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

CHAPTER TWO

. . .

The soft sound of feminine humming reverberated beneath the running cascade of the shower’s spray. Finn’s interloper’s shape materialized. High, taut breasts with dusty semi-circles of arousal dotting their peaked tips. A lush hourglass figure with rolling waves of generously curved breasts and hips. A riot of damp curls nestled in the apex of her soft thighs.

Damn, she was a spectacular specimen of womanhood.

His body eagerly agreed, his erection pressing against the placket of his jeans with a bite of pain.

His appraisal continued as she arched beneath the warm spray, thrusting her breasts forward, her hips out. It took every ounce of his control not to strip and join her. His fingers tightened on the ball of silk he had in his hand.

“Looks like Goldilocks wandered into Papa Bear’s house.”

Layla yelped, whirling around so fast she nearly lost her footing on the slick tile as a low and distinctly masculine voice drawled from the bathroom doorway. The raspy tone washed over her, sending a cascade of tingles down her body – straight to her core. She clutched at the shower door as she took in the man standing just inside the bathroom, her white satin panties dangling from his finger.

He was huge. That was her first impression. Well over six feet, with shoulders broad enough to span the width of the doorframe. His dark hair was cut short, emphasizing the sharp angles of his face, and his eyes—a startling shade of green—glittered with barely leashed hunger.

But it was the scar that drew Layla’s gaze. A jagged silver line ran from his temple down to his jaw, like a bolt of lightning etched into his skin. It should have marred his features and rendered him less attractive, but somehow it only added to his dangerous allure.

“I, um...” Layla swallowed hard, suddenly, painfully aware of her nudity. She crossed one arm over her chest, the other she placed at the top of her thighs, trying in vain to shield herself from his penetrating stare. “I can explain?”

The corner of his mouth kicked up in a sardonic half-smile. “This ought to be good.”

Finn Brody had seen a lot of things in his thirty-odd years on God’s green earth. Warzones. Natural disasters. The inside of more than one enemy prison cell. But nothing could have prepared him for the sight currently gracing his bathroom.

A woman. A naked woman, to be precise—all lush curves and porcelain skin glistening with moisture as she stood under the spray of his showerhead. Her dark hair hung in damp tendrils around her heart-shaped face, brown eyes wide with a mix of shock and chagrin. If he was a gentleman, he’d hand her a towel. But no one had ever accused him of being a gentleman.

“Would you believe I’m a figment of your imagination?” the woman asked, a telltale flush staining the tops of the luscious breasts she was trying so hard to conceal. He wouldn’t be the one to tell her she’d failed.

“Darlin’, I assure you, if I were going to hallucinate a woman in my shower, she’d be a lot less chatty.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed as if taking his measure. “Wow. Rude much? Here I thought you might be my soulmate, what with your excellent taste in potato chips and all.”

Finn glanced at the can of sour cream and onion chips sitting on the vanity, a single brow arching toward his hairline. He walked over and picked it up, shaking it. Half empty. Go figure.

“I do have excellent taste in snack foods,” Finn agreed amiably. “What I don’t have is a penchant for strange women in wedding dresses…,” he held up the stained garment, “barging into my cabin uninvited.”

Layla sighed, momentarily letting her arms drop in apparent surrender...only to squeak and cross them back over her chest when the big man’s gaze roamed over her once again.

“Would you believe I took a wrong turn on my way to the reception?”

Finn bit back a smile despite himself. Scared and sassy. Quite a unique combination. He had a feeling the woman in his shower was equally exceptional. He gave himself a swift mental kick. Now was not the time for his libido to wake up and take an interest.

“Not likely, Goldi. Last I checked, the Ritz-Carlton hadn’t opened a branch in my backyard.”

“Pity,” she said with a tremulous attempt at a smile, “I could really go for a mint on my pillow tonight.”

His thoughts immediately flashed to the night ahead. Her. In his bed.

Eating a mint wasn’t the image that took root in his mind.

“I know how this must look,” she began, worrying at her plump bottom lip with her teeth again, a habit that was strangely endearing, “but I swear I didn’t mean to intrude. I just...I needed a place to regroup. To hide out for a bit until I can figure out what I’m going to do.”

Finn studied her for a long moment, taking in the exhaustion bruising the delicate skin beneath her eyes, the minute tremors wracking her frame. She looked like a spooked deer ready to bolt at any second. Which made every bit of his alpha maleness roar to life. To protect. To defend. To do exactly what he had done for most of his life. But, he realized sharply, there was another layer to those instincts now.

To possess. To dominate. To take.

His body hardened at the images those thoughts evoked.

“Tell me your name. Or should I just keep calling you…Goldilocks?” His voice emerged as guttural and unrecognizable as his hungry gaze raked once more across every inch of her curvy form. She might be a mystery, this disheveled runaway who had turned up on his doorstep like magic, but she was also clearly in trouble. And if there was one thing Finn Brody couldn’t resist, it was a damsel in distress.

He probably should send her on her way. It’s what any sane, rational person would do in this situation. Finn was neither of those things. Hadn’t been for a very long time.

The woman blinked at him, suspicion warring with cautious hope on her expressive face. “You’re not going to call the cops on me?”

His brows lifted. “And tell them what? That I found Goldilocks in my shower, eating me out of house and home?” Finn shook his head, a ghost of a smile playing at the edges of his mouth. “Nah. I’ll hear you out first, then decide if the authorities need to be involved.”

She swallowed audibly, fingers flexing around her upper arms. “I... Thank you. That’s very decent of you, Mr...?”

“Brody. Finn Brody.”

“Finn,” she repeated as if testing the weight of it on her tongue. “I’m Layla. Layla Bryant.”

“Layla. Unusual name. Pretty. It suits you.”

She flushed at the compliment. “It was my grandmother’s name. She was…unique.”

“Then I think you inherited more than her name.” He straightened. “Now, I’ll leave you to finish your shower. Alone. Unless, of course, you’d like me to join you.”

“I appreciate the invitation, but I’m done. Now, if you could just hand me a towel…”

Finn smirked. “What’s the matter, Goldilocks? Afraid you might like it?”

Arrogant bastard, Layla thought, even though she was in the wrong, stealing into his house. Two could play at that game.

“Hardly. I just don’t make a habit of showering with strange men. Especially ones who barge in without knocking.”

“Knocking, huh? Even in my own house?” He snagged a folded towel from a nearby shelf and held it out, his gaze never leaving hers. “Here. Why don’t you dry off, and then we can continue this conversation with you wearing more than suds and sass.”

Layla snatched the towel, careful not to let their fingers touch, even though he’d probably memorized every ounce of her naked flesh by now. Even though she was tempted to take him up on his blatant invitation. She’d wanted adventure and passion, right? And she instinctively knew this man could provide both in spades.

He turned to leave, pausing with one hand on the doorframe. “Oh, and Layla?”

She glanced up at him, a single dark brow arched in question.

“Don’t even think about running off with the rest of my potato chips. They’re my addiction.” He gave her another hot look from those devasting eyes. “Or one of them.”

With that, Finn sauntered out of the bathroom, leaving a wide-eyed Layla gaping after him. As he strode down the hall towards the living room, Finn debated calling the sheriff but quickly decided against it. Whoever Layla Bryant was, she looked like she needed help from whatever she was running from. Or whatever was chasing her.

And, if Finn Brody had a weakness, it was a damsel in distress.

It looked as though his quiet, solitary getaway to the mountains just got a whole lot more interesting. He’d come here to escape, to clear his head and try to put the jagged pieces of himself back together after his final disastrous mission. Somehow, he had a feeling that the beautiful

Layla was about to blow those plans all to hell. The question was...would he survive the fallout this time?

Layla stared at the bathroom door long after it clicked shut behind Finn, her pulse still galloping like a runaway racehorse. She pressed a trembling hand to her chest, feeling the erratic thump of her heart against her palm.

Holy cannoli, that man was potent. One smoldering look from those green eyes, and she was ready to combust on the spot, never mind the fact that she was naked, dripping wet, and apparently trespassing in his home.

Layla giggled; the sound tinged with a note of hysteria. Of all the cabins in all the woods, she just had to stumble into the one belonging to a modern-day mountain man with shoulders wide enough to carry all of her burdens.

The universe had a twisted sense of humor.

Shaking her head, Layla began to dry off. She paused, inhaling the clean, woodsy scent clinging to the soft fabric. It smelled like him. Like pine and earth and something uniquely masculine.

Down girl, she scolded herself, wrapping the towel snugly around her body. The last thing she needed was to develop a schoolgirl crush on the man whose home she’d invaded. She was in enough trouble as it was.

As she’d told Finn, she just needed a little time to regroup. But she wasn’t sorry she’d done it. Her eyes widened. She’d really done it. After months of cold feet and second thoughts, of pasting on a smile and pretending everything was fine, Layla had finally reached her breaking point. And now here she was, naked and shivering in a stranger’s bathroom.

Not exactly a Hallmark moment.

She gave herself a pep talk as she usually did when faced with decisive moments in her life. You got this, Bryant. Just a couple of hours, some dry clothes, and maybe a hot meal if you’re lucky, and then you can figure out your next move. Make a plan.

And if that plan happened to include a certain broad-shouldered mountain man with a chiseled jaw and brawny biceps she wanted to sink her teeth into…

Nope. She couldn’t let her naughty girl out now. Could she?

Layla stepped out of the shower...and promptly cried out as pain lanced through her left foot. She glanced down, wincing at the myriad cuts and scrapes marring her skin from mid-calf to ankle. Apparently, traipsing through the woods in nothing but a designer wedding gown wasn’t the brightest idea she’d ever had.

“You’re hurt.”

Finn’s voice, low and slightly accusing, cut through the hazy fog of pain clouding Layla’s mind. Her gaze snapped up to find him filling the doorway again, arms crossed over his broad chest as he studied her with an inscrutable expression.

“Do you always sneak up on people like that?” she demanded, hitching the towel higher on her breasts. Honestly, for such a big man, he moved with the silent grace of a jungle cat. It was unnerving.

One raven brow arched towards his hairline. “This is my cabin, sweetheart. My bathroom.” He gestured towards the vanity bench in clear invitation. Or maybe it was an order. “Take a seat.”

Layla hesitated, but what choice did she really have? Her foot throbbed in time with her racing heart, and she didn’t relish trying to hobble away with any modicum of dignity. Gingerly, she limped over to the bench and perched on the edge, tucking the tails of the towel primly beneath her thighs.

Finn crouched before her, reaching beneath the sink to retrieve a large first aid kit. He flipped open the latch and rummaged through the contents before extracting a tube of antiseptic cream and an elastic bandage. His large, blunt fingers were surprisingly gentle as he inspected her various cuts and scrapes, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Layla watched him work, oddly mesmerized by the play of muscles beneath his bronzed skin. This close, she could see crisscrossed lines at the corners of his eyes and even a strand or two of silver hair at his temples. She tucked her hands beneath her thighs, fighting the sudden urge to run her fingers through the short strands.

Awareness prickled along her nerve endings, hot and sharp and completely unexpected. She’d never been this instantly attracted to someone before. It was unsettling. Thrilling.

Arousing.

Ridiculous, she scolded herself firmly. Getting the hots for her reluctant host was the last thing she needed right now. She had to focus on figuring out what she was going to do with her life now that she wasn’t going to be the mattress queen, not on how prettily Finn’s lashes fanned against his cheekbones as he bent over her injured foot.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted, the words tumbling from her lips without permission. “For barging in on you like this. I swear I’m not some kind of klepto bridezilla with a chip addiction. I just...I needed a place to hide out, just for a little while.”

Finn paused, a smear of antiseptic cream glistening on his fingertip. Slowly, he raised his gaze to meet hers, green eyes glinting with an emotion she couldn’t quite name.

“And you thought running into the middle of the woods was a good place to do that?”

Layla shrugged helplessly. “I wasn’t exactly thinking straight at the time.”

“Clearly.”

The dry humor in his tone startled a laugh from her lips. The sound bounced off the bathroom tile, bright and effervescent and so at odds with the weighted tension thickening the air between them. Finn’s features softened almost imperceptibly, the hard line of his mouth gentling into the barest hint of a smile.

He finished bandaging her foot in silence, his touch warm. When he was done, he sat back on his heels and fixed her with a penetrating stare.

“So, I have an official runaway bride on my hands?” He looked at the items that now lay on the bathroom floor. Her dress and veil, thigh-high white stockings, killer corset, and…white silk panties.

Did his gaze linger on them a little two long? Layla thought maybe they did. Which, of course, made those dirty thoughts come crashing back.

She sighed, picking at a loose thread on the edge of the towel. “It looks that way.”

As if sensing that was all she felt like saying, Finn pushed to his feet and extended a hand in her direction. “C’mon. Let’s find you some clothes before you catch your death of cold.”

Right. Clothes. Because she was still very much naked beneath the damp towel.

And damp in a certain place that had nothing to do with the rain or the shower and everything to do with the breathtakingly handsome man standing before her.

Flushing at her wayward thoughts, Layla placed her hand in his larger one and let him tug her upright. Her breath hitched as the motion brought her flush against his chest, the hard planes of his body burning through the thin cotton barrier between them.

They stared at one another for a brief, breath stealing moment, then Finn’s gaze dropped to her parted lips. His voice, when he managed to speak, was little more than a growl. “My bedroom is through that door. Take whatever you need.”

With a suddenness that left her breathless, he stalked from the bathroom, leaving Layla to sag against the vanity, her knees weak and her body throbbing with a different kind of pain.

Oh boy. She was in trouble. The good kind of trouble, maybe, but trouble nonetheless.

Shaking her head, Layla pushed away from the counter and limped towards the door. She needed to get dressed, to get her head on straight. To focus on her next steps instead of the way Finn’s calloused hands felt against her bare skin.

But first...she had a text to send. She couldn’t bring herself to talk to her mother just yet, but she could send a text. She might disagree with her overzealous parent ninety-nine percent of the time, but she didn’t want her to worry – well, worry any more than she already was.