by Amy Redwood
Sinful Intentions
Amy Redwood
A jilted bride, a wolfishly sexy stranger, one sinful attraction under New Zealand’s sun.
When Katherine finds out her fiancé cheated on her, her heart is bruised. With a mission to get her life back on track, she takes the first flight to Auckland, New Zealand. And bumps heads with a sexy stranger. Their attraction is instant, powerful and undeniable. Taking a vacation from being a good girl, she succumbs to this sinful stranger who pushes the limits of her sexual needs as he explores every inch of her body. No strings of course.
Trent seduces her…in a bed, at the beach, in a truck, against the wall…until the wolf within him lifts its head and pays attention. Suddenly, after a tiny bite, it’s everything but no-strings.
An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
www.ellorascave.com
Sinful Intentions
ISBN 9781419929489
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Sinful Intentions Copyright © 2010 Amy Redwood
Edited by Mary Moran
Cover art by Syneca
Electronic book publication July 2010
The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
SINFUL INTENTIONS
Amy Redwood
Chapter One
“Welcome to New Zealand, Miss Miles.” The customs officer returned Katherine’s passport.
“Thanks,” she said, scratching her finger absentmindedly, and headed toward the sliding exit doors. Since she’d departed from JFK Airport, the empty spot on her hand had started itching and gotten worse during the twenty-three hours of flight.
It was as if her skin missed the three-carat, princess-cut ring.
Fuck you, Simon.
Warm, humid wind blew against her face as she left the airport hall. Bright floodlights turned the night into a fake day.
She scanned the area outside the airport, wondering if cabs were a rare commodity in Auckland. About to return inside the terminal to find a phone—or a bench to crash on—she spotted a beacon of hope. Fifty yards away, a bright yellow sign flickered on, off and on again on a cab’s roof. Wheeling her suitcase along, she stalked toward the cab as its engine roared up. She doubled her speed—under screeching noises of protest from her suitcase. With a faint crunch, it swayed and toppled over.
Unbalanced, she tripped, skinning her knee as she fell.
Crouching, she examined the damage. One of the little wheels had broken off, effectively sweeping her off her feet. Muttering a few choice words, she shut her mouth as hard footsteps echoed on the pavement.
“You okay?” a deep voice asked from above her head.
“Not lately,” she said under her breath, keeping her head down. “I’m okay, thanks for checking though,” she said louder, praying that whoever stood behind her would get lost. “I’ll just sue the suitcase company.”
“Good luck,” he said, and walked on, a low laugh in his throat.
She gave a sigh, straightening up again, looking after the guy who was heading, tall and broad-shouldered and with a perfectly working suitcase, toward her cab.
“Hey, hands off my ride!” Mentally marking him as a dirty car thief—if one with a sexy laugh—she ran after him as fast as knee and suitcase allowed, closed the remaining distance and skidded to a halt when she drew level.
Catching her breath, she tapped on his shoulder. “Excuse me, but—”
“Yes?” He turned around, one eyebrow raised quizzically. His dark gaze skimmed over her face, chest, down to her legs. “How’s the knee?”
“I saw it first.”
“Saw what first?”
Still slightly out of breath, she stepped over to the car’s trunk, opened it and hurled her suitcase inside. “The cab,” she said. “I saw it first.” She shut the trunk with a sharp, final-sounding snap and went for the back passenger door. But as much as she tried, the door remained closed. She knocked at the window, wondering what was wrong with the driver.
“This side is open,” he said, leaning against the door, evidently enjoying himself.
“Just as well,” she said, stepping around the car, trying to find her inner calm. “Then step away from the door.”
“Or else?” A smile played around his lips.
She gave him the coolest top-to-bottom scan she could pull off, realizing a little too late that she was checking out an exceptionally striking exemplar of car thief.
Damn.
She’d had it up to here with guys like him.
Fuck you, Simon.
Working her nail over her itching ring finger, she caught his gaze, held it for a moment. If he thought he could steal her cab away from under her nose, then it was maybe time to play dirty. She didn’t like it, but she really wanted to get into her hotel bed and sleep.
“Look,” she said, giving him a calculated shy smile and, for good measure, tuned her voice to a soft timbre, “I’ve just been on a plane for days—”
“So was I.”
“But surely you don’t feel frightened waiting for another cab in the middle of the night.” She placed her hand lightly on his shoulder, sure to catch him by his manly pride. Unexpectedly, her heart skipped as the warmth of his skin seeped into her palm.
“I don’t buy into the damsel-in-distress act, sorry.” Gone was the spark in his eyes and he wore a much cooler expression. “But I’m sure that kind of manipulation usually works for you.”
“Ah, screw you,” she said under her breath, and snatched her hand from his shoulder, hearing another low laugh coming from him. Well, she had misjudged him. Or she was a lousy actor. Or both.
“You’re a Yankee,” he said.
“Gosh, what gave it away?”
“Your horrible accent.”
“Now aren’t you clever.” She refrained from kicking his shin. “And you must be one of the famous local blokes known worldwide for their polite helpfulness.”
“Thanks, yes, born and bred New Zealander, and we’re not only known for our helpfulness.”
He had the nerve to wink.
“Funny.” She scowled up at him until the corners of her mouth lifted because his grin was contagious and she was becoming tired of being a bitch.
The car honked twice and they both looked up, startled. After a quick glance at her, he stepped to the driver and talked to him in a low voice through the rolled-down window, leaving the door unguarded.
Moving quickly, she dropped into the cab’s backseat. “Downtown, Metro Hotel. Fast, please. Extra tip if you manage to drive over the guy’s feet,” she said with a grin before her conscience kicked in. “Just kidding,” she added hastily.
The driver
’s chuckle was the only response, but the trunk was being opened and closed again. “You got to be kidding,” she murmured, and sure enough, the guy squeezed into the seat next to her and shut the door with a snap.
“I heard you’re heading for the city,” he said, and gave the driver a tap on the shoulder. “That’s my direction too. Let’s share the ride.”
“I don’t want to share the ride.” She tried in vain to create more space between them. With him sitting next to her, the seat was much too small and he invaded her personal space. The engine roared, and with a squeal of wheels, the cab sped up and headed north toward Auckland.
“I hope you’re not a serial ax killer or something,” she said, and moved her legs farther away from his, but their knees still touched.
“I was just thinking the very same thing about you,” he said in a mock grave voice.
He smelled kind of nice, which wasn’t helpful, and her skirt had ridden up her thighs. She wiggled as casually as possible to tug it down. The speed made her dizzy and the first pangs of a headache hit her temples. The impression that they drove on the wrong side of the road didn’t help either. Damn that left-sided traffic. She closed her eyes, wishing she could be at home in her bed.
With Simon.
Fuck you, Simon.
She jerked her eyes open as her I-am-feeling-sorry-for-myself mood threatened to result in angry tears. God, she really was pathetic.
And if she wasn’t careful, she would ask the guy next to her for a few comforting words and a cup of warm milk. She shot him a side-glance and hastily looked away when she caught his gaze.
Good-looking bastard.
Like Simon.
She wondered if he shared Simon’s love for strippers.
Scratching her itchy ring finger, she gazed outside the car window. The gray landscape rushed by as the driver shifted gear on the motorway. A new moon graced the cloudless night and stars dotted the sky with unfamiliar patterns. She couldn’t grasp the reality that she had once lived under these southern stars.
“Stop that,” he said, “if you don’t want to lose your finger to a nasty infection.”
She jumped when he covered her hand with his own. He gave her a slight squeeze, his hand warm and sure, his long, slender fingers slightly callused. His touch made her stomach do a curious little flip. Then, with a last pat, he pulled his arm back.
She grimaced when she saw that her skin was indeed a raw, angry shade of pink. If she wasn’t careful, she’d claw off her ring finger.
“Mossy bite?” he asked.
She drew in a deep breath. “Scum fiancé,” she said on an exhalation.
“Usually no treatment for that.”
“Indeed,” she said, wishing she had kept her trap shut. But what did it matter? He was just a stranger. Who gave a damn what she told him?
“You didn’t keep the ring?”
“Nope, didn’t keep the ring.” She had once thought that Simon’s love for her was as deep as the diamond’s fire was brilliant.
Hah.
“I guess it wasn’t amicable?” he asked.
“Why the hell do you care?”
“I don’t.”
“I’ll tell you what it was,” she said, her stomach clenching with unresolved anger. “It was Miss Stripper in the nightclub with the pole.”
“She killed him with a pole?”
“Oh, I wish.”
“Well,” he said, attempting a stretch and bumping his shoulder against hers, “I’m sure he’s missing your sunny personality already.”
Despite everything, she laughed. “I’m sure he does.”
If he realizes I’m gone yet.
She turned in her seat and faced his dark-eyed scrutiny. “You’re a guy, right?”
“Most of the time,” he said, grinning.
“That was a rhetorical question. What do you mean with ‘most of the time’? You’re not gender confused, are you?”
“Sorry, my bad. Yes, I’m definitely male at all times.”
“Gay?”
“Would you prefer to share the cab with a gay guy?”
She thought for a moment. “Maybe. No offense.”
“None taken.”
“So?”
“So what?”
“Are you gay?”
He leaned in, brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and whispered, “Can you keep a secret?” When she nodded, holding her breath because he was suddenly so close, he said, “So can I, Yankee.”
She let out her breath when he leaned back in his seat, her heart beating in her throat. “I don’t get you,” she said, shaking her head, trying to ignore that her breasts had tightened to a strange, tingling tenderness. “Anyway, can you tell me why guys find strippers so irresistible?”
“Don’t generalize. But to give you an answer, and I’m not necessarily speaking for myself, I’d say they simply like to look at naked women.”
“I have no issues with looking.”
“I see,” he said after a moment. “Will you forgive him?”
She didn’t answer. Couldn’t have answered if she wanted to. She had no time, really, to mope after her rat of a fiancé. She had business to do in Auckland.
If Simon wanted her forgiveness, he would need to find her first. And if he loved her, he would find her. And if he did, she would know if she still wanted him. For now, she was glad she wasn’t in the same city as Simon anymore. Not even in the same hemisphere.
Instead, she was sharing a cab with a strange, annoyingly handsome man who had started to stare at her legs when he thought she wasn’t looking.
And his gaze did very odd things to her body, she thought, resisting the urge to check if her nipples showed through the blouse she was wearing. They wouldn’t. She wore a goddamn bra for crying out loud.
She stopped herself from fidgeting and straightened her posture as the car drove over a pothole in the road. She slammed against his shoulder and grasped his thigh for hold. His leg was muscled, hard, twitched under her palm, and his arm came around her shoulder as if to steady her. The impact shook through her like a bolt of lightning and made her wide-awake in an instant.
Nice, firm grip, Trent McGregor thought, biting down laughter. The mortification on her face was priceless as she stared at her hand on his leg. An inch higher and she would have had him by the balls.
“Sorry.” Regrettably, she snatched her hand away.
“No need to be sorry.” Keeping a straight face wasn’t easy but he managed. “Or did you feel me up on purpose?”
“What? No. I haven’t—”she stammered, but caught herself. “It was a reflex.”
“I know,” he said. “I just had to double-check.” She opened her mouth to reply, but evidently thought better of it and merely turned her back on him, slipping away from under his arm.
She smelled of heartbreak, unfulfilled lust and, for some odd reason, of lilacs.
And—she might not have noticed yet but he sure as hell had—the chemistry between them was almost palpable. A sexual spark that was impossible to ignore or resist.
He had no idea what brought her to Auckland, but it was as if she had strayed from the right path and he was the big, bad wolf waiting.
Literally.
Chapter Two
After the long flight, all Trent had initially wanted was to get into his apartment and between the sheets.
But it wasn’t just the flight that had tired him out.
The last weeks had been tough. “McGregor, I want you here.” His partner from the New York office had been insistent on the phone. “You’re the best, and he’s one of our best clients.” Yeah right, he had thought, but had taken the job anyway. All his energy had gone into his career in the last years, and he was ready for a long break from work.
And what better season than summer to take some time off.
He shot another look at the Yankee girl. She looked like autumn, cold and stormy. Anger issues on top of it, he thought. She wore her dark hair in a kind of bun
at the nape of her neck. A few escaped strands curled unruly around her face.
She looked the very picture of the uptown girl in her smart clothes and her flawless skin. He let his gaze travel once more along the length of her legs. He bet her major interests were shopping, beauty spas and driving her fiancé crazy—ex-fiancé, he corrected himself. What a stupid prick that guy must be—if he couldn’t stay faithful, why propose?
And why marry when there was fun to be had without the strings?
At least that had been his motto for the last decade. Now he was no longer so sure about his way of life. He wouldn’t mind settling down with a wife and children. A quiet, relaxed life with a mate. Another shifter, no question. Someone cheerful and easygoing and smart and—God, not as high-strung and complicated as the woman beside him—but someone compatible.
Someone like…Vivian.
If his job had taught him anything, then it was that a successful marriage was based on a longtime friendship and trust.
He looked at the Yankee. Her scent was wickedly delicious. Her skirt had moved up her legs again, exposing a tantalizing bit of thigh, and he felt himself grow hard. He’d made this summer the last one to enjoy his bachelorhood and the chase.
Then he’d marry Viv.
———
Katherine had tried to relax but failed miserably.
Every time the car turned a corner, their shoulders touched and his thigh rested solidly against her leg. It was strangely intimate. A shiver ran over her skin and, ever so slightly, she pressed her leg closer.
“Look, almost there.” He pointed out of the window.
Sure enough, city lights twinkled in the night. Auckland’s highest tower, the biggest in the southern hemisphere, stood like a giant torch in the sky.
The cab had left the motorway and slowed down, driving through empty streets. It was peaceful at this time of night. They passed dark parks, closed cafes and small shops. The driver came to a halt, right in front of her hotel. Brilliantly lit, the lobby sparkled into the night.