Chapter 4
WILDER
What the hell was I doing?
I was driving the winding mountains of the town I now called home with Sage, a woman who was getting to me. Her smile, her voice—she was rewriting everything I'd planned for my life.
I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't let her in. A woman like her would never, ever fall for a flawed man like me.
"Where do you live?" she asked.
I gestured vaguely toward the dark peaks ahead. "Up there. Way up."
"Can I see it?"
My hands tightened on the wheel. "It's pretty remote. Not much to see."
Her voice was soft but determined. "I want to see where you live. Please?”
I should have said no. Should have driven her straight back to the inn and called it a night. Instead, I found myself turning onto the narrow dirt road that led to my cabin, the truck's headlights cutting through the darkness as we climbed higher into the mountains.
The road twisted and curved, getting steeper with every turn. Sage gripped the door handle but didn't complain, just watched the forest rush past with wide eyes.
"How often do you make this drive?" she asked.
"Every day."
"In winter?"
"In winter, spring, summer, fall. Doesn't matter." I downshifted as we hit a particularly sharp curve. "Four-wheel drive helps."
"It's beautiful up here. Isolated."
"That's the point."
She was quiet for a moment. Then, "Why do you live so far from everything?"
Because it's easier than letting people see what's left of me. Because I can't handle the pity in their eyes when they notice the scars or realize I can't hear them properly. Because loneliness is safer than rejection.
"I like the quiet," I said instead.
Finally, the cabin came into view—a simple A-frame structure tucked against the mountainside. I'd built most of it myself over the past two years, and it showed in every careful joint and hand-hewn beam.
But the real feature was the wall of windows facing the valley below. Even in the dark, you could see the lights of Wildwood Valley twinkling like stars that had fallen to earth.
I parked and killed the engine, suddenly hyperaware of how alone we were up here. No neighbors for miles. No cell service. Just us and the mountain and whatever was building between us.
"Wilder," Sage breathed, staring at the cabin. "This is incredible."
Pride warmed my chest despite my reservations. "It's not much, but—"
"It's perfect." She was already climbing out of the truck, drawn to the windows like a moth to flame.
I led her inside, flipping on the lights. The interior was sparse—just the essentials. Too sparse, probably, for someone used to real homes. It had a kitchen area, a living space with massive windows, and a loft bedroom above. Everything built by hand, everything exactly as I wanted it.
Sage walked straight to the windows, stopping just in front of the glass. "You can see the whole valley from here."
"That's why I built it this way." I stayed near the door, keeping distance between us. "On clear days, you can see for fifty miles."
She turned to face me, and my chest tightened. "Thank you for bringing me here. I know this is…private for you."
"You talked me into it."
"Did I?" A small smile played at her lips. "Or did you want to bring me here?"
I couldn't answer that. Couldn't admit that yes, some part of me had wanted to show her this place, wanted to see her reaction, wanted to share this piece of myself even though I knew better.
She crossed the room slowly, her eyes never leaving mine. "Wilder, why do you keep pulling away from me?"
"I'm not—"
"You are." She stopped just in front of me. "Every time we get close, you retreat. Why?"
Because you deserve better. Because I'm broken. Because letting you in means risking everything I've built to protect myself.
"Sage," I said roughly. "You should go back to the inn."
"What if I don't want to?"
"You don't know what you're asking."
"Then tell me." She reached up, her fingers barely brushing the scarred skin visible at my collar. I flinched, but she didn't pull away. "Tell me why you're so determined to be alone."
The air crackled between us, thick with everything I refused to say. Her question hung there, a challenge and a plea all at once. Her fingers, still resting against the rough skin of my neck, were a brand of pure, unflinching acceptance.
I could lie. I could give her a half-truth about being set in my ways, about preferring solitude. But the words died in my throat, suffocated by the raw honesty in her gaze.
“Because,” I ground out, the word torn from a place deep inside I’d sealed shut years ago.
“Look at me, Sage. Really look. I’m not some romantic hero from one of your books.
I’m a collection of broken parts and bad memories.
I have hearing loss and physical scars, but the inside is worse.
You deserve…you deserve sunlight and easy laughter. Not this. Not me.”
I braced for her to recoil, to finally see the monster I knew I was.
Instead, she stepped closer. Her voice was a whisper, but it hit me with the force of a gale.
“What if I want you? All of you. The scars and the silence and everything in between.”
My control, a brittle, fragile thing, splintered. “Sage…”
“I’ve never done this before,” she breathed, her confession a sacred thing in the quiet of the cabin. “Any of it. I’ve never…wanted to. Not until you. I want you to be my first.”
The world tilted on its axis. Never? The idea of this vibrant, beautiful woman never knowing pleasure, never feeling the heat of another’s skin against her own…it was a crime. A profound injustice.
And the fact that she was offering that gift to me shattered the last of my resolve. A possessive, primal need surged through me, burning away the doubt. I would be the one to show her. I would be the one to make her feel alive.
“I don’t have any protection,” I said, the words a final, feeble attempt at reason.
A faint, brave smile touched her lips. “I’m on birth control.”
That was it. The last barrier fell.
She never broke eye contact as she slowly, deliberately, shrugged off her jacket.
Then she grabbed the hem of her sweatshirt and pulled it over her head.
My breath caught. Her breasts, full and perfect, were practically spilling out of a plain, white cotton bra.
It was the most erotic thing I’d ever seen.
My erection pressed painfully against the denim of my jeans, a throbbing, insistent ache.
Her eyes stayed locked on mine as her fingers went to the fastening of her jeans.
The button popped. The zipper hissed down.
She pushed them down her legs, kicking them aside until she stood before me in only her simple white bra and briefs, bathed in the moonlight and the distant glow of the valley.
She turned to face the window, her profile serene. “Do you think anyone can see us?”
I didn’t answer. I knew we were too far away, that we were just ghosts in the glass to the world below. It didn’t matter. My entire universe had shrunk to this room, to her.
Then, she reached back and undid her bra. It fell away, and she bared her breasts to the night, her skin glowing like pearl. She let out a soft, shuddering sigh. “I feel more alive right now than I ever have in my entire life,” she whispered. “And it’s all because I met you.”
“Why?” I managed to ask, my voice rough with want. “Why me?”
She turned her head, her gaze soft and certain. “Your scars. They tell me you’re brave. That you’ve lived. That you’ve done things, survived things, most people would never have the courage to face.”
Her words didn’t just touch me. They slipped past all my defenses and healed a part of me I thought was forever broken. She saw a warrior where I only saw a casualty.
She turned and walked toward me, and the last of my resistance fell away, fueled by the need in her eyes. I met her halfway, my hands coming up to frame her face, and I kissed her.
It wasn’t gentle. It was deep and hungry, a claiming and a surrender all at once. My hands slid down, settling on the warm, smooth skin of her back, pulling her flush against me.
A small, desperate sound escaped her throat as her own hands slipped under my shirt. Her fingers roamed over my back, tracing the ridges of old scars and tense muscle, and I moaned into her mouth, the sensation almost too much to bear.
She pressed her body against mine, her softness a perfect contrast to my hardness, and I knew I was lost.
“Turn around,” I breathed against her lips, my voice barely recognizable. “Face the window.”
A shiver went through her, but she obeyed, turning to look out at the sea of stars below.
I moved into place behind her, my body caging hers.
I slid my hands over the exquisite curves of her waist and stomach, feeling the tremble that ran through her.
Then I dropped my head, nuzzling the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder, and I felt her melt back against me.
Slowly, I trailed one hand lower, over the plain cotton of her briefs, feeling the damp heat that awaited me there. My fingers moved to the waistband and slid beneath.
The breath left my lungs in a rush.
She was slick, hot, ready. As my fingers found her moist, intimate heat, a staggering sense of rightness, of finality, settled deep in my soul. It was an end and a beginning. After years of wandering in the dark, after building walls and living in silence, I was finally, unequivocally, home.