by Dana Archer
Head tilted slightly, he inhales deeply enough his white T-shirt stretches over the chest he’s probably spent years developing. Then he turns his head and meets my eyes. No condescending doubt. No envy. He focuses on me with a piercing glare, giving the impression he can see right through me. “Your car, huh?”
My pulse kicks up, the hairs stand up on my arms, and the sound of my blood racing in my ears is all about instinct. With this man’s attention on me, I want to cower or maybe hide, drawing a cloak over myself and praying death passes over me. Neither response would do any good. He’d rip my innermost secrets from me if he wanted to expose them. I can’t say how I know that. I just do. The truth is the soul-deep kind, and it’s the kind of awareness I’ve learned not to ignore.
I choke on the lump in my throat as everything within me—even the crazy part that loves to laugh in the face of danger—demands I run, but I force myself to hold my ground and respond. “Yes. It’s mine.”
In one smooth move, he stands. With his arms loose at his sides, he closes the distance between us. Again my heart tries to make an escape. I press the heel of my palm to my chest. The demand I turn tail and take off grows with each step the man takes.
“Jarah! The man. The myth. The legend.”
Lumberjack guy crosses the porch, meeting Jarah as he reaches the top step. Jarah gives him a bear hug and sets the other man to the side and out of his way in a display of easy strength. Lumberjack guy smacks Jarah on the back, obviously not bothered by the fact he was just manhandled. “Seriously, man. What ya doing out here? Thought you were hitting the road, destination unknown.”
“My grandsons started crying when I went to leave.” Jarah’s deep voice matches his hulking frame, but the lilt to his words hints at a stint in Ireland in his past. “I couldn’t do it.”
“You’re staying, then?”
“It appears that way. At least until the boys get a little older and can understand I’ll always come back to them.” Jarah cuts me a glance. “Love’s like that. No matter how far people wander, they always return to where their soul belongs.”
The sudden stinging in my eyes blurs Jarah’s face. I turn my head into my arm, scrubbing at the irritation. Dang emotions, always blindsiding me at the most unexpected moments.
“Great. Then you goin’ scoutin’ with us? My buddy that I told you about is coming home in a couple of days. He’s the best tracker out there and has been itching to take those animals down as much as we are. He says it’s time to stake our claim. Rid us of the vermin. Just like we all want. You and me both, you know? Make it safe for us in the woods.” The excitement in lumberjack guy’s voice reminds me of someone who’s getting to hang out with the cool kid.
“I hear you. What time are we leaving?”
Jarah’s comment draws my attention back to him. He’s watching me. Probably hasn’t stopped. That meant he likely caught the sheen of tears in my eyes. He’s not standing that far from me.
“Early. We want to be in the woods before they wake.”
“Then I’ll skip coffee until we get back. We wouldn’t want any predators picking up unusual scents on us.” Jarah’s brown-eyed gaze never leaves mine as he addresses the other man.
“They won’t.” Lumberjack guy chuckles. “All they’ll smell is coon urine. Got a case under the counter for us.”
“What?” I step forward. “I thought you only had fox piss left.”
Lumberjack guy takes a step back at my sharp tone and quickly pulls out a container of chew from his flannel’s front pocket, the faded circle marking where it’s normally kept. Not looking at me, he shoves a wad into his mouth. “Yep. That’s all I had left for you to buy.”
I don’t know why I’m complaining. Racoon cover scent isn’t any better than fox. Both stink like, well, piss. Besides, I only need to use the stuff tonight. After my little visit to see my brother and his wife, mate, partner, or whatever Mira is to Josh, I’m out of here. It doesn’t matter how much Josh and Mira beg. The open road—destination unknown—is calling my name, and I’ll never have a grandson stopping me.
“Whatever.” I take a step toward the stairs, but Jarah doesn’t move to let me by. He settles his hand against the railing, blocking the small space I might’ve used to squeeze by him. I glance at him. For a moment, the illusion of black flames dancing in his eyes stops my heart. Then he blinks, and I huff out a breath I’d been holding.
“I think your bottle of cover scent must’ve leaked on you.” Jarah takes the dry brown paper bag from me. He pulls the amber-colored container out and sniffs the seal—the unbroken seal. “Definitely leaking. Get this pretty lady a new bottle and toss in a bottle of coon urine for her hassle.”
“Leaking? Sorry… I didn’t realize… I should’ve—”
“I’m sure Miss…” Jarah stares at me, leaving a pregnant pause for me to fill.
The spinning world around me heaves my gut. With a hand pressed to my mouth, I sway forward. My legs give out, and the sensation of falling draws me down. Strong arms grip my biceps, stopping me from bruising my knees. Black flames fill my vision.
“Are you okay, Miss…”
“Conway. Zoe Conway.” My name is on my lips before I can think better of it. Dangit! I’m too close to the Alexander pride lands to be dropping my name.
Holding me up with an arm around my waist, Jarah wipes the back of his hand across my forehead. The odd sickness fades. “You’re not running a fever. Have you eaten recently, Zoe?”
“I don’t have any money for food.” Again, the truth spills from my mouth.
“No money, huh?” Jarah sets me away from him, pulls out a wad of twenties, and hands me half.
I shake my head—the nausea gone as if I hadn’t just been ready to heave my guts—and shove the money back. “I can’t take this.”
“Sure you can.” He retrieves a pen from his back pocket, uncaps it with his teeth, then scribbles a number on the top bill. “And if you feel guilty about taking it, call me. I’ll set it up so you can work a couple of hours answering the phone at my tattoo shop.”
No ink covers his exposed skin—hands, neck, or face—but that doesn’t mean he’s not tattooed. Clothing hides a lot—from scars to tattoos. “I’m not staying around.”
“Afraid, huh?”
Bristling, I plant a hand on my cocked hip. “I’m not afraid of anything.”
Jarah laughs, the deep sound shaking his chest. “Hope you don’t actually believe that, Ms. Conway. Everyone’s afraid of something.”
“Even you?”
Just like that, Jarah’s amusement cuts off. He stuffs the money into the unwrinkled paper bag lumberjack guy hands him, then holds the package out to me. “If I were you, I’d get wherever you’re going and stay out of the woods. Lots of predators around these parts. They’d eat you up if given the chance.”
“So I’ve heard. And thanks for the cash. Appreciate it.” I snatch the bag, then hurry to the ’Cuda.
With trembling fingers, I unlock the car, climb behind the wheel, and get out of there. The tires kick up rocks, but I don’t look in the rearview mirror. I press the accelerator to the floor, leaving the odd encounter behind me, but with each mile, tension builds, tightening my muscles. I let up on the gas as an itch spreads across my shoulders and down my spine.
Once I cross the border of the Alexander pride lands, there’s a good chance I’ll run into the man whose scent will forever be a part of me. No amount of animal cover-up will save me from him. The predators in these woods know who I am and what I am. They also call Kade alpha.
The ’Cuda coasts over the unmarked boundary. There’s no checkpoint. No guards. Nobody running out of the woods to stop me. Absolutely nothing happens.
“Guess the king of the land is too busy sleeping in his big comfy bed to be worried about looking out for little ol’ me.” Chuckling, I grip the gear shift.
A hand covers mine. A palm stifles my scream. And a warm breath caresses my cheek. “Welcome home, Zoe.”
<
br /> The voice slips through me, loosening my muscles and warming my body. Kade’s the only man capable of both calming and arousing me with only a few words directed my way. That means only one thing:
I’ve been caught.
Learn more about Kade
Also by Dana Archer
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Josh
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Kade
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About the Author
Dana Archer is the alter ego of Nancy Corrigan. She’s a dreamer who one day decided to write down what the voices in her head were telling her. Years later, she's still at it. The number of heroes and heroines waiting for their happily ever after have grown. As a result, you'll find her typing frantically at all hours of the day or night as she brings their stories to life.
When she's not lost in her imagination, she's busy being a wife, mother, and chemist. Yes, she might run on caffeine some days as she juggles all her roles, but that's okay. She loves coffee.
She resides in Pennsylvania with her husband, their three children, dog, snake, cats, and guinea pigs. Her other interests include tattoos, animals, classic cars, and mythology.
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
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Nancy Corrigan (Dana Archer’s mainstream fiction romance pen name), 247, 325 N 10th St. Ste. 400, Lewisburg, PA 17837
Uri Copyright © 2019 by Nancy Corrigan
Cover art by Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs
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All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
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Electronic publication: June 2019 (1st edition)
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This is the tame version of Baiting the Royal by Nancy Corrigan.
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www.DanaArcher.com
ISBN: 978-1-946672-84-1