Page 9 of Wild Return (Wild Heart Mountain: Wild Rider’s MC #15)

SYDNEY

M y fingers tap on the fermenter control panel. The levels have stayed within range, which is a relief. The main power came back on ten minutes ago, and we’re doing a final check before heading home.

When I turn around, Viking is watching me, his heated gaze sending sparks skittering through my body.

“I meant what I said earlier,” I remind him. “That was a good thing you did—how you dealt with those boys.”

He shrugs. “It felt like the right thing.”

Viking has always done what feels right. I understood why he re-enlisted four years ago, even though it hurt. If he’d stayed, he would have regretted not honoring his friend, and it would have poisoned our relationship.

I didn’t get it then, but I do now.

“Let’s lock up downstairs,” he says.

I follow Viking down to the cellar and through to the docking bay where we find a small window propped open.

The boys explained that they’d noticed it during the tour and spotted where the security cameras were.

Marcus, the smaller one, hid behind kegs, and when no one was around, he climbed up to the window and wedged a piece of wood in it to leave it ajar.

Just wide enough to get his hand in from the outside and force it open.

Viking climbs onto the shelves to remove the wedge.

If they’d fallen, it could have been serious. It shows how desperate they were.

We secure the window, switch off the lights, and move through to the cellar, locking the door behind us.

Back in the cellar, the cool air smells of dark oak, hops, and lingering rain. While Viking drags the pallet to its spot between the rows, I wander along the rows at the back of the cellar, where they keep the special barrels. The ones sealed in oak and aged longer to sell at a premium.

The scent of damp oak and vanilla surrounds me, and I run my hand over the rough wood and breathe deeply.

There are footsteps behind me, and when I turn Viking is closer than I expected. So close I catch the scent of leather and coffee that has me breathing deeply and wanting him closer.

My heartbeat thumps erratically as he stands before me, his gaze penetrating mine. His arm lifts, hesitating, but this time I reach for him first, clasping his hands in mine.

“I keep thinking about how you were with those kids,” I whisper.

He lifts my hand to his mouth, brushing my skin with his lips and making my pulse quicken.

“You’re a good man, Viking.”

He lowers my hand and places both his palms on my hips, guiding me backward until I bump against an oak barrel. My body bumps up against his hard one, and I gasp as heat zaps through my body. My head feels thick with him and hazy as he leans closer.

His mouth finds my neck, and I tilt my head and close my eyes as his warm lips trace slowly from my throat to my ear.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs.

I open my eyes and shake my head. “I don’t want you to stop.”

His eyes flash with longing, and his lips claim mine. A sigh escapes me as I surrender to his kiss. One hand traces my collarbone while the other cups the back of my head, drawing me closer.

He steps forward, pressing me to the barrel so I have nowhere to go. And I don’t want to go anywhere. I don’t want anything but more of this, more of him .

His hands slide down my back, then lower until he cups my ass.

“There’s my cupcakes,” he growls, the once-infuriating nickname now a spark that ignites my need for him.

I thrust my hips, grinding against him, and his hands skim down my leather skirt, gripping the hem, as he slowly hikes it up.

“Tell me to stop,” his voice rasps, but he keeps lifting until the skirt bunches at my waist.

“Don’t stop.”

He groans into my mouth and his fingers slip under my stockings, peeling them down.

I’m panting hard as I come up for air, my lips swollen and my body on fire.

I shove his jacket off, sliding my fingertips beneath his T-shirt to feel the hard planes of his chest.

“I’ve missed this, cupcake,” Viking confesses. “Missed you so damn much.”

His hand slides between my legs, and I moan as he cups my heat.

“I missed this,” he says again. “I missed all of you. I’m so sorry, Sydney.”

I tug his T-shirt over his head, and in the dim light I drink in his muscles. My hands roam over his biceps and chest, making my fingertips tingle.

“I was mad at you, Viking. So fucking mad.”

“I’m sorry.”

I channel that anger, yanking open his jeans and shoving his boxers down. His dick springs free.

“I threw your dried daisies into the compost,” I confess as I grip his length in my palms.

Viking groans, and his eyes flutter shut. I watch him battle for control as I hold him in my hand. His eyelids spring open, and his look is pure hunger.

He grips my stockings and rips them away with a hard yank.

“I still have the panties I ripped off you the last time we made love,” he murmurs against my ear.

With another tug, my panties tear away in his hands.

I’m left in my knee-high boots and a bunched-up skirt, exposed and aching.

Heat floods me, and I cry out as his fingertips trail my most sensitive places.

“I never stopped loving you, Sydney.”

He knocks my hand away and grips his length and slides it along my slickness.

“We were supposed to do that trip together,” he groans. “But you took off before I had a chance to speak to you.”

His tip nudges inside me, and my body quivers with anticipation.

“I know. I’m not sorry—” The rest of my sentence dissolves into a moan as he thrusts inside me.

My thighs widen to take him fully and I arch my back, leaning my elbows on the back of the barrel. It rocks backwards, and Viking grabs my hips to steady us.

“I found a hair tie of yours when I was deployed,” he pants. “And wore it around my wrist the whole time I was in Afghanistan.”

He lifts me, seating me on the barrel and driving deeper. I wrap my legs around his waist, the leather of my boots pressing into him.

He nuzzles into my neck, and his teeth graze my skin.

“I can’t smell this scent without thinking of you,” he breathes.

Words fail me as he moves, his hands cupping my ass. Memories crash over me—every time he made me feel beautiful, calling my too-soft backside his pair of cupcakes.

Viking thrusts deeper, and his movements become more frantic. My hips thrust to meet his, and my fingers dig into his shoulders. I let the sensation wash over me and surrender to him, truly surrender.

Years of hurt slip away as I remember how good we fit together, how much I loved him, how much I still do.

“I kept all your letters,” I gasp.

Viking stills for a beat, and he leans back to look at me.

“You read my letters?” he rasps out.

“More than once.”

He pulls me toward him, and this time it’s slow. His kisses snake down my throat as he glides inside me.

“I love you, Sydney.”

Pressure builds inside me, and with his words, I shatter. My nails dig into his shoulders, and I release four years of need as I cry his name.

He growls against my throat and shudders, pulling me tight towards him.

We cling to each other for a long beat. His forehead rests on mine, our breaths and heartbeats syncing.

“On long nights in the desert, this is what kept me going—thinking about this.”

Gently, he lowers me from the barrel and pulls my skirt down. I steady myself, brushing a soft kiss over the scar on his forehead.

I ignore the warning in my head and give in to my heart.

“We can make new memories,” I whisper. “Together.”