Forever Wild

1. Carter

Carter

T he morning after our wedding, I expected a little quiet. Maybe coffee on the porch with my wife curled against me, the kind of slow morning people always talk about.

But I don’t, because in pure Catalina fashion, I find her standing in the hallway bathroom with her hands on her hips, her silk robe slipping off one shoulder.

“Carter, I love our bathroom,” she starts, staring at me with her beautiful eyes. “I really do, baby. It’s perfect. But this?” She continues, waving dramatically at the old wood vanity and the chipped basin sink in the guest bathroom. “This is so ugly.”

I lean against the doorframe with my arms crossed, watching her glare at the sink. “Good morning to you, too, darlin’.”

She ignores me, pacing barefoot across the tile. “I definitely can’t get ready in here when the mirror is the size of a postage stamp. I want a bath in here, Carter. A real one. My own area to get ready.”

I drag a hand down my face, already groaning. “You’re telling me your idea of a honeymoon is remodeling the guest bath?”

“Yes.” She says it so matter-of-factly, I almost laugh.

“Jesus Christ, Catalina.”

“What?” She tilts her chin, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re the one who married me. And besides—” she softens her tone, slipping closer, “—don’t you want your wife happy?”

That word, wife, knocks the wind right out of me every damn time.

I crowd into the room, bracing a hand on either side of the vanity, caging her in. Her scent, which drives me wild, wafts into my senses, vanilla and lavender.

A sly little smirk stretches across her lips because she knows that I’ll give her anything she wants and more.

“You don’t fight fair, baby,” I whisper against her jaw.

She spreads her hands across my broad chest, gently tugging at my flannel collar. “Didn’t promise I would.”

God, I’d rip out every damn bathroom in this house if it meant keeping her looking at me like that.

“You want your honeymoon, baby? Fine,” I tell her, caressing my fingers across her jawline. “But you’re swinging the hammer too. I’m not doing all the work while you sit there looking pretty.”

Her brow arches. “Are you saying I don’t look good with power tools?”

“I’m saying,” I mutter, dragging my lips across hers, “you’ll look even better covered in dust and begging me to carry you to the shower.”

Her laugh bubbles out as she tightens her grip on my collar. “You’ll be begging me, cowboy.”

“Fuck yeah, I will, baby.” I kiss her, deep enough to make her forget about the damn sink for at least a minute.

I finally pull back, she’s grinning, cheeks flushed. “So… shirtless demolition?”

I groan, resting my forehead against hers.

Because when Catalina Hayes decides our honeymoon is remodeling a bathroom, there’s no universe where I can tell her no.

I’m pushing a damn cart through Home Depot, staring at my sexy little wife trotting around the aisles.

Catalina’s in ripped jeans and a small tank top, her hair up in a messy bun with that lavender bow I swear she wears just to drive me crazy.

She’s walking quickly, eyes wide, practically vibrating as she pulls me through aisles of sinks and cabinets.

“This one,” she says, stopping at a vanity with gold hardware and a marble top. She bends down to run her hand over it, and my brain short-circuits because all I can think about is how good her ass looks in those jeans.

I clear my throat. “Looks like a sink.”

She whirls around, scandalized. “A sink? Carter, it’s more than just a sink. It’s a statement. Do you want people walking into our house and thinking we have no taste?”

“Baby, no one’s walking into our guest bathroom thinking about style. They’re just trying to take a piss without you barging in.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “I only barge in on my friends, duh.”

She spins back around, already moving on, stomping her feet.

I follow because I can’t not. That’s the thing about her, I’ll follow her anywhere, even into hell, or Home Depot on a Sunday.

She stops at a row of mirrors next, picking up one with a gilded frame, holding it against the wall, then spins to face me with a triumphant smile. “This one. It’ll make me look like a goddess when I’m putting on eyeliner.”

“You already look like one, darlin’,” I say before I can stop myself.

She blinks, her smile wavering, cheeks flushing.

Just as quickly, she recovers, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Flattery will not get you out of this, cowboy. We’re buying it.”

I grunt, shoving the cart closer so she can drop the mirror in.

Half an hour later, the cart is loaded down with a sink, two cabinet doors she swears she’ll decide between later, and at least three mirrors. She’s glowing, laughing as she pushes her sunglasses up her nose, and I don’t care that I’m spending my first day as a married man in a hardware store.

Because Catalina’s happy, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted.

She hooks her arm through mine as we walk toward the checkout, leaning her head on my shoulder. “See? Best honeymoon ever.”

I shake my head, but the truth is, she’s right.

The cashier scans the third mirror, since my wife apparently can’t settle on one piece of glass, and I hand over my card as Catalina beams beside me.

“Congratulations,” the kid behind the register says as he bags a box of cabinet hardware. “You guys newlyweds?”

Catalina flashes her ring, practically shoving her hand in the poor guy’s face. “Fuck yeah, I’m married!”

I grunt, signing the receipt, and catch the way the cashier’s ears go pink under her smile.

“Lucky man,” he says.

“Damn right,” I mutter, shooting him a look that makes him suddenly very interested in the receipt paper.

Catalina giggles all the way out to the truck, clutching my arm.

I load everything into the truck bed and get behind the wheel. She’s kicked off her sandals, curled her legs under her, and is watching me with that smug little smile that means trouble.

“You were jealous,” she singsongs, leaning her head back against the seat.

I shoot her a look as I pull out of the lot. “Jealous of a kid who probably still lives in his mama’s basement? Not a chance.”

“You growled at him.”

“I didn’t growl.”

“You did,” she grins, tugging her seatbelt into place. “It was very caveman. Very ‘back off, she’s mine.’ So hot.”

I grip the steering wheel tighter. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and she’s damn near glowing in the passenger seat.

“Catal-,”

“You love me.”

I flick my eyes toward her, taking in her smirk, the bow slipping loose in her hair, and the way sunlight cuts across her bare legs.

My pretty darlin’, fuck, she’s so beautiful.

“Yeah,” I rasp, voice low. “I do, baby.”

She smiles, crawling across the center console, and kisses me on the nose.

Her lips move toward the shell of my ear, whispering.

“So… shirtless demo when we get home?”

I groan, dragging a hand down my face, but she’s already laughing, leaning across the console.