Woodsman: A Bad Boy Romance

  Woodsman

  Abby Brooks

  Wren Williams

  Little Bird Publishing, LLC

  Contents

  Also by Abby Brooks/Wren Williams

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  Also by Abby Brooks/Wren Williams

  Copyright © 2016 by Abby Brooks

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For my Bill, all my reasons for all my things.

  Also by Abby Brooks/Wren Williams

  Bad, Bad Prince: A Royal Bad Boy Romance

  Woodsman: A Bad Boy Romance

  Written As Abby Brooks

  The Moore Brothers Series

  Blown Away (Ian and Juliet)

  Carried Away (James and Ellie)

  Swept Away (Harry and Willow)

  Break Away (Lilah and Cole)

  Love Is…

  Love Is Crazy (Dakota & Dominic)

  What Happened in Vegas (Dakota & Dominic’s Wedding)

  Love Is Beautiful (Chelsea & Max)

  Blissed Out (Chelsea & Max’s Wedding)

  Love Is Everything (Maya & Hudson)

  Chapter One

  The pounding bass, the lights strobing and pulsing around the club, the many conversations held at full volume and raucous laughter, it’s all too much for my whiskey-muddled brain. I need a quiet moment. Like now. Staggering to my feet, I grab my purse and twiddle my fingers at my surprised friends.

  “I’ll be right back,” I slur, smearing a smile across my face and hoping I look polite enough.

  Ali, my best friend in the whole wide world, lifts an eyebrow. “You can’t leave. You’re the birthday girl.” She sounds even further down the whiskey path than I am.

  With a shake of my head and a toss of my thick, red hair, I saunter towards the front door of Tantra, the hottest club here in LA. And right now, by hot, I mean it’s sweltering in here. Too many people sucking up all the oxygen. Of course, the same could be said for LA itself. Give me the wide open skies any time. I don’t know how Ali can stand it out here in the city. As much as I love seeing her, I’m already looking forward to going home to Wistful, Wyoming and taking a deep breath of clean air.

  Digging through my purse, I push through the front doors into the muggy night. A breeze brushes against the sweat on my forehead and whispers in the little wisps of hair curling at my temples. Even the streets here are crowded. Not a quiet moment to be found anywhere. There’s an alley just at the corner of the building and I head towards it, pulling out the unopened box of cigarettes I bought just for tonight. I don’t actually smoke, but I do when I drink whiskey. It’s something I picked up from my Nana, who smokes like a chimney and goes through Maker’s Mark like it’s water.

  By the time I turn the corner, I’ve got a cigarette free from the pack and have a lighter to the tip, cupping my hand around the flame to protect it from the wind. I take a long drag—the cherry glowing red and hot in the darkened alley—and pull the thing from my lips to exhale. I’ll be ashamed of myself when I sober up, but right now, it mingles with the taste of alcohol on my tongue and I feel like I’m home sitting with Nana on the porch of our ancient homestead.

  But none of that matters right now because deeper into the alley, there’s a man. He’s wearing a suit, his dark hair cropped close to his head, the speckle of stubble peppering his jawline visible under the light of one dim bulb filtering down in a yellow haze.

  But, still none of that matters.

  Because what really has my attention is the gun he has pointed down the alley towards a man running frantically, arms and legs wind-milling, looking over his shoulder as he turns the corner, stumbles, and disappears.

  The man in the suit lowers the gun and I take a step back, tripping over my high heels in a clatter of curse words and held breath. He whirls, lifting the weapon a fraction of an inch before he sees me and drops it to his side.

  “Walk away, little girl,” he says, his voice thick and heavy like stone grinding against stone. He flips the tails of his suit coat up and tucks his gun into his waistband.

  I should do just what he says. Turn around and head right back into the club, find Ali, and drown away this memory in a whiskey-soaked celebration of my twenty-first. But I don’t. I start towards him, my heels clicking on the pavement like some kind of battle cry. I’m a warrior, a tigress, a curious little nymph, emboldened by the whiskey in my veins.

  “Are you okay?” I ask the stranger. My voice sounds young and weak in the wake of what I’ve just seen. I take another drag on the cigarette as the first few drops of rain fall onto my face.

  The stranger hesitates, glances in the direction of the running man, and shrugs. “I am now.”

  I’ve closed the distance between us and am standing just in front of him. He’s bigger than I thought he was and it sends my heart off like a rabbit in the grass. His jawline is harsh and angry, his eyes hard like slate and just as gray, like clouds before a storm. Everything about him is darker and rougher than I’m used to in a man. And maybe that’s part of it. I’m not used to men. The few fumbling experiences I’ve had have all been with boys.

  “I guess it would be dumb of me to ask you for your name,” I say and take another drag on the cigarette, hiding behind the fact that I feel a little more bad with it in my hand. Like I really am the kind of girl who takes turns down dark alleys and talks to strange men in her short, black dress and red, fuck-me heels.

  The stranger grabs my cigarette and takes a long draw, his lips wrapping around the filter right where my own lips were just a moment ago. “It would be dumb to ask my name, but seems like you’re all about making bad decisions tonight. A smart girl would have turned around and walked away like she was told.” He hands me back the cigarette and I place my lips right where his just were.

  “Does that mean you’re going to tell me?” I lift one shoulder and tilt my head. “Your name?”

  The man just shakes his head and looks over his shoulder.

  “It’s my birthday,” I say, sensing his need to leave and totally wanting him to stay.

  He smiles down at me and it’s heavy with sadness and regret. “Lemme guess,” he says, running a hand through his too-short hair. “You’re twenty-one and new to the city. Ready to fuck your way to the top of Hollywood’s A-list if you have to.”

  I purse my lips. He couldn’t be more wrong about me if he tried. “Yes and no.” I suck on the cigarette and then throw it to the ground. “You got the age right, anyway. I’m only visiting here. Home is Wistful, Wyoming.”

  He steps in close and my stomach goes crazy, nerves and adrenaline dancing around in there like nobody’s business. I think he’s going to kiss me. And if he does, I’m not going to stop him. In fact, I’m going to do everything I can to entice him.

  “Happy birthday,” he murmurs, so close I can feel the heat from his body along the entire length of mine.

  I angle my face towards his, hoping he gets the hint and takes what I’m offering. I don’t have to wait long. His lips brush mine, delicate at first, despite the rough stubble around his mouth. Electricity courses through my body on a one-way
trip down through my core that lands between my legs. I breathe him in—expensive cologne and gun oil—and taste my cigarette on his tongue when it darts out to meet mine.

  He brings his hands to my waist, draws me in, and I soften against his hard body. Maybe it’s the drink, maybe it’s the man, maybe it’s a combination of the two, but I don’t even pause to question what I’m doing. Even though this is so wrong on so many levels and I should pull away and head back inside while I still have my dignity, I’m thrilled by all this. His touch, his roughness, hell the fucking danger in and of itself.

  Hands roaming my curves, the man backs me up towards the wall of the club, lifting my skirt and squeezing my ass and thighs. His kiss grows more frantic, his hands more demanding, and the hard length of his cock presses into my hip. It turns me on like crazy, feeling his distinct manliness, the evidence of how much power I have over him. At the same time, I find myself growing embarrassed by my own lack of experience. A blush lights my cheeks on fire and the cool rain dribbling down soothes the heat in them.

  I pull my mouth from his and look down towards my shoulder. “There’s something you should know,” I manage, breathily, already missing his taste. “I’ve never done this before.”

  The man smiles. “Not one to fuck strange men in strange places, are you?”

  “No. Not really,” I say and finally meet his eyes. “But that’s not what I meant.” I swallow hard and hit him with the embarrassing truth. “I’m a virgin.”

  I swear, I feel his dick pulse against me. “Do you want me to stop?”

  There’s a moment of just the two of us staring at each other, his deep gray eyes locked on mine. The rain begins in earnest, dropping down onto my upturned face and plastering my hair to my forehead. My answer comes unbidden.

  “No.”

  And it’s the truth. I don’t want him to stop. I want my first time to be with a stranger in a dark alley. I want him to fuck me against the wall in the rain. I want to be taken by a real man, not by some inexperienced and fumbling boy, too entranced with his own dick to worry about me.

  “Good,” says the stranger. “Because I wasn’t going to.”

  He lifts my skirt and lowers my panties so I can step out of them, careful not to catch my heel in the delicate lace. I hold them in a little ball in my hand so the rain won’t get them wet.

  “Spread your legs,” he says, and I do.

  Using the flat of his thumb, he draws lazy circles on my clit, dipping inside my folds and lifting an eyebrow when he discovers just how wet I am for him. Electricity courses through me, my hips jerking and bucking at his touch. I moan and close my eyes; it feels so good. I could lose myself to this moment, melt into him forever.

  His hand disappears and the tiny clink of metal against metal sends goosebumps rippling down my spine, the buckle of his belt undone. My eyes snap open and I focus on what he’s doing, his hands at his button and then at his zipper. Dipping into his pants and pulling out his dick. Thunder rolls off in the distance, and around the corner, someone standing outside the club shrieks and then giggles. The man lifts my leg, angling the crown of his dick towards my opening.

  He pauses and my lips part before he slowly slides into me, stretching me in a way I’ve never been stretched before. Filling me. Completing me. There’s a moment of pain and my whole body tenses. He gives me a moment to adjust before he begins moving, slowly sliding himself in and out of me. I can feel his whole length, pushing against my inner walls and a whole new world opening up before me.

  “Damn, baby. You’re so sweet,” he says, pumping into me, gaining speed. The brick digs into the skin on my back and scrapes against my ass.

  My breath speeds and I lock my gaze on his, needing the comfort of his eyes in this strange new experience where it feels like everything I know about myself is changing. My muscles clench, tightening on his cock and a whimper passes my still-parted lips and rain runs down my face. He pounds into me a few more times before he pulls out and spins me around.

  “Hands on the wall,” he orders.

  The brick is cool on my palms. I stick my ass out, desperate to have him fill me again. He leans in, whispers in my ear. “I’m gonna make you come so hard, no other man will satisfy you for the rest of your life.” He slides himself back into me and I moan. “A sweet thing like you needs the bar set high.”

  He fucks me from behind, setting a frantic pace, and my orgasm explodes through me. My inner muscles clench on his dick and never in all my life have I felt such a strong connection to another human being. He grunts with exertion and then rams into me, once, twice, a third time before shuddering and falling still. Still sheathed inside me, he leans forward, swipes my hair away from my face, and kisses my neck. It’s the most intimate moment of my life and I’m sharing it with a man I’ll never see again.

  Slowly, he pulls out of me. The rain covers the sound of his zipper, but I know he’s putting himself back to rights. I spin and lean against the wall, watching him.

  “Happy birthday, little girl,” he says and runs a finger across my cheekbone.

  “Skye. Skye LaRue.” For some reason, I need him to know my name. “And I’m not a little girl.”

  The man shakes his head. “Not anymore, you’re not.” He takes a step away from me and then turns. “Piece of advice for you, Skye LaRue. Wherever you came from, go back before this place eats you alive.”

  With that, he walks away, leaving me to pull up my panties in a dark alley, hair and clothes soaked by the rain, while his cum leaks out of me and drips down my leg.

  Chapter Two

  Three years later.

  “Hey Skye?” Ali calls from her place at the counter of Culpepper’s Pages, the bookstore she opened when she came home to Wistful, Wyoming last year.

  “Yeah?”

  “How much anal is too much anal?”

  My eyes go wide. “Ali Culpepper!” I put down the books I’m supposed to be organizing on a shelf in the back and stride up to the front of the store. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I downloaded one of those romance books you’re always going on about and hot damn!” She uses her brand new Kindle to fan her face. “It’s good, but like, I’m really surprised by how graphic they get.”

  “Which one are you reading?” I hop up on the counter and take the Kindle out of her hands, turning to the cover page. “This one?” I point to the image on the screen, eyebrows lifted. “Of all the books I suggested, you went with this one first…”

  “You know me. I like to jump straight into the deep end. No fear for Ali Culpepper.” She snatches the Kindle back from me. “Like I said, it’s good. I’m just surprised by all the naughty bits.” She waggles her eyebrows and goes back to reading.

  “You sure that’s a good idea? Reading an eBook right here in the store where you’re trying to sell physical books?”

  Ali looks around the completely empty room, pointedly studying the empty arm chairs in the cozy reading nooks nestled between the bookshelves she spent so much time designing last year. “Because there are so many people here to shock with my digital revolution.” She shrugs. “Besides, I’d just be happy to share the love of reading with someone. Anyone.”

  After growing up together here in Wistful, Ali chose to go to college in Los Angeles, saying she craved the energy and attitude of city life. The moment she graduated, she came straight home and used her shiny new business degree to open her bookstore, which may or may not have been the brightest of decisions considering that about twenty-five people live in our little town. I still think something happened to her out in LA that sent her back home to me, but she hasn’t said anything and I’m not going to push her. She’ll tell me when she’s ready.

  “So, you like this stuff?” she asks, pointing to her Kindle. “All dirty like that? Who would have thought virginal Skye La Rue got off on reading about bad boys doing dirty things to good girls…” She trails off, shaking her head, and then winks at me. “Of course, given your one a
nd only foray into sex, I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised that you like the dirty stuff.”

  I ignore her comment. She never did understand why I did what I did that night at Tantra, which I don’t hold against her because I’ve never understood it either. What was I thinking, having unprotected sex with a stranger? With my back pressed against a brick wall in a dark alley for heaven’s sake? And let’s not forget the fact that he had a gun pointed at some guy right before I turned the corner.

  It’s a miracle I didn’t end up pregnant or diseased or shot. But consider that lesson well-learned because my first turned out to be my only. Not only has life just been too busy to get involved with anyone, but apparently I can’t be trusted to make good decisions around bad men.

  “Well, I didn’t start out in the deep end like you, my friend,” I say, in answer to Ali’s question. “For me, it started when I was twelve. I would sneak out of bed, grab a glass of Nana’s whiskey, and creep back into my room with one of her Harlequins where I got drunk and turned on, feeling all naughty. It’s sort of evolved from there.”

  Ali glances towards the front door, her gaze settling on the empty street and the long shadows cast by the afternoon sun. “Is that why you never date anyone?” she asks. “You’re getting all you need from your books?”

  “Well, no real man could live up to the expectations set by my book boyfriends.” I grin and hop off the counter. “Besides, I’m too busy keeping up with the homestead now that Nana’s passed away.”

  Plus, not only am I completely ashamed about my first and only sexual experience, but I can’t imagine anyone from around here living up to the standards set for me by my tall, dark, and handsome stranger that night. But I won’t admit that to Ali. That particular conversation never ends pleasantly. She thinks I need to branch out. It doesn’t matter how many times I tell her I’m too busy for that kind of stuff, she always pushes for me to find someone. Preferably a someone who has a name he’s willing to give me and who doesn’t carry a gun.