Florida, midnight
Carl Steinhurst marched past the ornate clock on the mantle as it struck nine. Impatient, he took his place behind the massive wooden desk, steepling his fingers as he waited for his daily update on the Kendall situation. As soon as this call was complete he could get back to the two beautiful whores adorning the large silk sofa on the opposite wall of his office.
His hand hovered over the receiver as he waited. And waited. His gaze flicked to the clock again. One minute past.
He sucked in an annoyed breath as he glared back at the phone. The instant it rang, he snatched it up.
Luckily, he’d trained the small talk out of his help. He had no time or need for such things. Down to business. Always business.
“She got away again,” the voice said without preamble.
Carl’s grip tightened on the cordless phone as his fangs lengthened. “She what?”
“She got away from us boss. She’s smarter than she looks—“
He leaned forward, elbows digging into the polished wood. “That’s my betrothed you’re talking about weasel. Watch your mouth.” One of these days he was going to have to see about getting better help. Someone smarter and more capable. These goons worked for peanuts and until he could stake his claim on the Carver lands he couldn’t afford anyone better.
“Use her cell phone to track her.”
“It’s off, boss.”
Sometimes he really did think he was talking to children. “As soon as she turns it back on, triangulate her position,” he said, annunciating every word.
He ran his tongue over his fangs as he watched the women on his sofa fondle and caress each other. The lingerie he’d picked out did wonders for their figures. Rhinestones sparkled in the moonlight, like beacons in the darkened room.
“Right. Um. And there’s more.”
“More? How could there be more?” Fury boiled inside him. How inept could those man-sized-rodents be? He should have hired a bounty hunter with questionable morals to bring her back to him, but no, he’d taken their word for it. “We can find her,” they’d said.
Sniveling little animals.
Not only was Kendall making him look like a fool, now his men were too. He closed his eyes and fought for control. It wouldn’t do to lose his temper at this point in the game.
“Drek managed to get off a shot.”
Carl waited, his brows pinched downward, an uneasy feeling coming over him. He’d told them to take her alive. She was no good to him if she was dead. God help him, he would kill them all. Worthless, scum-sucking maggots.
“And?” he barked a moment later when no further details were uttered across the line.
“He was aiming for the back tire. You knows, to disable the car.”
Carl hissed. How the hell had everything gone so wrong? That stupid old fool Carver hadn’t wanted to put his precious property on the table. No. He’d offered his daughter instead. Carl should have seen the writing on the wall. But she was a means to an end. She’d inherit dear-old-dad’s property, and since she’d be married to him, he’d get what he wanted anyway. Carver had no idea he’d signed his own death sentence.
The plan had been so simple. So fool proof. Until that little bitch had run off, tail tucked between her legs. She should have known he had no intention other than wedding her. Certainly not bedding her.
He had a whole harem of sluts waiting to service him. Plus, he made it a point never to fuck animals. Especially bottom feeders like werecoyotes.
Across the room, the blonde’s fingers disappeared beneath her panties. Undeterred by his mood, she shot him a lusty look. A come-hither smile if he’d ever seen one. His cock jerked, impatient to sink between those ruby red lips.
What was the weasel babbling about? Then, a single word pierced Carl’s lust. Blood.
“What did you say?”
“Which part, boss?”
“Everything after ‘he was aiming for the back tire,’” Carl ground out.
The phone-line was silent for a long moment. Long enough for that sinking feeling to completely deflate his hard-on.
“We think she got hit,” the weasel said, but continued quickly, “but she kept driving, so it can’t be that bad right?”
Carl was out of his chair like a lightning bolt, his temper finally getting the better of him. He clenched a fist, aching to slam it into something fleshy and supple. Preferably the weasel on the other end of the phone line.
“Find her,” he roared before he hurled the phone against the wall and started for the door. The women cowered as he stormed across the room.
“You can go,” he clipped out, pausing only long enough to see them nodding quickly, their heads bouncing up and down like bobble-head dolls. The fear in their eyes fed him and for the briefest of moments, he was tempted to feed on more. To drain them dry.
But he had something far more important to take care of.
He bellowed for his assistant. Did he have to do everything himself?
White Mountains, morning
Something soft nuzzled Kendall’s hand. She blinked against the harsh morning light and tilted her head to the left. A large black dog lay curled at her side. She smiled, feeling safe and warm. Just like in her dreams.
Dernit. Why was her dream life always so much better than her real life? Why did she always end up with a great guy only to wake up, on the run?
“Good morning,” she whispered as she ran her fingers over his muzzle. He licked them and she laughed softly. For a moment she lay there, admiring her surroundings.
Feeling like Cinderella waking up in a castle she tried to remember everything that had happened since yesterday afternoon. She’d been shot. She remembered that well enough.
Crashed.
Rescued.
In and out of consciousness.
Though she had the gist of it, her memories were hazy. How long had she been sleeping? Where was her host? Where was her purse?
Her rapid fire thoughts brought on a headache and she reached up with both hands to rub her temples. Her shoulder protested the motion and she winced. How was she going to get out of this mess? Would they ever stop chasing her? Would she ever get her powers back?
She pushed the thoughts away, thankful that even without her powers her body seemed to be healing quick enough. But that didn’t stop the aches ringing through her body.
Despite her shelter and new found sense of security she needed to keep moving. Get back on the road. Put more distance between her and them, wherever the heck they were. They’d be closing in fast, as they always did. No matter how fast she drove, no matter how far.
Anxiety crept through her slowly, like an all-consuming fog that threatened to strangle her.
No. She wasn’t going to let them win. Pushing herself up, she gritted her teeth and mentally recited the words from her favorite wall poster. Keep calm and carry on.
Keep calm and carry on.
Keep calm and — ohmygod she was naked. In a stranger’s bed.
Had she—had they? She didn’t remember getting naked.
She tugged the sheet around herself. Think. Think. No, she definitely didn’t remember a night of hot sex. And something about the handsome man who’d towered over her, his sheer masculinity perhaps, told her she wasn’t likely to forget an evening in his arms no matter how comatose she was.
And she certainly wasn’t the type to sleep with a man whose name she didn’t even know.
But…she did know his name. He’d told her sometime during those in-and-out moments. No, he’d told her as he’d been extracting a bullet from her shoulder.
Burke something. Burke… think, think, think.
The man had saved her life; the least she could do was remember his name.
Kendall closed her eyes and reined back another wave of panic. That’d been too close. A lucky shot, perhaps, but too close. All the more reason to keep moving and not involve nice strangers in the drama that was her life.
One step at a time. First, she needed to get dressed. Then go check on her car. Maybe Burke would help her get it out of the dune so she didn’t have to involve anyone else in town.
But she was already deep in his debt. A fruit basket wasn’t going to cut it. Not that she could even afford a fruit basket at this point.
Blinking against the glare, she glanced around the room for her clothes. And her host. Her gaze fell on a large white button-up laying over the end of the bed. It’d have to do for now. She reached forward, gritting her teeth as her bones protested.
Everything would all be so much easier if she could just shift. Her shoulder would heal, her head wouldn’t ache, and in general, she wouldn’t feel like a squashed bug on a windshield.
Putting the shirt on was somewhat harder than she’d expected thanks to her injured shoulder. She didn’t know how far she could push it. This was, after all, her first gunshot wound.
She’d just managed to slip the left sleeve on and tug it up over the bandage when she heard the masculine voice from her dreams. “Need some help?”
The giant of a man who’d rescued her from the snow dune and certain frostbite stood in the doorway holding two steaming mugs. Coffee she prayed. With extra sugar. A girl could hope.
Without waiting for her answer, he strode across the room, his long legs eating up the distance and set the mugs on the bedside table. She noticed her old cell phone laying there. He must have found it in her jeans pocket. “I should check your bandage before you button up,” he murmured. She almost melted beneath his dreamy accent.
Swallowing, she nodded her agreement. He leaned behind her on one knee. Warm hands smoothed the tape of her bandage and she greedily soaked in his touch.
Bad idea, Kendall. Get your mind out of the gutter and back to the problem at hand. Not the fact that you haven’t had an orgasm in, oh, three years. Carl’s goons are out to bring you home at any cost (or kill you.) Concentrate on that.
“Looks good. Not too much bleedin’. How ya’ feelin’? Any headaches?”
She shook her head and expelled a quick sigh. “Like death warmed over.”
“I expect so. Do you remember what happened?”
She held the sheet tightly around herself as he helped her get her other arm in the sleeve.
She started buttoning the buttons as he pulled back. “Which part?” she asked ruefully. Her life had certainly been full of adventure lately.
He took a long sip from his mug as he settled himself in the leather chair beside the bed.
She noticed he didn’t offer to help her button up the shirt. It was probably better that way. He’d probably already gotten an eyeful of her less than perfect figure and the farther away he was the easier it was for her to stop wondering if she’d been wearing her good underwear.
“You begged me not to let him take you. Who’s him?” he asked.
“Carl Steinhurst.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “And his posse.”
The dog at her side stirred in his sleep, wagged his tail a few times and then settled again in a peaceful slumber. Oh to be like that again. Carefree. Taken care of.
But had she ever really been taken care of?
“Carl is…” he left the question dangling in the air between them.
“According to my father, Carl is my fiancé.”
She could tell by the way Burke’s eyebrows inched upward that her admission surprised him. Did he not think she would have a fiancé? Wasn’t pretty enough or old enough?
“And you would run away from this man you’re supposed to marry?”
There was a wealth of icy pain in his question. Almost as if he himself had suffered a runaway bride.
“You don’t think a woman has the right to change her mind?” she countered, surprised at how hurt her heart felt. She barely knew this man. His opinion of her shouldn’t matter at all.
But for some reason it did. And she didn’t like the idea that he thought poorly of her, no matter the reason.
Which was just stupid.
“I think if you accept a marriage proposal then you should be sure you want to marry the person. In fact, you should be willing to marry them immediately.”
“So yours was a long engagement then?” She couldn’t help prodding him. It didn’t feel good to have her wounds opened and inspected, much less by a man who obviously thought so little of her at this point.
His gaze jerked from the fire to her and she could swear that a blaze burned there, barely banked. Her query obviously upset him. His jaw worked back and forth as he regarded her.
“We’re not discussing me.”
And just like that he erected an impenetrable wall between them. That shouldn’t have hurt either. She couldn’t bear to sit in his bed, having him look at her like that. He didn’t know the whole story.
“I need to use the restroom…then I’ll get out of your hair.”
He huffed out a sigh, gazing back at the fire. She could see the emotions humming through him, memories alive in his eyes.
“Blizzard hasn’t let up yet. Doubt you’d make it ten feet.”
The rough appraisal set her teeth on edge. She’d made it from Florida to New Hampshire, almost fifteen hundred miles. By herself. Without a man, fiancé or otherwise.
“Bathroom’s through there.” He nodded toward the door to her left.
Kendall stayed in the safety of the bathroom for longer than necessary, despite the cool tile floor. Why did it bug her so much that a total stranger thought she was running away from her commitments? If she was honest with herself, she wasn’t just annoyed, she was deeply hurt too.
He’d based his character appraisal off of one sentence. One freaking sentence.
What was she going to do now? She was trapped. And though the beautiful house was better than her car or a hotel or God forbid, Carl’s mansion, she didn’t know how she was going to stay cooped up with a man who thought so little of her.
Whoever the woman was that had injured him so badly, she’d done a bang-up job of it. He wasn’t wearing a ring. Had they married?
She opened the door to the bedroom and found him staring at the fire, his massive chest rising and falling in a steady pattern. Licking her lips she found herself telling him “for what it’s worth, Carl’s men want to take me back. To them I'm property to be returned to my owner.”
“Your owner?” His keen gaze flicked to her.
She twirled a strand of hot pink hair around her forefinger and nodded. “I barely know the guy. He gives me the creeps.”
“Then why would you consent to marry him?” He sounded shocked and she could tell by the way he’d turned toward her that she had his full attention.
“I didn’t.”
He frowned.
“My father ordered me to do it.” Tired, she settled back in the bed, trying not to jar her injuries. “My dad is a gambler. It’s amazing he has anything left, but he was pretty good at it when he was younger. Lately, let’s just say he drinks more than he wins.
“I’m sure Carl knew it. Neither of them know that I know what happened at that game.” She shrugged. “Dad wouldn’t put his property on the table.”
Burke leaned forward, shaking his head as if he were trying to settle the pieces of a puzzle into place, trying desperately to understand her.
“He put you on the table.”
“Marriage to Nelson Carver’s daughter. I’m the oldest.”
“So you’ll inherit what’s left of your father’s wealth.”
She nodded.
“And if you marry Carl…”
No, she didn’t want to think it much less speak it. She licked her lips and glanced around the room.
“Got it in one.”
“So you ran away…”
“Fat lot of good it did me. Carl’s goons are pretty good at tracking people. And I’m not exactly an expert at evasion.”
“Do you remember your accident?”
She closed her eyes briefly. “I remember my head hurting like hell. And I remember...” She stared straight at him. “I remember you. A dog barking.” She wouldn't tell him that she'd felt safe for the first time ever. Warm for the first time in months. That there was something about him, something she'd recognized through the dreams, the fog of unconsciousness. She trusted him.
No, she couldn't tell him all that. He'd think she was a loon. And maybe she was. Why else would she stay with a family that put their debts above her welfare?
Why else would Burke’s assessment of her sting so much?
She straightened her spine a little. It might have taken her a while to grow a backbone but she was never going to be someone’s trophy wife and she certainly wasn’t going to be a wallflower. Yes, she’d colored her hair pink and purple to try get out of a stupid ancient mating ritual. So what if it seemed a little…
Desperate.
She’d run. From the loony Dirk Brothers and the even crazier Carl.
“I think you had every right to be desperate.” The tenderness in his voice was new.
Okay, spooky. “You think I’m desperate?”
His eyebrows inched upward. “You just said you were.”
Her eyes widened. Trust her, Kendall “Babble-Mouth” Carver to speak out loud when she thought she was merely thinking.
She sighed. Unfortunately, she was used to embarrassing herself by now. Just not in front of handsome, hunky men who made everything feminine inside of her sit up and take notice.
“I think I’m more desperate than ever,” she whispered, twirling her hair again. “Imagine a group of small beady eyed guys with fake Jersey accents, half animal, half human. That’s the Dirk brothers. Carl thinks he’s God’s gift. Tall, dark. Not that handsome though.” She frowned. Nowhere near as handsome as Burke. “And he’s got very specific ideals on a woman's role in life.”
“Half animal you say,” he said, standing. He probably thought she was crazy. She had to remember he was human, not were. But he certainly could be, as large and strong and drop-dead-handsome as he was.
He wouldn’t be a vampire. No. A werelion perhaps, though they were usually blond from what she understood. She’d never met one.
Maybe a werewolf. Yes. Tall, dark, dangerously-handsome. That description suited him to a tee.
In the light of day, his eyes were dark and filled with dangerous secrets. She cocked her head to the right, watching him as he hoisted a large log onto the fire. Definitely dangerous. And yet, she felt so at ease with him…when he wasn’t castigating her.
“How tall are you?” she asked, figuring he was at least a head taller than Carl.
Again with the eyebrow, but he stared down at his feet. She followed his gaze, and gulped. Big feet...
“Six foot seven.”
Wow.
She wasn't exactly short herself. Five foot nine was huge for were-coyots though. And her size had always made her stand out like the elephant in the room. Most days she felt like a giraffe. And her father, he was the first in line to poke fun. She was the family joke.
“Why do you ask?”
“Most of the people I know are short. Shorter than me.”
He nodded in silent understanding. He probably did know what it felt like to be the tallest person in any room. And the strongest, if those biceps beneath that sweater were any indication.
Kneeling before the fire with a wrought iron poker in his hand, he was the epitome of masculine grace. The scene was straight out of an L.L. Bean catalog, totally idyllic.
He glanced back at her over his shoulder and her breath stalled in her lungs. Perhaps he was a male model. That would suit him perfectly.
“I’m sorry about earlier.”
She wasn’t sure how to respond to that.
“I know better than to make snap judgments.” He glanced back at the pile of logs stacked next to the fireplace. “I know better than to judge people at all.”
“It’s okay. We all have our hot button issues.”
He nodded. “But I should have asked more questions before jumping to conclusions.”
“Well, now you know the truth.” Some of it anyway.
He nodded again and pushed to his feet. After putting the poker away he wiped his palms down his thighs. Such powerful thighs…
She really shouldn't be thinking about that. She should be planning her next move, an escape route. But the big man staring back at her was solid and strong like an anchor in a storm. He admitted when he was wrong. Apologized. She searched her memory. Her father and brothers never admitted when they were wrong.
Admitting they were wrong or misinformed was a weakness in their eyes. To a certain extent, her mother had believed the same thing.
And what sort of man stuck up for a guy he’d never met? Was outraged that she’d turn her back on her fiancé? She dropped her gaze to her hands, twisting the sheet. He really was larger than life, and for a brief moment she wanted to soak up the calm.
She shouldn’t though. “I guess I should drink my coffee before it gets cold,” she murmured and reached for her mug.
He returned to his chair. “You change the subject a lot,” he said and took another sip of coffee, his gaze meeting hers over the rim of his mug.
Her cheeks heated. Switching lanes mid-conversation, as her mother had called it, was a bad habit she’d picked up a long time ago. But she couldn’t help that her thoughts bounced from one topic to another. It had driven her mother crazy.
“I’ve been told that before.”
“S’ok,” he said, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. He kept his hands wrapped around the coffee cup. “I can keep up.”
She smiled. How was it that he managed to make her feel like less of a freak? He seemed so…normal. So laid back. It was easy for her to feel the same. She smiled and then took a sip.
Plenty of sugar. Was he psychic?
“I have some bad news about your car.”
So much for staying calm. The pounding behind her eyes came back with an extra beat on the bass drum.
“Is it...” she could hardly form the words.
That car was all she had. The only thing in this world that she owned free and clear. Four fairly worn tires, two dinged up doors, and one fuzzy steering wheel, it was her chance for escape. A new life. A life without Carl and all the crazy coyotes of North Bend. She gulped. “Is it totaled?”
He gave a slow nod, his gaze never leaving hers.
She knew by the compassion in his dark eyes that he heard the fear in her voice. And somehow, she knew he didn't think less of her for it. But she tilted her chin up just the same. She had to be brave. Weakness was not an option.
“Actually, it's,” he glanced around the room as if he'd find the right words painted on the walls, “well, it’s halfway down the mountain by now. Probably hanging from a tree like a Christmas ornament.”
“Ornament?” The word chirped from her lips and her eyes bulged out a bit. She put her coffee cup back on the nightstand, afraid she’d spill it because she was shaking so much.
His lips narrowed into a thin line and his gaze returned to hers. “A tree hit it, knocking it over the edge of the mountain. Then it—ugh—exploded.”
She saw his lips moving. Even heard sounds come out. But the words didn't register. All she could focus on was the sensuous line of those perfect lips, his strong jaw, wide solid chest. She could rest there, curled up next to him, safe from the world.
And then, like a pin popping a bubble, a single word entered her lust filled brain. “Exploded?” She leapt from the bed and whirled to face him, but the action was too much and she sank to her knees on the thick creamy carpet.
He was at her side in an instant, whispering soft words in her ear as his strong arms lifted her back to the bed. But instead of putting her down, he settled her in his lap. Her heart skipped a beat.
So strong.
But… Oh, gosh, her car.
Maybe if she could just soak up his warmth, maybe it was all just a dream. But as she lifted her head and saw the concern replacing the compassion in his eyes, she knew that it wasn’t.
And once again, panic clawed at her.
“I'm sorry,” he said.
“Are you sure? Exploded? Really?”
“Lady, I felt the blast myself. Big boom. Lots of heat. It wasn't an orgasm.”
She blushed.
“Sorry. That was crass.”
“Yeah...” She smiled at him. “But it was actually rather funny.” Their eyes met and held for a long, tension filled moment. Oh god, let him kiss me and make the world disappear.
A second ticked by. Two. Three. He didn’t close the distance, small as it was, between them. But the way he looked at her face, gaze lingering on her lips, maybe he wanted to.
Kendall, you’re crazy. What’s the chance he’s a wealthy bachelor? And even if he was single, you’re not a human. It can never be. Never last.
Why are you still sitting in his lap?
She sucked in a shuddering breath, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts. Fear and frustration joined the mix. How was she supposed to outrun Carl’s reach with no car? No way out?
“I can’t believe it,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. She didn’t want to believe it. The thought that she might actually have to go back to Florida, to her father. To Carl. If was enough to make her stomach roll.
“When the storm clears up we can go look for it, but I’m afraid it’s extra crispy Car-B-Q.”
She appreciated his attempt at humor but that confirmation reduced her dreams to ashes, just like her car. Her lust bubble was seriously popped. Never before had she felt so close to coming unraveled. Part of her wanted to just throw up her hands and admit defeat. But she had to be strong. “It wasn't much, but it was mine. Ya know?”
“I know.”
She stared at the center of his chest, afraid to think, to feel anything at all lest she break down completely in front of this man. This stranger.
But he wasn't really a stranger anymore, was he? And after last night he’d, no doubt, come to know her rather intimately. For some reason, that didn’t bother her as much as she thought it would have a week ago. So much had changed in seven days.
No, they weren’t exactly strangers anymore. She may not know where he came from or what his favorite color was… But she knew his face. His hands. His lips. His tenderness and deep voice.
She knew he was kind. Strong. A protector. He admitted when he was wrong and he had a sense of humor.
And he’d most likely saved her life.