Wild (Wild #1)

One

I stepped into the hardware store of the small Maine town and headed for the heating aisle. The old man behind the counter gave me a friendly nod as I grabbed a furnace filter and cleaning supplies. I'd arrived in town a few weeks ago and had finally found a place to stay. A small cottage, just short of being condemned, but in a perfect location, on the wild and rocky Maine coast. The sound of crashing waves filled my ears, a backdrop to my new life in the small rugged coastal town of Rock Island.

When I'd arrived, I'd asked around about rentals and finally had come across something that was in my meager price range and was available through the off-season. Up here, most places weren't winterized, especially those with ocean frontage, which this was. The small, weatherworn cabin was situated on a wooded, rocky outcropping that jutted into the angry Atlantic. Most had dreams of living on a white sandy beach, but from the start, I'd imagined living on a rocky shoreline with rolling waves pounding the grey rocks. The tides rolling in and out, the smells of the ocean infiltrating my senses: these were the things I'd dreamed about. Many people complained that they smelled like salt year 'round—their houses, clothes, even their cars took a beating—but I loved the idea. It served as a reminder that I lived in this wild and beautiful place.

"Sure you got the right size?" an achingly familiar voice murmured in my ear and snapped me out of my thoughts. I choked on the lump that'd lodged in my throat as I turned to find the sexy stranger from a few nights ago at my side.

"Yes, thanks." I turned away from him, his broad shoulders and cocky smile burned into my brain.

"Sure about that?"

"Of course. I'm not an idiot. It's a furnace filter." I glared and rummaged through some paint chips. The entire house needed a new coat of paint if I was going to spend any time there.

"That what Barton told you?" He was referring to my landlord, and the fact that he had this information at all made me a little uncomfortable.

"No, but furnace filters are pretty standard, I've never met one that required anything other than a sixteen by twenty."

"Furnaces are standard nowadays, but the place you're staying, Sugar, was built in the forties and I know for a fact that old man hasn't replaced the old Lennox furnace in the past twenty years, which means you need a sixteen by twenty-five."

I shot daggers at him as he peered back at me, an amused grin tilting his lips. A slim-cut plaid shirt caressed the lean lines of his biceps and waist. His long legs spread in a wide stance, arms crossed as he took me in, his bright blue eyes shining as he watched me. "Fine." I swiped the filter he'd picked up from his hands. "And don't call me Sugar."

"You seemed to like it the other night." His lips dusted along my earlobe and sent shivers straight to the apex of my thighs. My breath came out in ragged pants and my eyes fluttered closed as I tried to control my reaction to him.

"Well, that was then; this is now. Don't call me Sugar," I replied without looking at him. A hearty chuckle escaped his throat as he snatched the old filter from my hands and returned it to its proper bin.

"You should think about replacing it more often; the salt really wreaks havoc around here on the ducts."

"Thanks," I mumbled as I turned to head to the counter.

"Anytime, Sug—"

I shot him a glare that stopped him in his tracks.

"What did you say your name was again?" He tilted his head to the side, dark hair falling over his forehead deliciously. It pissed me off how boyish and devilishly sexy he could look all at the same time.