Taming Alaska (So Not Prince Charming Book 1)

by Diana Downey

  “You have a really nice ass, Princess, long legs that could wrap around my neck, and nice firm tits. Is that what you want to hear?”

  “Well, that’s better.” Can he not talk dirty to me? I’m about to have a sexually frustrated meltdown.

  He shakes his head, finally reels in the fish he’s caught, and takes it off the line. “Honestly, Cyn, why didn’t you chase after me, like you did those guys driving their daddies’ Ferraris?”

  “Because…” I can’t say it because my words sound superficial. It’s not that Shane isn’t fine to look at. I want a man who is refined and doesn’t work on his car, or in his case his motorcycle, instead of me. “I’ve always been physically attracted to you. It’s just…”

  “You want a guy you can take to tea and who knows the difference between a salad and a dessert fork. Both my parents were born out in the middle of nowhere, Alaska and so was I.”

  The disappointment shadowing his eyes reminds me of that day when he got my Porsche started. “It’s okay, Princess. I understand.”

  I hang my head. “I’m sorry, Shane.” What can I say? I always dreamed of being married and having a family.

  “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  Silence grows between us like a chasm, but after we catch several more fish, I ask, “What are we going to do with the extra ones?”

  I stare across the river where the grizzly watches us. It must’ve picked at the wolf and returned to its perch to observe us. It’s a massive bear. It nails a fish with one of its talon-like claws, gutting it open, and I gulp down what feels like a rock in my throat.

  Shane places his large hand on my thigh, setting off a chain reaction of needy desire. His kiss weighs heavily on my mind. It was filled with immediate need and so erotically sensual.

  “After we hike another seven or eight miles, we’ll eat some of the fish we caught later tonight,” he says while gutting and cleaning the fish.

  On that note, my whole body sags. I don’t think I can walk another two feet. He tosses four of them into a pan for me to grill. I liked the onions and berries this morning, so I mimic Shane’s wild culinary prowess by limping toward the edge of the woods and collecting them.

  When I hobble back to him, he studies me closely, his jaw tightening, and I try not to think about the pain in my feet and how masculine he looks in his tee shirt and loose pants hanging on those perfectly narrow hips and that trail of curls leading to his cock. My mind is full of nasty thoughts because I’d planned on doing them with Blake. I have to stop thinking about Shane and focus on reaching Tonakwa long before Red, Loki, and Julian.

  I flip the fish over in the pan. “How did you talk Nikita into joining you out here?” I can’t imagine her lasting an hour without a day spa nearby.

  “When I told her I was hunting in Alaska for three weeks, she asked to go.”

  “And you explained to her that you were camping? The real kind of camping and not car-camping.”

  He nods, a grimace creasing that rugged jaw covered with several days worth of growth. “I guess the money meant that much to her that she’d endure weeks of not bathing to please me. Now that I think about it. She wouldn’t have made it a few days out here, not like you.”

  He thinks I can make it, which brings a smile to my face. “Speaking of which. I will be bathing soon.” My legs and armpits need shaved, and oil sheens my hair.

  A grin replaces his grimace, and I breathe a sigh of relief because I need him. “I don’t have to tell you that the water is cold.”

  I shoulder bump him, and his body stiffens. “I can last two minutes to get clean.”

  Why does he look so serious? “Make sure you tell me when you’re going, so I can keep an eye out.”

  I waggle my brows. “To see me naked?” I should stop referring to sex, but it’s on the forefront of my mind.

  That usual roughish grin contours his cracked lips. “That and to keep an eye on the wolves and the bear.”

  My gaze wanders to the woods, which appear dark and quiet. Too quiet. A slight tremor ripples across my shoulders.

  As I fix us each a plate, Shane leans over and unlaces my boots. “You were limping earlier and then you distracted me. Lets take these off.”

  My feet feel like someone set them on fire. “Always asking me to undress.”

  He chuckles. “Only for your benefit.”

  The camaraderie between us has been rekindled, and we’re back to being friends. “And yours.”

  “I would never complain.” He helps me tug off my boots to observe my feet. Heat exchanges between us as he pulls off my thick socks. His breath catches, and mine picks up, my heart doing double time.

  The boots have eaten the flesh off the outer sides of both of my big toes.

  “You should’ve told me earlier?” Shane cradles one of my feet on his thigh, then he opens his pack to dig into it.

  “Don’t be licking my toes,” I tease.

  He laughs and gives me a genuine smile that shoots a lightening bolt into the foot he’s holding, even past the pain. “You don’t have to worry about that. Have you looked at your feet?”

  We’re really back on good terms, so I let out a sigh of relief.

  Laughing, he lifts my foot and nips my middle toe. When I squirm with wantonness, he abruptly stops laughing to stare hard at me while inhaling sharply. Wickedness briefly flashes in his green eyes. If only he’d take me here and now.

  Shane seems to shake his feelings off and says, “I have moleskin for your blisters.” He daubs ointment on my toes then checks the rest of my feet for sores.

  “Thank you.”

  When those green eyes of his peer into mine, my body resonates with blistering fervor, humming from the touch of his fingers on my feet. He cuts the moleskin to fit my toes. “This will stop your boots from rubbing them.”

  His hand slips along the inside of my foot, his breath quickens, and he licks his lips. “Your feet are soft, so the journey will take its toll on them.”

  Shane slipping my socks onto my bare feet stops all rational thought.

  “Leave your boots off until we go,” he says.

  I nod, inhaling hasty breaths while my foot rests on his thigh. He stares down at it, deep in thought, before biting into his fish. He doesn’t remove my foot and neither do I. While it rests on his leg, my unsatisfied sex squeezes together and pulses.

  We finish eating and clean up while I wiggle around to relieve the pressure in my sex. Shane packs the extra fish into a plastic bag. I tug on my boots, and to my surprise, the moleskin stops the constant rubbing.

  As we thread our way along the bank of the river, the grizzly stops to observe us, and more shivers work their way into me. It doesn’t help that the temperature keeps dropping, and snow has started to fall again. Shane doesn’t help by working the cold out of my back with his strong, feverish hands.

  “I’ll take care of you, Cyn.”

  Why couldn’t this have been a normal vacation? With only cute little toucans and parrots, instead of wolves and a massive bear.

  Though my feet ache from the second day of hiking, I push on. “Shane?”

  “Yes.” He stops to help me over a fallen log covered in moss yellowed and dying from the dropping temperature.

  “How did you end up in Austin?” If he was born and raised in Alaska, why Texas?

  “My mother hated living in Alaska, so she and her closest friend left their husbands and moved to where it was warm and they had family. We had to visit, and eventually Dad sent us to schools in Austin.” He faces me. “You aren’t going to like this, but my first girlfriend Lindsey is Julian’s sister and their mother is my mother’s best friend. Julian and Lindsey used to come to Texas with us. She’s stayed at my condo several times when her mom goes out of town.”

  “I bet Nikita liked that.”

  There’s that warm smile again. “She didn’t.”

  “That’s probably how Blake knew him.” They were probably lovers before we knew each other. An
ger flares in my face, souring my lips. Blake is not the perfect man.

  “Loki used to visit Julian. He got caught with drugs while in Texas.”

  “That explains a lot.” I hadn’t realized that Shane came from a broken family. “Does your dad still live here?”

  “Yes. In Tonakwa.”

  The pieces are starting to fall together.

  Snowflakes cake onto my lashes and settle on my wool hat. In the distance, low-hanging clouds hide the mountaintops.

  Shane drops back while I stare up at them and puts an arm around my shoulder. “Come on.”

  I want to lean into him and forget about my troubles. He smells like the forest, and that penetrating kiss still burns my lips. For a few more miles that’s all I can think about and it drives me forward.

  Despite the moleskin protecting my feet, we hike until my feet feel like they’re going to fall off. My calves and thighs ache. Everything hurts, including my shoulders and back from lugging the pack. Just looking at the weight on Shane’s shoulders makes me cringe. He keeps readjusting his load from the wound on his shoulder. I’ll look at that tonight. Maybe there’s something I can do for him.

  He shrugs off his pack in a small clearing where the peaks remain hidden in the clouds. As Shane throws up the tent, the sky dumps snow on us. I help him gather firewood in silence and then he builds a fire where he cooks prepackaged stew and the fish. We sit under some plastic tarp he pulls up from the tent.

  I serve us each a bowl before forking a bite. The rich taste of beef and carrots settles on my tongue. “It’s good,” I say, surprised.

  Shane just grunts, squeezing his eyes shut while he rolls his bad shoulder back. I slowly take off his coat to examine his shoulder. Dried blood stains his tee shirt.

  “It’s not infected, but it’s not healing with what you’re carrying,” I say, admiring the corded muscle of his arms.

  Recalling our earlier entanglement, I have to back away and hide my rapid breathing and the flush sweeping across my face.

  “It probably won’t until we stop.” He pulls me into him, and I stop breathing. “We’re both exhausted, so let’s get some sleep.”

  I swallow, feeling the strength of his grip and inhaling his woodsy scent. We’re both horny, so why doesn’t he make a move? If he would’ve asked me out after he started my car that day, I would’ve said yes, and we wouldn’t be going through this, and I could’ve taught him how to hold a knife and fork.

  We crawl into the tent, Shane taking up the rear, his hot breath on my ass. My clit tingles and begs to be touched, even by his rough hands.

  After we lay down beside each other, he turns a cold shoulder toward me, and my heart withers. It’s too late for him and me. I hold back the tears of losing Blake, from being out here, and from those men hunting us. And for making the costly mistake of losing Shane.

  * * *

  After spending the night next to Mr. Sexy Hard Body, who completely ignored me all night, I need a dip in the icy river. He definitely keeps me warm at night, and the dreams I had left me dangling on the brink of pleasure, but would I have agreed to come up here with Shane if he’d invited me? That’s doubtful. I hate it. I just want to go home to my comfy bed.

  The sun isn’t even up, so I gather my clothes, the bear spray, soap and shampoo, and a hand towel I stole from the cabin.

  I creep outside, so I don’t disturb Shane. My whole body aches, especially my legs and feet. We have more days of this, hiking over rough terrain while I stare at his manly butt and his gorgeous body. Eventually, I’ll have to face Blake’s lover. Besides Blake, the only thing we have in common is that we were both bitches in the relationship.

  A bald eagle swoops down from the trees and captures some rodent hiding in the ground cover. I don’t know if I can last another week of being out here in the wild, even though I don’t have a choice. If it weren’t for Shane, I wouldn’t have made it this far. When and if we return, I’ll have to do something nice for him—introduce him to a girl who would enjoy this. I don’t know anyone though.

  As I walk to the river, the clouds cast a dull grey to the landscape. This morning the air doesn’t feel cold enough to snow, but it’s heavy with moisture, and rain would suck on our cross-country trek. I don’t have any foul-weather pants, just a Gore-Tex shell to keep my upper half dry. The thought sends bone-deep chills into me.

  In front of me, the river flows break-neck fast, but yesterday, I spotted several large boulders that create an eddy—my new vocab from Shane. Before getting in, I wash my face and hair and shave my legs. I hate hairy legs. I wonder if Shane will appreciate my effort. Even if he doesn’t like me, he does have to sleep next to me.

  I remove my clothes and sink into the very refreshing water, my nipples hardening and my thighs squeezing together from the icy plunge. I soap up as quick as I can, and just as I reach for my towel, I scream, “Oh shit.”

  The stupid black wolf snaps at my fingers, its tail flagging. I didn’t even hear it come up. I stumble and almost lose my balance on the slippery rocks. I grab a branch to steady myself.

  The pepper spray sits right next to my clothes. While the wolf growls at me, its sharp teeth gnashing and drool foaming from its powerful jaws, I edge toward the pepper spray, willing my body to stop shaking, which is nearly impossible between the cold and the wolf’s audible threats.

  I lunge for the spray. The wolf pounces for my arm, and my hand snaps back like a boomerang. I reach for it again, and before my fingers can clamp around the bottle, I slip on the mossy rock and plunge into the water where the current sweeps me up. It pulls me under, and as I resurface, I scream, “Shane.”

  My body bounces off of rocks until I recall from river rafting to keep my feet up and in front of me. It doesn’t take too long until my feet and body are numb from the cold. A branch stabs me in my rib, so I cry out again just before the strong current sucks me under.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Shane

  When I roll out of the sleeping bag, I wake to the aroma of fresh coffee, so I smile. The princess made me coffee. In only socks and jeans, I climb out of the tent and pour the steaming black liquid into a tin mug. Hers taste better than mine, and I have no idea why, other than I didn’t have to make it.

  The coffee is black, hot, and rich—the way I like it. I don’t know why Cyn doesn’t like my Caribbean roast.

  If she knew how much it excites me to sleep next to her, she wouldn’t come into the tent. I’ve dreamt of her naked every night, my imagination running wild about what she’d look like stripped of her clothes. I’m betting dark nipples to go with her olive skin.

  “Cyn?” I call. I hope she didn’t go to the river to bathe without telling me first.

  I stare down at the damp earth where large wolf prints from a single animal stamp the ground. They stop just beyond the fire and our tent, which means the pack is growing bolder. The coffee churns in my gut.

  When Cyn screams, I drop the mug of coffee, dash into the tent for the 10mm Glock, and sprint to the river, my socked feet soaking up the damp earth. The black wolf lopes along the riverbank, halting every few feet to watch a blonde mass of hair with dark roots bobbing in the water.

  When I intentionally shoot at the dirt behind the wolf, it tucks its tail and darts into the woods. As Cyn slams into a boulder, I flinch. She’ll be a bruised and bloody mess. I pray nothing’s broken because our survival depends on it, and I don’t want to see her hurt. When she spins around, a dead tree splayed across the river catches and stabs her in the shoulder. Blood plumes in the water.

  Dammit. Gulping in air, I hurdle over rocks and fallen trees to retrieve her.

  She coughs, spitting out water, and her arms dangle over the trunk. She breathes unevenly, laying her head on the trunk spread out on the river. I scoot out on the fallen tree, grab hold of her armpits, and scoop her out of the water.

  She lets out a small yelp when her bare skin scrapes against the bark, scratching the swell of her breasts and the curves
of her stomach and hips.

  “Oh fuck.” She’s nasty hot and what I’ve imagined since I met that saucy little sixteen-year-old five years ago. My cock stiffens and bolts upright in my jeans.

  “Bout time you got here,” she says in between her teeth chattering. Her head lies on my shoulder, and her naked, plump ass rests on my arms as I carry her back to the campsite.

  “I’m so cold,” she mutters.

  She clutches onto me, and I worry she may have broken something with the blood pouring from the gash in her shoulder and the bruises covering her arms and legs.

  “You should’ve told me where you were going.” Anger and a touch of sexual frustration taint my words. “You could’ve been seriously hurt.” I stop and pick up her clothes and pepper spray and drape the hand towel on her shoulders. Her naked, shivering body curls into me, and I try my damnedest not to think about it.

  Scratches and puncture wounds mark her soft olive skin. Dark smudges have formed crescent moons under her eyes from lack of sleep. I don’t know how much longer she can keep going—the cold, the long hikes, and now this.

  “Where are you hurt?” I ask, tugging her closer to warm her up, her wet hair soaking my bare chest. Her fleshy, perky breasts dimpled by gooseflesh with dark, stiff nipples brush against me.

  She glances up. “Everywhere.” She’s fighting off tears when she doesn’t need to.

  I can’t help myself I kiss her wet hair. “Oh Princess. It’s okay to cry.”

  Her damp hair cools my shoulder. I hold her very naked ass in my arms, her cold nipple prickling the hair on my bare chest. Ravenous need stirs within me, so I gulp in air and my heart beats so loudly it drowns out the world.

  When we return, I sit her down in front of the fire then snatch the sleeping bag from the tent to wrap it around her. “Put this on.” I hand her my flannel shirt that I stuffed at the bottom of the bag to keep it warm when I put it on in the morning.

  She tugs it over her head, stretching those breasts upward. Her teeth chatter while I pile more wood onto the fire. I pour her coffee, her trembling hands grasp the warm mug, and she sips.