Unintentionally Yours: Instalove Curvy Girl Mountain Man: A BBW Romance

CHAPTER ONE

. . .

Layla Bryant stared at her reflection, barely recognizing the woman gazing back at her from the full-length mirror. Tension thrummed through her body. The satin wedding gown clung to her generous curves in all the wrong places. Leave it to her mother to pick a dress that made her look like an overstuffed satin pillow.

Layla sighed, smoothing her hands over the gown’s bodice, grimacing as the corset beneath bit into her flesh. The dress—like everything else in her life—was designed for a woman half her size. A woman with a metabolism that didn’t go on strike at the mere mention of the word “diet.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take it in a bit more, dear?” Her mother’s voice cut through Layla’s thoughts like a poorly wielded seam ripper. “It’s not too late.”

“It’s fine, Mom.” Layla forced a smile, meeting her mother’s critical gaze in the mirror. “Really. I don’t want to risk popping a seam if I so much as sneeze.”

The other woman tutted, fussing with the gown’s trailing hem. “I just want you to look your best, sweetie. Randall won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”

Layla forced a smile. That was the problem, wasn’t it? Randall never really saw her – the real her. To him, she was an accessory, an agreeable ornament to decorate his arm at corporate functions. She wanted passion, adventure, a love to set her blood on fire. Not this pale imitation of a fairy tale.

“And yet, here I am,” she thought bitterly, “about to marry Randall Montgomery, mattress king of Sheridan, Wyoming.”

She turned to face her mother, placing her hands on the older woman’s shoulders. “I appreciate all your help, Mom. Truly. But I think I just need a moment alone before the ceremony, okay? To collect my thoughts.”

“And my courage,” she added silently.

Disappointing her mother was nothing new for Layla. It seemed she’d been doing it all her life. From majoring in art history instead of following in her father’s footsteps to become a doctor to using her grandmother’s inheritance to open a gallery showcasing underappreciated artists. She thought back to when she was sixteen and had refused to attend the debutante ball, choosing instead to volunteer at the local animal shelter. Her mother had been livid, ranting about how Layla was throwing away her future and would never find a suitable husband.

And then, of course, there was the continual disappointment of her weight. Her mother possessed a willowy, slender figure, and Layla…Layla had curves on top of her curves. While her mother was never intentionally cruel, Layla knew her curves disappointed her.

And, she thought with a harsh laugh, her curves had disappointed most of the men in her life. Randall, well, Randall was just indifferent. Would it shock her mother to know she’d never made love with Randall? Probably not.

“Of course, of course.” Her mother nodded. “I’ll just go check on your father. Make sure he hasn’t snuck off to the bar already.” She pressed a quick kiss to Layla’s cheek before bustling out of the bridal suite, a whirlwind of silk and Chanel No. 5.

The moment the door clicked shut behind her, Layla released a shuddering breath, trying to calm the riot of butterflies in her stomach. This was it. The moment she’d been dreading for months. The moment she would pledge her life to Randall Eustice Montgomery III, mattress king of Sheridan, Wyoming, in front of God, their families, and a hundred of their closest friends.

Randy. Steady, dependable Randy with his sensible haircut and his sensible job and his sensible plans for their sensible future together. Randy, who’d never once looked at her the way romance heroes looked at their heroines—like she was the sun, the moon, and the stars all rolled into one.

What was she doing? She couldn’t go through with this. Couldn’t resign herself to a life of lukewarm companionship and missionary position sex. She wanted passion, damn it. Adventure. Love that consumed her, body and soul.

Before she could second-guess herself, Layla kicked off her too-tight satin pumps and dashed over to her suitcase. She rummaged through the neatly folded clothes until she found what she was looking for—a pair of brand-new sneakers her mother had insisted she buy along with all the other clothing for her honeymoon. Jamming her feet into them, she snatched up her cell phone and shoved it into the hidden pocket of her gown.

Then, with a final glance at her abandoned bouquet, Layla strode over to the window and pushed it open. She hitched up her skirts, clambered gracelessly over the sill...and jumped.

Her less-than-elegant landing nearly toppled her into the hydrangea bushes below, but Layla quickly righted herself. With her heart pounding a fierce staccato against her ribs, she took off running towards the tree line behind the country club where her mother and Randy had insisted the wedding be held. The late afternoon sun beat down on her bare shoulders as she ran as fast as she could, her breath coming in short, sharp pants. Sweat prickled along her hairline, threatening to send the precarious up-do tumbling down her back. Still, she ran, determined to put as much distance as possible between herself and her unwanted groom.

But as she ran, doubts started to cloud her mind. What was she doing? What would people think? Layla could practically hear her mother’s disapproving voice ringing in her ears. Ladies didn’t run out on their own weddings. Ladies didn’t run, period—not unless someone was chasing them with an axe.

But she wasn’t a lady, was she? No matter how hard her mother tried to stuff her into that mold, Layla had never quite fit. She was too loud, too curvy, too prone to speaking her mind. Too much of everything, really.

Except, apparently, a backbone.

Layla’s steps slowed as the realization hit her. She’d done it. She’d finally worked up the nerve to call off the wedding, to take a stand for what she wanted. Granted, her timing could use some work, but...baby steps.

A slightly hysterical laugh bubbled up in Layla’s throat as she picked her way through the dense undergrowth that covered her escape route. The pristine satin of her gown snagged on a thorn bush, tearing a jagged hole near the hem. She couldn’t find it in herself to care.

The first fat raindrop hit Layla square on the nose, startling her out of her spiraling thoughts. She glanced up at the sky, only now noticing the ominous dark clouds gathering on the horizon.

Of course, it would rain on her wedding day. Even if she wasn’t still getting married.

As if on cue, the heavens opened. Icy sheets of rain pelted Layla from all angles, plastering the delicate fabric of her gown to her skin. She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering as she squinted through the deluge. There was nothing around her but trees and more trees. Just how long had she been running?

There. Just ahead, nestled between the trees. Was that...a cabin?

Layla surged forward, nearly weeping with relief. Shelter. Warmth.

***

Finn Brody paused on a narrow outcropping of rock, calloused fingers tightening around the battered grip of his camera as he surveyed the rugged terrain through the high-powered lens.

At over six feet of solid muscle, Finn cast an intimidating figure even against the vast backdrop of mountains. His body was a roadmap of scars and ridges, souvenirs from a decade spent in the most unforgiving warzones on earth. Each puckered furrow or pitted divot held a story - of sacrifice, suffering, and bloodshed.

Among them was the silver gash along the left side of his face, a ragged smile carved from his tanned cheek to his tightly-trimmed hairline. The legacy of a roadside bomb that had abruptly ended his military career several years earlier. That fateful explosion had nearly stolen his sight, along with any hopes of continuing his service. The fact that he could still see the grandeur before him was something he would never take for granted.

Now that his military career had ended, he lived on a secluded mountain in Sheridan, Wyoming. Far from civilization. Far from people. Alone. Which was precisely what he wanted. People made him nervous. People were dishonest.

But up here, he could escape the ghosts and memories that haunted him. Here, he had finally found a semblance of peace.

Finn rocked back on his heels to study the darkening horizon. The last fading rays of the afternoon sunlight were being swallowed by the cobalt shadows fast approaching. It was still early spring so storms were sometimes a guessing game. Rain or snow? Today, Finn thought it was just a heavy thunderstorm, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He packed up the rest of his gear and headed down the mountain.

He’d been watching a female wolf and her pups for several months. Today, he hadn’t spotted them. Probably because the wolf had more sense than him and had sensed the approaching storm. He kept his eyes peeled as he walked down the mountain. The wolf was elusive and careful, watching over her pups carefully. He had seen the male only a time or two before.

The wind picked up, rushing through the pines and carrying an array of scents. Finn inhaled; his attention caught by a shadowy overhang rimming the densely-timbered ravine...

There.

A darker shadow. A moving shadow that finally emerged as the unmistakable outline of a fully grown wolf. A massive predator loping silently through rocks and trees. The thick ruff of his slate-colored pelt conformed to every rippling muscle and sinew coiling his athletic body. Finn followed the sleek form with his camera, clicking away to capture the male’s dominating presence. Behind him was his mate. Her smaller legs carried her with the same fluid grace, perfectly adapted to the unforgiving terrain.

Behind the adults were two impossibly small bundles of animated fluff – the wolf pups. They yapped and frolicked bravely behind their mother and father. The wolves moved carefully through the forest, a family seemingly out for a hike.

An unaccustomed sense of wistfulness filled Finn. A family. Something he’d longed for once upon a time. Now that dream had been pushed so deep inside him, he wasn’t sure it would – could – ever see the light of day again. When he’d been injured, his fiancée had walked away without a backward glance.

Finn’s grip on his camera tightened as he continued to take pictures, despite his turbulent thoughts. Was he truly so different from the elusive male wolf? A hardened loner doomed to wander? Or could he, too, find the one to be his mate?

He shook away the thoughts as the wolves melted into the forest, seeming to disappear as suddenly as they had appeared. He pulled his weatherproof jacket tighter and trudged onward, leaning into the gusts that now whipped around him. He embraced the elements; having come to love whatever this mountain gave him.

***

By the time she reached the cabin, Layla was a breathless, bedraggled mess. But the sight of it made her breathe easier. It looked like something out of a fairytale. A very expensive fairytale, she thought, looking at the large logs and stone chimney. It wasn’t huge, but it appeared that money had not been an issue in its construction. She staggered up the wooden steps to the porch, her hair hanging now in sodden ropes around her face. Gathering the tattered remains of her dress, she raised a hand to knock...only to find the door already slightly ajar.

Layla hesitated, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. It was probably a bad idea to just waltz into a strange cabin in the middle of the woods. Horror movies had taught her that much. But the alternative—staying out here in the freezing rain with night fast approaching—was even less appealing.

Deciding to chance it, Layla pushed open the door and stepped inside. “Hello?” she called out, wincing as her voice echoed through the empty interior. “Is anyone home?”

Silence. Nothing but the steady patter of rain on the roof and the occasional groan as the wind rushed around the cabin. Well, she’d worry about the legality of breaking and entering later. Right now, she just wanted to be warm and dry. She bit her lip, thinking her next move might be even more adventuresome than running from the church.

Shutting the door behind her, she fumbled along the wall for a light switch, breathing a sigh of relief as warm, buttery light flooded the space, revealing a cozy living area straight out of Cabela’s catalog. It was giving off a very masculine vibe, a very Brawny Paper Towel Guy kind of vibe. Worn leather furniture clustered around a stone fireplace. She was surprised there were no hunting trophies adorning the walls. Instead, there were beautiful photographs of wildlife and landscapes. Layla ran an appreciative hand over the spines of the books lining the built-in shelves on either side of the fireplace. Lots of non-fiction. Biographies of adventurers and explorers. Books on the military, survival skills, and wildlife.

Her stomach chose that moment to emit an embarrassingly loud gurgle. Right. Food. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a proper meal, what with her mother insisting she needed to lose a few pounds before the big day. This morning, the scale had told her she’d failed in that objective.

Out of habit, she took off her sneakers before padding into the adjoining kitchen. She winched as the sodden hem of her dress left a trail of muddy water in its wake, mentally placing it on her growing list of things to deal with later. The space was spotless—gleaming countertops, shiny appliances, not so much as a dirty dish in the sink. Whoever owned this place clearly took pride in keeping things tidy.

Layla pulled open the refrigerator, finding a bounty inside. It was stuffed to bursting with fresh produce, various meats and cheeses, and even a few bottles of craft beer. Her gaze settled on the pantry next, hope flaring anew in her chest. She rummaged through the shelves, shoving aside boxes of protein bars and bags of trail mix until...eureka! Her hand closed around a can of sour cream and onion potato chips.

Layla popped the lid, practically salivating as the tangy aroma of artificial flavoring hit her nostrils. She snagged a chip, shoving the entire thing in her mouth with a blissful moan. She munched happily, savoring the treat. A giddy thought struck her as the salty, crispy snack melted on her tongue. What if this was fate? What if the owner of this cabin, with his excellent taste in chips, was her soulmate? Afterall, she felt as if she was trapped in some type of reverse fairytale? What princess ever ran away from the prince?

She snorted. The only thing Randall had in common with a fairytale prince was, not to be unkind, his two-dimensional personality. She promptly returned her wistful thoughts.

If only they were here now. And single. And interested. Minor details, she thought with a smile. Her first one of the day.

Munching contentedly, Layla resumed her exploration of the cabin until she almost tripped over her wedding gown. She was still wearing the ruined, waterlogged garment. The fabric was heavy and clammy against her skin.

“Oh, screw it,” she muttered. She reached for the zipper, having to contort her body into all sorts of unlikely positions as she attempted to wiggle free. Finally, the dress dropped to the hardwood floor in a soggy heap. Kicking it aside, she picked up her can of chips and continued down the long hallway. As she walked, she grew colder, still wearing her wet undergarments. She took off her thigh high stockings, throwing them to the floor before taking another few steps. Next, she removed the breath-stealing corset that had left red welts on her sides and breasts. Then her panties, and finally, her veil. Just outside the bathroom door, she stood naked, her wedding finery strown behind her like a weird line of flower petals. Maybe she could just burn them and pretend this day never happened.

She followed the hallway to the entrance of a bathroom at the very end. Double vanity, glass-enclosed shower, a claw-foot tub big enough to swim laps in... Clearly, the mystery owner had spared no expense.

Even though the tub looked like heaven, Layla chose the shower. She twisted the taps, sighing in relief as a cascade of steaming water burst from the rainfall showerhead.

Then she stepped under the spray with a blissful groan. The hot water sluiced over her skin, washing away the day’s grime—both literal and figurative. She rolled her neck, easing the tension from her shoulders as she savored the decadent heat. If this was her reward for jilting Randy at the altar, she’d make the same choice a hundred times over.

***

Finn entered the cabin barely ahead of the storm. Immediately, he secured his equipment and put up his outerwear. The smell of the chili he’d put on this morning permeated the air. He wasn’t much of a cook but could make a few dishes well.

The air was chilly inside the cabin. Going into the living area, he started the fire he’d laid out this morning. Immediately, the kindling came to life. He stayed there for a few moments until he could feed in larger pieces of wood, making sure the fire was well and truly burning.

Straightening, he walked into the kitchen to check on his supper. Immediately, his senses went on high alert. He back tracked his steps, wondering if he had missed something. From the corner of his eye, he saw white. A large lump of white. He walked over, warily kicking the fabric with the toe of his boot. The once white material was mixed with a great deal of mud. He bent down, picking it up cautiously.

“What the fucking hell?” In his hand was a wedding dress.

Finn’s dark green gaze swept the interior of his cabin. Everything seemed utterly ordinary at first glance. Then, his gaze landed on yet another white object. He looked down the hallway and, to his shock, saw a trail of feminine undergarments strown along the wooden floor.

He walked forward with silent steps. First came a forlorn pile of white stockings. A shredded pair of stockings. He frowned, seeing flecks of blood. He added them to the wedding dress draped over his arm. Still more daring intimates followed, leading him toward the bathroom door. To the thoroughly unraveled white corset lying limp and useless on the floor. His body hardened as he imagined the ample breasts it had struggled to contain.

Finn’s pulse thrummed in his temples as he stopped to retrieve the next to last final discard – a delicate scrap of lace and silk. Panties. He lifted them to his nose, taking in the delicate scent of his intruder. More blood rushed to his groin.

The bathroom door stood halfway open, steam filling the area with a white haze. At his feet was the last discarded item. A cast-off wedding veil. His grip convulsed around the gauzy material.

He had a runaway bride in his shower.

He couldn’t have been more surprised if a bear had entered his cabin and made itself at home.

His mind immediately thought of the fairytale his mother had read to his sister at night. Goldilocks and the Three Bears.

He gave a deep chuckle. This Goldilocks had taken a wrong turn somewhere and ended up in the big, bad wolf’s territory.

He didn’t believe in fairytales, but if he had his way, Goldilocks would definitely end up in his bed.