Chapter Three
Millie
It’s been ten days since Wilder found me curled up in his storage closet. Ten days since everything changed.
I still wake up some mornings confused by the softness of the mattress beneath me. By the quiet. By the fact that no one is slamming doors or shouting down the hall.
I found a job on my second day here. A diner three blocks away…
nothing fancy, but they needed a waitress, and I needed something.
My feet ache at the end of every shift, but it’s honest work.
My first paycheck hasn’t come in yet, though.
I hate that I’m still living here without contributing.
Wilder hasn’t mentioned rent again. Not once.
That almost makes it worse.
Tonight, he’s downstairs fixing a leak in one of the third-floor units. I can hear the faint thud of tools through the floor if I focus hard enough. The apartment feels different when he’s not in it…quieter, but not empty. Like part of him stays behind.
His scent lingers…clean soap and leather, with a hint of something darker underneath.
I shake myself and pull my jewelry kit out of my backpack, setting it carefully on the small dining table. I look at my supply—just a few strands of leather cord, some dark wooden beads, and a handful of matte black stones I’ve been saving.
Not a lot but just enough…
I don’t know much about Wilder, but I’ve noticed he wears bracelets. Leather. Beaded. Worn like they’ve been with him for years. They look natural on him, like the ink that disappears beneath the sleeves of his shirts. Like the scars along his knuckles.
The need to thank him for offering me a safe place spurred my decision to make him one…
My fingers move automatically, looping cord, sliding beads into place. The rhythm soothes me.
As I work, I think about what I’ve learned about Wilder House. Wilder owns it—inherited it—he said. He didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t push. I sense a weight behind that story…I can feel it but he guards his past the way he guards everything else.
Still, I’ve seen enough.
The way he fixes things himself. The way tenants lower their voices when he walks by…not out of fear exactly, but respect. The building is clean, quiet, and seemingly safe. He did mention that he renovated it. That part impressed me more than I let on.
I twist the cord tighter and try not to think about the other thing that’s been hardest about living here.
Him.
It’s ridiculous, embarrassing even. I’m nineteen, not thirteen. But I’ve never felt anything like this before. I feel like I’m experiencing my first crush all over again—just more intensely. Maybe it’s because he’s so darned handsome.
Sometimes, I catch myself staring at him…
or thinking about him…the way he fills every room he walks into.
His broad shoulders and those thick arms that strain against his shirts when he works.
The way his dark hair falls slightly into his eyes when he forgets to push it back.
His sharp jaw, usually shadowed with stubble by evening. And his eyes…
Steel gray.
They see everything.
And when they land on me, I feel pinned in place.
I’m usually wary of men. I’ve learned to be. But from the moment he opened that closet door, I felt…safe. Protected. Like nothing could touch me if he was standing nearby. And then there’s the way he calls me baby girl.
The first time felt like a slip of the tongue. He looked surprised but hadn’t taken it back. The times after that feel deliberate, and something about the way he says it makes my stomach flip.
I may be a virgin, but I’m not clueless. I know what desire feels like. I know why my heart beats faster when he walks past me. Why my thoughts drift to the shape of his hands, the heat of his body, the way his voice drops lower when he’s tired.
He hasn’t touched me or even crossed any lines. He definitely hasn’t given me a single clear sign that he wants me the way I want him. And it’s driving me crazy.
I trim the last thread, so focused on getting the knot clean that the world narrows to leather and beads between my fingers. I don’t hear him come in until I feel a hand on my shoulder.
I gasp and jerk violently, the chair legs scraping against the floor as I nearly tip sideways, but strong hands catch me before I fall.
“Easy,” Wilder’s voice rumbles above me.
His grip is firm, one hand wrapped around my upper arm, the other steadying my waist.
Heat seeps through the thin fabric of my shirt like his touch carries its own temperature. My pulse spikes.
Up close like this, he’s overwhelming. He’s tall, at least a head above me even when I’m standing.
His chest is solid when my palm accidentally presses against it, muscle hard beneath the dark cotton of his T-shirt.
His forearm flexes as he steadies me, veins shifting under tan skin marked with faint scars and black ink.
“Sorry,” I breathe, though I’m not sure what I’m apologizing for.
He doesn’t let go immediately. His hands linger just a second too long. Or maybe it only feels that way because every place he touches burns.
“What are you doing, baby girl?”
The nickname hits me low in my stomach. My knees weaken again, but this time it’s not from surprise.
“I—” I swallow and quickly grab the bracelet from the table before I lose my nerve. “This. For you.” I hold it out, my cheeks burning furiously. “It’s just…I know you wear bracelets. And I wanted to say thank you. For everything.”
He looks down at it, silent. My heart starts to pound for a different reason. Maybe it’s stupid. Maybe it’s too simple. The leather is dark brown, woven tight, with matte black beads threaded through the center.
It’s the best I could make with what I have, but maybe it’s not enough.
“You don’t have to—” I start to say but he lifts his wrist toward me.
“Put it on.”
Relief floods me so fast I almost sag.
I inch closer to him, trying not to think about how close we are. His skin is warm when my fingers brush it. He tenses as I wrap the bracelet around his wrist, and I have to concentrate so I don’t fumble the knot.
This shouldn’t feel intimate.
But it does.
My hands tremble slightly as I tie it off. I’m hyperaware of everything…his scent surrounding me, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the fact that if I leaned forward just a little, I’d be pressed against him.
Heat pools low in my belly. New. Insistent.
“There,” I whisper.
He turns his wrist, examining it.
“It’s beautiful,” he says quietly.
Then his hand closes around mine, and my heart skips a beat. His palm is rough and calloused yet warm. I look up and find him already looking at me. Those steely gray eyes bore intensely into mine.
Something shifts in the air.
He reaches up with his free hand and brushes a strand of hair away from my face, his knuckles grazing my cheek. The touch is almost gentle. My breath hitches. I lean into it before I can stop myself.
“Wilder…” His name leaves my lips as a soft, needy sound I don’t recognize as my own.
That does something to him. His jaw tightens.
His eyes darken, storm clouds rolling in.
Before I can think, his hand slides to the back of my neck, and he pulls me against him.
His mouth crashes onto mine with searing possession.
He tilts my head to the angle he wants and slides his tongue into my mouth, tasting me with slow, deep licks.
His passion and hunger explode across my senses, and I whimper in response, my hands tangling in his shirt. His answering groan vibrates through me, tightening my nipples and sending goose bumps racing across my skin.
I have imagined my first kiss a million times, but nothing prepared me for this…this consuming intensity and rush of sensations swarming my body.
I moan into his mouth, the sound reverberating between us. His body presses against mine. When I feel his arousal harden against my stomach, another moan slips out of me…shocked and hungry all at once.
His hands move to my hips, gripping me firmly. Then suddenly, the floor slips from beneath me.
He lifts me effortlessly, carrying me down the hall. To his bedroom.
The room feels different from the rest of the apartment.
Larger. Darker. More him. He gently lays me on the bed, then strips off his T-shirt and jeans without breaking eye contact, leaving his boxers on.
My throat dries at the sight of him…strong, sculpted, powerful in a way that makes my heart race.
He joins me on the bed, and the implication of this moment—everything—suddenly dawns on me. I clear my throat nervously, averting my eyes from him.
“I…” I swallow hard. “I’ve never…I’ve never done this before.”
“Look at me.”
I raise my eyes to his, and I’m surprised at the tenderness in the steely depths. “You’re a virgin?”
I nod. His expression seems frozen for a moment. Then it cracks and something slips into his eyes—an emotion that I can’t name, yet so staggering it ceases my breath.
Wilder brushes his thumb over my cheek, his mouth tilting in a small reassuring smile. “We don’t have to—”
“I want to!” I say quickly before I can stop myself, my cheeks turning a bright shade of red. “I—I mean…I like…” I trail off, blushing even harder.
Wilder chuckles and leans in to gently kiss my forehead. “We don’t have to go all the way tonight, baby girl,” he says, then raises his head to look at me, his eyes twinkling with devilish mischief that makes my heart skip deliciously. “There are other ways to…pleasure you.”
He lowers his head but doesn’t kiss me like I expect.
Instead, he trails his mouth down the side of my neck.
I barely have time to breathe before his hands slide under my shirt.
He lifts the fabric over my head and tosses it aside somewhere behind him.
Cool air hits my skin, and I shiver—but not from cold.
From him.
His gaze travels over me like he’s memorizing every inch of my body. Heat floods my face, but I don’t try to cover myself. Not when he’s looking at me like that. Like I’m something…precious.
“Damn, Millie…you’re beautiful.”