CHAPTER ONE
BAXTER
An epic guitar riff pulls me from a wonderful dream. Even worse, it wakes me from the first decent sleep I’ve had in what feels like weeks. I want to scream, to curse, and strangely, start head banging.
Scrunching my eyes closed, I can almost remember the happy young man I was when I first heard this song over twenty years ago. Back when I was a nobody kid, with my head full of dreams and most months my bank account dangerously close to being overdrawn. My dry lips crack open in a sneer, my left hand blindly fumbling for the half-empty bottle of Jack on the nightstand.
My motions are too fast and the bottle crashes to the floor. Blearily, I crane my head to view the shattered bottle and the deep amber liquid puddling. Thumping my head back onto the overlarge, fluffy pillow, I stare sightlessly up at the crisscrossing golden timbers of wood making up the ceiling of the cabin. The very expensive luxury cabin I reserved at my then-girlfriend’s urgings.
Very much like the spilled booze and broken glass on the floor, my life is a mess.
The music continues to vibrate through me, stirring up nostalgia and a slow burning ember of anger.
‘A scenic getaway, peace and tranquility... it will do you a world of good, Bax.’ The condescending voice of my manager, Melvin, echoes in my head. My fist flies out and smashes into the empty pillow next to me.
Peaceful, my ass.
I only booked this for my ex. Why the hell did Melvin think this would be a good idea? Obviously, my manager likes to torture me.
With a groan, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and sit up, rubbing my hands over my face and through my tangle of curls, snarling a bit when I rip through a knot. I probably deserve every bit of misery I’m currently feeling. What I don’t deserve is the racket that woke me up.
Standing up, I jerk back with a yelp, the back of my knees hitting the thick wooden bedframe and my body falling onto the firm mattress. Dazed, I lay there for a moment, panting harshly and staring up at the ceiling beams that I’m beginning to dislike, before bringing my foot up and gazing at the reddish liquid dripping from it in a slow trickle.
Oh yeah, the Jack Daniels. I’m lucky the warm liquor startled me and not a piece of the broken bottle slicing into my foot.
I take greater care when getting to my feet this time, skirting the mess on the floor. Rolling my shoulders, my neck cracks and the loud pops of my spine remind me I’m getting too old for this shit. Something I should remember the next time I feel like drinking myself into a stupor.
Grabbing my shorts and the t-shirt from yesterday, I waste little time tossing them on and shoving my feet into a pair of sandals. I’m halfway out the door when I wince and stumble back, groping for my dark sunglasses. I slap them on and go out in search of the loud music, which has switched over to some classic AC/DC.
This is a nice place, semi-secluded cabins, clean walkways and trails all over, and sweet-smelling fresh air. If I left my cabin more, I’d probably enjoy it.
I don’t feel like being sociable, so I’ve rarely left it since checking in, having my meals brought around for an extra fee. I barely refrained from laughing when the cheerful desk attendant was so hesitant about the extra change. What good is money if not to buy me some privacy? I’m fucking loaded, even if Melvin whines about me not working in over a year.
The music grows louder as I approach the next cabin, set further back into the woods than my own. It’s a short walk, but my shirt sticks wetly to my back and the stale smell of booze surrounds me like my own personal funk cloud.
I’m old, single, dealing with one hell of a headache, and feeling pretty sorry for myself when I stomp around behind the smaller cabin. My feet freeze in place before my brain can fully process what I’m seeing.
A young woman in bright purple spandex shorts and a matching sports bra is head down, her pert, round and utterly squeezable ass up as she poses on a thin, blue mat rolled out on the deeply green grass. Her eyes are closed, a peaceful smile tugging her pink lips wide, while the music crashes over us.
Completely spellbound, I stand there, my greedy eyes drinking in every detail of her. Honey brown hair, pulled up in a high ponytail, tempts me to walk up behind her, press my rising erection to that alluring behind and grab hold of that swinging bit of hair and grind into her.
Hell, I’m Baxter McDaniels. That behavior is expected of me.
But not here and not with her.
Despite how undeniably sexy she looks, something about her makeup-free face screams wholesome and that I should keep my dirty hands and dirtier thoughts to myself.
She smoothly rises, transitioning to the next pose. Toned arms lift skyward, her serene smile widening when her palms meet, fingers pointing upward.
Like a befuddled moth drawn to an enticing flame, I edge closer, moving out of the bushes into the grassy clearing with far less grace than her and a lot more noise.
Brown eyes flare wide, immediately zeroing in on me. All elegant movement is gone when she flinches back in shock, wobbling on one leg, the other foot slipping from her thigh. Her arms drop and flail out, hands grasping at empty air.
Charging forward, my fingers claw at and latch onto hers, my other hand grabbing her waist to steady her and unconsciously draw her closer to my heaving chest.
For one endless moment, her gaze is locked with mine and everything fades away. The music, the thumping in my head, the sour taste in my mouth, but mostly every single bit of unhappiness that’s been like a vise around my ribs for so long.
Wonder fills me and the breath that I suck in through my partially opened mouth is sweet and cleansing. Hope swells in my chest and I dip my head, wanting to taste the plump, pink lips of the angel in my arms.