever been warned away from. His beard scrapes against my skin, leaving a pleasant burn that will probably show tomorrow, and I don't care. I want the mark, want proof this moment really happened.

When he finally pulls back, I'm breathing hard, my lips tingling. His hand moves to the back of my neck, hard and steadying as my heels come back down to earth.

He’s just staring at me with those wild blue eyes, and I see something shift in his expression. As though he’s processing as well.

He clears his throat, "That was..." He trails off on a long exhale through his nose.

"A mistake," I finish, my fingers flying up to press on my still warm lips, reality crashing back in with sobering force. Oh God, I've just thrown myself at a complete stranger in a bathroom. In a ruffled pink dress like a horrible 80’s movie. So many germs, so many ways this could go dangerously wrong. “Stranger danger.” I mumbles as I stumble back, the edge of the sink counter biting through the layers of chiffon into my butt.

I grab my bouquet and champagne glass, backing around him in a wide circle my heart lodged in my throat. "Thank you for the…experience... but I really should get back to the reception."

He straightens slowly, watching me retreat with an unreadable expression. "Hmm. Didn’t like the kiss? I thought it was pretty damn good but you’re running away, so maybe I’m not reading the room very well."

"I'm not running. I'm making a strategic retreat before I do something even more embarrassing." I fumble for the doorhandle behind me. "Like offer to have your babies or ask for your number or something equally mortifying."

That earns me a low chuckle that does absolutely nothing to help my composure. "Sweetheart, that would be the best offer I’ve ever had."

I yank the door open, desperate for escape. "Good night, stranger. Thank you for... for being my first stupid decision."

I flee down the hallway without looking back, theswish swish swishof my dress mixing with the thumping of my pulse against my ear drums.

The wide-open doors to the reception hall are steps away where I can blend in and craw under a skirted table until tomorrow morning. Just as I’m stepping back in the annoying noise and chaos of the party, the gravely voice of the sexiest man on the planet knots its self around my middle.

"See you soon, little girl. No where you can run I won’t find you," but that's impossible.

I'm never going to see him again. He doesn’t fit into anything in my well-planned world and I’ve done something crazy for once. That’s enough to last me a decade.

Or two.

Two

Cade

Her flavor is still on my lips, and I know I'm completely fucked.

Not the good kind of fucked—though watching that sweet little journalism student fall apart under my hands definitely qualifies. No, this is a "the universe has a sick sense of humor" kind of fucked.

The man who never finished high school, who swore off ever setting foot in another academic building the rest of his life, just had a life-changing moment with a girl who seems to have more book smarts than I’ve had nights spent outdoors and I’m about to spend three days in the wilderness with her.

I should have left the Wildfire Mountain Lodge reception the second I dropped off business cards with Martha. Should have taken my free whiskey and headed home.

Martha called me at the shop this afternoon about a big city crowd from Ann Arbor that would be at the lodge. Translation: rich kids who think nature is an Instagram opportunity and have daddy's credit card to prove it. Easy money, if I can stomachlistening to them explain how their weekend hiking in Traverse City totally prepares them for "real wilderness."

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