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Back Walk on the Wilder Side Save as PDF
Chapters (46)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. Epilogue
  43. Excerpt from Wilder With You
  44. Also by Serena Bell
  45. Acknowledgments
  46. About the Author

I glance at Brody again. I can’t help it; my eyes won’t obey my mind’s command.

The binoculars are still in his hands. His eyes are still on the shore. But I can’t help feeling like I have his attention, even so. Something in the set of his shoulders or the grip of his hands on the barrel of the binocs.

At the last minute, just as I’m about to look away, he turns.

It’s only a split second, but I see those green eyes, filled with interest and heat.

And even though he turns back almost instantly, I’m sure of what I saw, because my body answers instinctively.

It’s a heady feeling, and I’m afraid of how much I want more of it.

7

Brody

As the party winds down, Rachel tells the guests that if they leave a review for both Real Romance and Brody’s Boat, they can also enter a special drawing, and she gives them a card with a QR code so they can find the drawing online and add their review links.

That’s smart. I bet it’ll help with the review situation.

Damn it. I don’t need to feel absurdly grateful to her, on top of all my other complicated feelings.

Because obviously I’m going to tell her we can’t keep doing this.

Otherwise, I’m going to keep thinking about things I shouldn’t be thinking about. Like that goddamn Jack Buddy and whether Rachel thinks it would be hot to watch. Or all the places on Rachel the warming lube would make tingle. Or—

So many toys, so many possibilities.

I face-palm.

We pull into the marina, and the women hug Rachel, thanking her over and over again. Several of them program her number into their phones and tell her they want to grab drinks with her sometime. I can tell it surprises her, and I know from growing up around her that she was never the kind of girl who had a million friends.

Guess that’s about to change.

Rachel is the last one to step out of the boat. Her hair, which is pulled back in a ponytail, ends in a soft, dark puff I desperately want to touch. She smells like flowers, I’m guessing from all the lotions and lubes she handled tonight. I hold out my hand to help her, and she takes it. I feel that touch everywhere on my body. Her hand is small but strong and warm, and her eyes meet mine as she steps onto the dock.

We’re just a few inches from each other, and if I tugged on her hand, her mouth would pretty much fall onto mine.

“When will the order be ready?” a woman asks, breaking the spell.

“Ten days, give or take,” Rachel says. “If you included your cell number, I’ll text you when it’s ready; otherwise, I’ll email.”