(Wilder Adventures, #1)
Publication date: May 20th 2021
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Romance
Synopsis:
This tent is too small for the both of us. And I like it that way.
Gabe
I was minding my business. Literally. I promised my dad I’d take care of the Wilder family adventure business in our little Oregon town of Rush Creek, which also means looking out for my mom, my sister, and my rowdy co-workers, AKA my brothers.
Now the business is in trouble. Overnight, Rush Creek has become a spa-and-wedding destination, and the new tourists aren’t interested in getting dirty—or at least not in the woods.
Then Lucy comes to town, all blond hair and silky blouses and spike heels. It’s her job to give Wilder Adventures a makeover. Camping to glamping, rafting to paddle board yoga, fishing trips to girls’ night sunset cruises. If she gets her way, Wilder Adventures will become Wilder Romantic Adventures.
Lucy hates small towns, getting messy, and anything involving the woods or the water—which pretty much makes her Not My Type.
That doesn’t explain why when I see her, I can’t look away. Why when I touch her, I can’t stop. And why, even though I know no one can talk a city girl into small town life, I’m still trying.
She’s driving me wild. All I can do is make her wilder.
Excerpt
I’ve been giving Lucy a hard time, but the truth is, she’s doing great. She’s a fish out of water, but she never balks at anything that needs to be done, in or out of the woods.
Right now, she’s doing her damnedest to start a fire using flint and steel, and even though she’s probably struck them together a hundred times without success, she’s still doggedly trying. Everyone else has a passable fire going, even the ironically bearded Iggy.
I kneel beside her and hold out my hands.
“I will never live this down, will I?” she asks.
“Probably not.”
Clark calls from the other side of the clearing. “Luce. You want to try one of the drills?”
Clark fashioned two drills, a hand-drill and a bow drill, to demonstrate how rubbing wood inside a groove can start a fire. He brings them over to where Lucy is crouched, shoulders slumped, and offers them to her.
“You want me to demonstrate again?” he asks.
“I got this,” I tell him.
He cocks his head, considering me. I give him a shut the hell up brotherly look. He retreats, smirking.
Yeah, I know. I don’t usually act this way around women. Any women. And I know I’m going to hear about it later.
But I can’t stay away from Lucy. Like earlier, when I saw her struggling with the water collecting. I’m a fixer—it’s who I am. And those knots needed fixing.
It was a bonus that I got to wrap my body around hers.
Double bonus that she wriggled herself back against me, just a little bit. Like we were both trying to pretend it wasn’t happening.
She got away with the pretending a hell of a lot better than I did.
Here I am again, Mr. Fixer, with the fire-starter.
I still have ulterior motives, too. Not gonna lie. I like being her hero—I have since that first day with the ducks. Sometimes, like when I was cooking fish the other night, or when I was building my shelter earlier, I catch her watching me. With wonder in her eyes.
I’ve had women look at me that way before. But it’s different with her. Having someone I admire so much look at me like that cracks me open.
I feel like I’d do almost anything for that look in her eyes.
Plus, I like to mess with her.
“So, look, you want to put the drill rod in the opening, here—” I murmur. “And then apply just the right amount of pressure.”
I meet her eyes. They’re wide. Her cheeks are pink, too.
“You’re doing that on purpose.”
“Of course I’m doing it on purpose. I’m making a point. It’s all about the friction. And the technique.”
“Gabe,” she grumbles, but she traps her soft lower lip between her teeth, and her breath is quick.
“All that rubbing,” I murmur.
I watch the flush cover her throat, and hope the way I’m squatting conceals my raging erection.
“What’s basically happening here is that the two pieces of wood stop knowing where one ends and the other starts. Their molecules mix. And that’s combustion. Heat. Flame.”
On that note, the wood smolders and I tease it to life with my breath, adding tinder, fanning the flames.
Of course, I narrate what I’m doing, too, checking to make sure she’s with me.
The flush, and the way she’s torturing that soft lip, tells me she is.
“What did I say?” I tell her. “Stick with me, and you’ll be just fine.”
“Or dead from sexual frustration,” she mutters.
I grin. “Stay patient, baby.”
“You know I only brought one change of underpants, right?”
“I can’t help it if you underestimated me,” I tell her.
She turns a shade pinker, and I get to test out how hard it’s possible to become without being touched.
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