Something Wild
A Reckless and Real Prequel
By Lexi Ryan
Copyright 2014 by Lexi Ryan
Copyright © 2014 by Lexi Ryan
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this book. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to institutions or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover © 2014 Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations
For Lexi’s Midnight Readers.
Sharing my writing with you is a guaranteed bright spot in my day. Thank you!
Acknowledgements
As always, I thank my family first. Brian, thank you for the time, encouragement, and patience you give to this crazy career of mine. For sending me to the “satellite office” to work when the kids won’t leave me alone, for listening to my endless out-of-context plot concerns, and for proving day after day that happily-ever-after exists outside my head. You and the kids are my world.
My friends and family, who celebrate my successes as their own, cheer me on every step of the way, and pimp my books out to every literate adult they meet. I am humbled by your enthusiasm and grateful to have built a life surrounded by such amazing people. I hope you know how grateful I am to have you in my life.
To everyone who provided me feedback on and cheers for Liz and Sam’s story along the way—especially Adrienne Hogan, Mira Lynn Kelley, Heather Carver, Karen Newman, and Samantha Leighton—you’re all awesome. To Lexi’s Midnight Readers who were ready for this story back when it was only a kernel of an idea, thank you. You remind me daily why I love this job so much!
Thank you to the team that helped me package this book and promote it. Sarah Hansen at Okay Creations designed my beautiful cover, and if I have my way she will do many, many more for me. Rhonda Helms and Lauren McKellar, thank you for the insightful line edits, and Arran McNicol at Editing720 for proof reading. Thanks to my PA, Chris, who does her best to keep me organized, even when we’re juggling fifteen tasks at once. A shout-out to Julie of AToMR for your work to promote my books, and to all of the bloggers and reviewers who help her do it. Amazing. Every one of you.
To my agent, Dan Mandel, and my foreign rights agent, Stefanie Diaz, for getting my books into the hands of readers all over the world. Thank you for being part of my team.
Thank you a hundred times over to my NWBs—Sawyer Bennett, Lauren Blakely, Violet Duke, Jessie Evans, Melody Grace, Monica Murphy, and Kendall Ryan. I’m sure you were ready to strangle me when I was trying to figure out how to approach this series and tell the story in the best way possible. Thank you for always giving it to me straight and handing me the brown paper bag when I’m panicking.
To all my writer friends on Twitter, Facebook, and my various writer loops, thank you for your support and inspiration. I must say, ours is the coolest water cooler in the entire workforce.
And last but certainly not least, thank you to my fans. To those who read the other New Hope books and wanted more, to those who’ve declared you’d gladly read my grocery lists, and to those who have been with me from the very beginning, thank you. I appreciate each and every one of you. I couldn’t do this without you and wouldn’t want to. Thank you for buying my books and telling your friends about them. Thank you for asking me to write more. You’re the best!
~Lexi
About Something Wild
“You need a good guy. A long-term guy. One who does dates and romance and emotional strings…I’m just an asshole who wants to tie you up, make you come, and walk away.”
Samuel Bradshaw is a man with a reputation—the kind of reputation that should have me running the other way. Instead, it has me searching for the shortest distance to his bed. I won’t be the starry-eyed girl who thinks she can change a man like Sam, and despite what he thinks, forever is not what I need. I need the things he makes me feel, the way he turns me on, and the promise of pleasure in his eyes. I need SOMETHING WILD.
**Author’s Note: This is a free prequel to the full-length romance novel SOMETHING RECKLESS.**
Chapter One
Sam
Liz: My undersexed phone would like to invite your undersexed phone to exchange some inappropriate text messages we’ll regret when we’re sober.
When I look up from the message, I catch Lizzy Thompson watching me from her table not five feet from mine. Another woman might blush. Liz winks.
She’s in red heels and one of those short, tight dresses that’s scientifically engineered to make a man’s jaw drop. Her legs are crossed and on full display from where she’s propped on a stool.
I lift an eyebrow, questioning, and she shrugs.
Brady’s is buzzing with activity tonight. The seats at the bar are crowded with men trying to escape their women for the night, and men trying to find a woman to take home are surrounding the pool tables. I’m somewhere in between, at a table with a beer and a few empty shot glasses. I’m not in the mood to socialize, but going home and being left alone with my thoughts sounds even worse.
Last week, I’d been complaining that Will’s phone was getting more action than mine, and Liz asked for my number. I thought she was joking. Apparently not.
At the time, I would have been all over some dirty sexting with the leggy blonde who’s starred in more than a few of my fantasies. At the time, I had no idea how badly one person could fuck over my world.
But that was last week. Tonight, I’m a different man. I’m changed. Hell, I’m broken.
I can’t tell Liz that. I can’t tell anyone. Because telling would lead to questions I don’t care to answer.
Her lips pull into a subtle pout, and I sigh and type a reply.
Sam: While my undersexed phone would enjoy that, my undersexed brain worries it would put ideas in your head.
I watch her as I wait for my message to go through. She reads it and smirks for a beat before her fingers fly across the screen. Thirty seconds later, my phone buzzes again.
Liz: Oh, the ideas are already there. What’s wrong? Your little guy not UP for the task?
That almost makes me smile. Almost. I didn’t think I could smile tonight, but Liz is the most likely candidate to make that happen. She’s one hundred percent no-nonsense. Sure, maybe half the shit she says is for shock value, but it’s usually what everyone else is thinking. I’ve always liked that about her.
Sam: Sorry to say, I don’t have a LITTLE guy. But my dick is up for anything you’ve got. It’s the next morning that would be a problem. I’m not your type, Rowdy.
Liz: Really? What’s my type?
Sam: You need a good guy. A long-term guy. One who does dates and romance and emotional strings.
Liz: And what kind of guy are you?
Sam: I’m just an asshole who wants to tie you up, make you come, and walk away.
I make sure I’m watching when that one goes through, but she doesn’t blanch. Instead, her lips part—fucking beautiful lips, pink and full and perfect. I kissed those lips before, tasted them. It was all I could do to end it there, but I’ve remembered that kiss and thought about a repeat performance a hell of a lot more than once.
She lifts her gaze to mine. Nothing on her face says she’s insulted by my text. Her chest rises and falls and her cheeks flush pink.
No one can tell me I lead women on to get sex. I’ve never needed to. I take women to bed without any promises and make damn sure they don’t regret it. I don’t do commit
ment or forever, and I don’t hide it.
Her eyes darken, and her tongue darts out to wet her lips.
Fuck. Me.
Standing, I throw some money on the table to cover my tab. I have to get out of here before I take her up on her offer. Demons are clawing their way into my easy life, and using her to escape them would only hurt us both.
* * *
Liz
“I could have gone the rest of my life without seeing that.”
I tear my gaze off my drink and look up to see Della Bradshaw sliding onto the stool across from me. “Seeing what?”
“You were eye-fucking my brother.” She shudders. “Not exactly what I had in mind when I asked you to figure out what’s wrong with him.”
“He’s hot, Del. All the girls think so. I’m just the only one honest enough to tell you.”
She gags and rolls her eyes. “Well, whatever. Did he tell you what’s going on?”
Della’s boyfriend, Connor, says Sam’s struggling with something, but Sam won’t tell his family what it is. Della asked me to figure it out. Seemed like an obscure request to me—doesn’t everyone have a secret? But I could tell she was worried about him, so I agreed to launch a little investigation. “Not yet, but have patience in my process.”
“I’m starting to think your process might involve things I don’t want to think about.”
“Are you worried I’ll break your brother’s heart?”
She snorts. “Try the other way around. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. I saw the way you were looking at him.”
“Consider me warned.”
She hoists her purse onto her shoulder and hops off the stool. “Connor’s waiting for me.”
“Tell him I’m sorry I don’t know anything yet.”
She waves away my apology. “He doesn’t know I asked you. I plan on taking all the credit when you figure it out.”
I arch a brow. “And what do I get?”
“You get to make fuck me eyes at my big brother without me vomiting all over you.”
“Oh, gee, I’ll try to contain my excitement.”
“See you at the wedding tomorrow night?”
“Of course. There’s an open bar to look forward to.” I grin mischievously. “And your brother in a suit.”
She shakes her head. “You’re playing with fire, Lizzy.”
“Tell Connor I said hi,” I call as she leaves.
I can tell them that Sam’s having romantic troubles. Everything about his face tonight says someone broke his heart. But I don’t think that’s specific enough to be of any help, nor does it make any sense. As far as I know, he hasn’t been seeing anyone seriously—and it’s hard to keep a relationship secret in a place as small as New Hope.
I might have ulterior motives for helping dig a little into Sam’s life. I’m pretty sure there’s an unspoken rule for teenage girls that requires them to crush on their friends’ older brothers. For me, that was Della’s brother Sam—right up until he rejected me.
I still can’t believe he walked out the door tonight, disregarding my blatant invitation. I’m in shock, but I can’t be offended. Not when I caught the way his eyes raked over me on his way out. And not when his last text message is making my imagination run wild.
I’m just an asshole who wants to tie you up, make you come, and walk away.
Chapter Two
Liz
“Don’t do it.”
I take my very full glass of red wine from the bartender and frown at Connor Everett. “Do what? Don’t drink this wine? Or don’t get so trashed that my wine goggles get me laid tonight?”
“Don’t try to seduce information out of Sam Bradshaw.” He leans against the bar and scans the reception. Connor’s cute, long, and lean, big hands and kind eyes. Some might even call him handsome, but long ago I gave up on trying to get my brain to see him as something I find more sexually appealing than a Care Bear.
Apparently he finds what he’s looking for—or whom—because he stops scanning the crowd and swallows hard. “You’ll only get hurt.”
I follow his gaze to see Sam sitting at a table with his family. “A little pain is okay, as long as it’s consensual.”
Connor gives me a look. “I’ve got this under control, okay? Cancel any of your plans to help me out by letting Sam under that skirt.” His gaze skims over me and he grins. “Looking hot tonight, by the way.”
I smack his arm. “You’re with Della now and not allowed to say those things to me.”
He winces and rubs his arm. “Even if it’s true?”
I roll my eyes. “Have you met Della?”
“Good point,” he mutters. “Stay away from Sam.”
“What are you, his keeper?”
“He needs one, but no. Della admitted she asked you to help.” He dips his head and locks eyes with me. “I’m telling you now that I don’t want you to.”
“Are you jealous, Con?” I singsong. My smile falls away when something flashes in his eyes. “No. You’re with Della now.”
He looks away, guilt all over the hard angles of his face. “I know. And this isn’t about jealousy. It’s about me trying to take care of a friend. Della shouldn’t have pulled you into this, but that’s my fault for telling her anything to begin with.”
“Well, I’m already in it, so you might as well tell me what’s going on.”
His jaw hardens.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll just tell Sam you’re poking around and see if he knows why.”
Connor whips his head around. “Don’t.”
“Then tell me.”
“I’m going to kill Della,” he grumbles.
I take a long swallow of my wine, waiting.
“Last week, he withdrew a large sum of money from his account, and his father’s concerned Sam might be involved with something bad.”
“Like what?”
Connor shrugs. “Gambling? Hookers? Hell, this is Sam we’re talking about. It could be anything.”
I swallow the rest of my wine and settle the glass on the bar.
Sam’s at his table by the dance floor, nodding as his father tells him something. I think Connor’s right to be worried. There’s something different about Sam tonight. He’s distant. Distracted. Again, he seems . . . heartbroken.
Could it be that Sam—a notorious player—has allowed someone close enough to his heart to break it? Or is my loneliness making me see things that aren’t there?
That doesn’t explain the money, though.
“So we have a deal?” Connor asks. “You’ll forget that Della told you anything?”
“Sure.” I nod to the bartender, who refills my glass. God bless him and enablers everywhere.
Connor’s shoulders sag. “Good. I know it’s none of my business who you sleep with, but you can do better than a player like Sam.”
“I didn’t say anything about not sleeping with him.” I take another swallow of liquid courage as Connor grimaces. “Oh, stop acting like I’m some vestal virgin who needs protecting.”
“Connor!” Della calls. “There you are! Come dance with me!”
I shoo him away. “Go have fun.”
I wait until Sam’s family has evacuated their table, then make my way over to him. He’s sitting back in his seat, legs spread wide, rolling a bottle of beer between his hands as he watches the drunken wedding guests go “to the left” then “to the right.” My own table cleared out earlier, but I said I wanted to stay and dance a little. In truth, I just wanted Sam.
I turn my chair to face the dance floor, like his, and sit. He looks over at me, and his gaze snags on my crossed legs—at the spot where the hem of my skirt meets my bare thighs.
Sam’s always been a good-looking guy, but tonight, in his suit and tie, his face smooth, his eyes smoky, there’s something about him that makes my mouth water. Or maybe it’s that my lady parts are on high alert since our texts yesterday.
“Hey,” he says, then turns his gaze back to the dance floor. His ey
es might be there, but his mind isn’t. He’s somewhere else tonight. How sexy is a man with a broken heart?
Is there a ladylike way to say, “Hey, you seem a little down. Want me to ride you until you can’t remember her name?”
I’ve known Sam since we were kids. He’s a few years older than me and he moved away while he completed his undergrad. When I was in high school, I crashed one of his parties and tried to find my way into his bed. He was a junior at Notre Dame with a reputation for being a player. I was a senior in high school, dumb enough to admit I was still in possession of my V-card.
But even bad boys have a code of honor, and that night, Sam followed the code to the letter.
“Wanna talk about it?” I ask.
He swings his gaze around to meet mine, and the intensity of the feeling in his eyes almost pushes me away. That’s what it’s supposed to do—shut people out, make them back off. This isn’t the happy-go-lucky Sam I’ve always known.
“About what?” he asks, the dare in his eyes.
“The girl who broke your heart.”
He lifts a brow. “Is that what the gossip mill is saying? That my heart is broken?”
No. That’s what every inch of your face is saying. “That’s the rumor,” I lie. There’s no rumor, only my suspicion.
He releases a noncommittal huff then really looks me in the eye for the first time all night. “Do you think I’m the kind of guy who gets his heart broken, Rowdy?”
“Liz,” I correct him, surprising myself. I’ve never minded the nickname he gave me when I was fifteen. And I’ve never minded Lizzy, either. But tonight, I want Sam to call me something else. Something more mature. “And there’s nothing wrong with getting your heart broken. It just means you’re human.”
Something flashes in his eyes—hurt or defiance, or maybe both.
“Do you want to dance, Liz?” He emphasizes my name, and I like how it sounds on his lips—slow and sensual, like a lazy morning spent naked in bed.