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

CHAPTER FIVE

. . .

Layla wandered down the hall, her mind still reeling from the charged moment with Finn. Her skin felt too tight, every nerve ending alight and buzzing with restless, reckless energy she couldn’t seem to shake.

She needed a distraction, something to occupy her hands and thoughts before doing something foolish. Like throw herself into Finn’s arms and kissing him senseless.

Since he’d told her to make herself at home, she opened the door between his bedroom and bathroom. He said there was only one bedroom in the cabin, so what was behind door number three? Layla pushed it open wider. It was completely dark inside. Her hand searched along the wall until she found a light switch.

Light flooded the room at her touch, revealing a small space lined with tables and shelves. A slow smile spread across Layla’s face as she realized what she was looking at.

A dark room. An honest-to-goodness, old-school darkroom, complete with developing trays, an enlarger, and neat rows of photographs pinned to lines strung across the ceiling.

“Oh, Finn Brody,” she murmured, wonderstruck. “You are just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

She ventured further into the room, captivated by the breathtaking photographs adorning the walls. Stunning landscapes and intimate wildlife portraits, each captured with a masterful touch, filled her with awe. A lone wolf silhouetted against a moonlit sky, its haunting howl frozen in time, made her heart ache with its raw beauty. The images radiated a profound reverence for the untamed wilderness, leaving her breathless and overwhelmed by emotions she couldn’t quite name.

“Find something interesting?”

Layla whirled to find Finn leaning against the door jamb with his arms crossed and a hard twist on his lips.

“I’m going to have to put a bell around your neck, Finn Brody if you keep sneaking up on me.”

“Or, you’re going to have to listen better, Layla Bryant.”

“Meaning, I shouldn’t be snooping around?”

“Meaning curiosity killed the cat,” Finn drawled, pushing off the wall and entering the room. Immediately, the small space became even smaller.

Layla stuck her tongue out at him, then she suddenly had the wild, wanton urge to put her tongue to a different use entirely, to trace the line of his jaw, the hollow of his throat, the cut of his hip...

Finn cleared his throat, and Layla blinked, cheeks flushing as she realized she’d been staring. Ogling him like a piece of meat, all but undressing him with her eyes. Mortification burned hot and bright in her gut.

“Um. Sorry, I...” She shook her head and forced her gaze back to the photographs. Willed her voice not to shake as she continued, “These are wonderful, Finn. Truly incredible.”

He shrugged, the movement a fluid ripple of muscle beneath his worn henley. “They’re alright, I guess.”

Layla gaped at him, at the nonchalance in his tone. He brushed off her praise like it meant nothing, like he couldn’t see the sheer brilliance of his work.

“Alright? Finn, these are...I don’t even have the words. They’re magnificent. You have an amazing eye and an incredible talent. Have you had a show?”

“What?” He turned to her, a thunderous frown on his face.

“A show? In a gallery?”

“No. Those are for me. No one else.” He shifted his weight, looking uncomfortable with the effusive compliment. “It’s just a hobby. Something to pass the time.”

“It’s more than that, and you know it,” Layla insisted, undeterred. She turned to face him fully, hands planted on her hips as she met his gaze head-on. “Why would you downplay your gift? You should be proud of this, Finn. So incredibly proud.”

“Things come at a price, little girl. Sometimes a price that can’t be paid.” His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking in his cheek as he looked away.

Layla remained silent, sensing he just needed time.

“And what would you know about it anyway?” he asked roughly, the words more weary than angry.

It stung the way he said that, but not for very long. How he stood away from her and spoke to her through gritted teeth was a sure sign of his discomfort. But more than that, it spoke to something deep and painful buried beneath the surface. Something she desperately wished she knew how to soothe.

“More than you might think,” Layla said softly. Carefully. “But that’s not...Finn, this isn’t about me. This is about you and the amazing things you can do. The incredible art you create.”

She took a step closer, hand raised as if to touch him before thinking better of it. She let it fall back to her side, fingers curling into an empty fist.

“I run a non-profit art gallery back in the city. Opening that gallery was one of the few times I stood up to my mother.”

Finn’s head snapped up, his eyes finding hers with laser focus. Something like surprise flickered across his face, chased by a wry sort of resignation. “Of course you do,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “Of course, that’s what you...damn.”

Suddenly, he looked exhausted. Worn thin and wrung out, like a man at the end of his rope.

“Finn?” Layla’s brow furrowed, concern welling up to crowd out the sting of his dismissal. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

For a long moment, he just looked at her, something bleak and bruised swimming in the depths of his gaze. Then he shook his head, a harsh, humorless laugh escaping his throat.

“Nothing. Everything. I don’t...” He blew out a harsh breath, shoulders slumping as if the world’s weight rested upon them. “You’re so far out of my league, it’s not even funny. You know that, right?”

Layla blinked, nonplussed. “I...what?”

“Come on, Layla. Look at you. You’re...you’re champagne and cocktail parties. Fancy galleries and fancier clothes. And I’m...”

He gestured to himself, to the rough-hewn lines of his body, the calluses on his hands, and the scars on his skin. “I’m just a fucked-up ex-soldier playing mountain man in the middle of nowhere.”

Layla’s heart cracked, splintering along fault lines she hadn’t even realized existed. “Oh, Finn. No.”

She touched him then, unable to stop herself. Laid her palm against his cheek, fingers brushing the thin, scar at his temple.

“You are so much more than that,” she whispered fiercely. “So much more than your past, or your pain, or the demons that haunt you. You’re...you’re strong. Kind. Brave in ways I can only imagine.”

Her thumb stroked over the arch of his cheekbone, the dark fan of his lashes. “You see beauty everywhere, even in the broken places. Especially in the broken places.” She gave a small smile. “Like me.”

Finn’s face closed up as if what she said was too much for him to process.

“Layla,” he rasped. The way he said her name was like a prayer, a plea. An absolution and a benediction all in one. “Layla, I...”

“Shh.” She gentled him with a touch, her other hand coming up to frame his face. Cradled him between her palms like he was something precious. Cherished. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything.”

They stood there for a moment, sharing the same space, the same heartbeat. Lost in the steady thrum of connection, the aching rightness of his skin against hers. Layla swallowed hard, her pulse wild and unsteady. “Thank you for allowing me to see your photographs, Finn, they’re a gift. Don’t hide them away. Don’t hide yourself.”

His lips quirked in acknowledgment. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll think about putting my work out there...if you promise to do the same.”

He tapped a finger against her sternum at her confused look, right over the rabbiting thunder of her pulse. “Your heart, Layla. Don’t throw it away. Don’t take the safe way or the way someone else chooses for you. Your heart is a precious gift. Make sure whoever gets it is worthy.”

Oh. Oh.

Tears stung the backs of her eyes. She blinked them back, refusing to let them fall.

“Deal,” she managed, the word emerging strangled and threadbare. “I...I promise to try if you will.”

Promise to open up. To let him in. To take a chance on the terrifying potential sparking between them with every glance, every touch.

Finn’s smile widened. Layla was struck by the sudden, soul-deep certainty that she would do anything to keep that look on his face. That sweet, boyish joy, so at odds with the shadows that clung to him.

“Deal,” he echoed softly and sealed it with a brush of lips against her knuckles. “How about I show you how to develop some film.”

“Really? Do you have some?”

“Yeah. I’ve been following some wolves. A beautiful female and her two pups. And the male who comes back and forth.”

Layla clapped her hands. “Oh, yes, please. I can’t wait to see them.”

Finn shut off the overhead light, the room going pitch black for a beat before the soft red light flickered to life. He set up the negatives in the enlarger, and Layla watched in hushed awe as the images took shape in the developing tray.

With each picture they slid into the solution, more striking images emerged - the silver-furred wolf with her two mottled pups, the massive black male ghosting through the frame.

“They’re incredible, Finn,” she murmured. “You’ve really captured their spirit.”

He rumbled an agreement, his eyes intent not on the photographs but on her enraptured expression. God, how he ached to always be the one to set that look of wonder on her face.

“Layla,” he groaned, already leaning into her. Cradling her jaw with a rough, reverent palm as the other hand slid up to cup her nape. Tangled in the silken strands of her hair.

She tilted up to meet him, then she was breathing his air, sharing his space, and no matter how close they strained, there was still too little distance between their starving mouths.

Finn closed it with a groan of relief, slanting his lips over hers, closing the distance and capturing her mouth with his.

The kiss started soft. Chaste. A sipping of lips, a tentative getting to know each other. But then Finn shifted, changing the angle, and oh…

Oh.

Heat unfurled in Layla’s belly, molten honey and brimstone. A moan caught in her throat as Finn licked into her mouth, all slick, drugging sweetness shot through with a riot of sparks. He tasted like whiskey and wanting, like reckless promises and fevered prayers.

Like coming home.

Layla melted into him, pressing closer until there was no space left between them. She sank greedy fingers into his hair and opened for his questing tongue, giving as good as she got. Finn made a gutted sound, his hands flexing convulsively on her hip, palming her ass through the thin sweatpants, squeezing and kneading. Layla arched into him with a throaty moan, reveling in his bold touch. This was the kind of kiss that made a woman forget her own name.

They were both panting when they broke apart, foreheads pressed together as they struggled for air. Layla could feel the frantic hammer of Finn’s heart against her breast. The rise and fall of his chest a telling sign of how much the kiss had affected him.

“Damn,” he rasped. “You taste even better than I imagined.”

“You’ve been thinking about that, huh?” She trailed a fingertip down the hard plane of his chest, secretly thrilled when she felt his breath hitch. “About me?”

“Kind of hard not to, what with you prancing around in my clothes, looking good enough to eat.” He nuzzled the crook of her neck, his whiskers deliciously abrasive on her sensitive skin. “Been half-crazy wondering if you taste as sweet all over.”

She shivered, liquid heat pooling between her thighs at his erotic words. “There’s only one way to find out.”

Finn gave a low growl, the sound caught between amusement and agreement. He pulled back just far enough to meet her gaze, the green of his eyes nearly eclipsed by blown pupils.

“We should probably slow down,” he said, even as his hands flexed on her hips, fingers digging into her soft curves. “It’s fast. Too fast, maybe.”

Layla shivered, nerve endings alight and clamoring for more. More touch, more contact. More him, in every possible sense.

“I don’t want to slow down,” she admitted, the words emerging small but sure. “But you are probably right.”

She stepped away from him. A smile twisted on her lips as she walked out of the room.

Finn stood there, hands clenched, as he watched her turn and walk away. The sway of her hips was almost his undoing. Almost snapped the thread of his control.

But he let her walk away.

For now.