Captured Boxed Set: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys Who Will Capture Your Heart

by Opal Carew, Cathryn Fox, Eve Langlais, T. J. Michaels, Teresa Morgan, Sharon Page, Mandy Rosko, S. E. Smith, Pepper Winters

  I hang back.

  Because I see him.

  Trey.

  He has his arm around a slender girl with wavy blonde hair. Then he captures the girl’s mouth and they fall into a perfect, sinful, steamy kiss. I am so stunned I smack my Coke can into my teeth.

  I never told Abby I couldn’t dream of dating Trey in junior high or high school. I was always the rejected geeky outsider. I was made fun of and teased in junior high. When I reached my last year of high school, things got worse. Even though I was quiet and didn’t bother anyone, someone developed a hatred of me and attacked me online. It wasn’t so bad really. Just mean messages and stupid pictures. But it hurt. And it didn’t stop. I got to the point where I wished I just didn’t exist.

  In reality, I don’t think I ever really thought I could learn how to seduce Trey. I don’t think I ever really imagined he could be mine. But watching him kissing someone passionately hurts so much.

  The girl he’s with is gorgeous and he looks like he’s…in love.

  I walk through the house, again realizing I am at the kind of fun party I used to dream of attending. And I want to leave.

  I find the only empty room in the house. In the basement, there’s a small laundry room. I go in there, bite my lip, and let a few silly tears of self-pity roll down my cheeks.

  "Are you okay?"

  I almost jump out of my skin. A guy is standing behind me, in the laundry room. I wipe my cheeks as fast as I can, hoping that he will have no idea I’ve been crying. "Yeah," I mumble, not trusting my voice.

  I turn.

  Oh. Wow.

  Sawyer Tremaine is standing there. All of him, in this very small room. I can’t believe I didn’t notice him. Admittedly, he was hidden by the door, and I swung it shut without turning around. He is folding clothing and setting it neatly into a white plastic laundry basket. Jeans cling to his hips and follow his amazingly long legs. He’s wearing a white t-shirt. He has a build that is not unlike Hugh Jackman’s when the actor plays the character of Wolverine. A beer is standing on the dryer. "Hi, I’m Sawyer." He holds out his hand.

  "I know. I mean, I’m Claire." I take his hand and awkwardly shake it.

  He studies me with his stunning violet eyes. He has long, black eye lashes despite having blond hair. "Are you sure you’re okay? You look like you’ve been crying."

  "No. My eyes just got watery. No idea why. It just happened." I add, floundering, "It’s probably my contacts," I add.

  He folds a shirt and puts it in the basket.

  The significance of that suddenly hits me. "You live here?"

  His brow lifts. "I don’t usually go to parties and fold other people’s clothes."

  "I guess not. But why would you even want to do it at your own party?"

  "The dryer was finished and I didn’t want the stuff to wrinkle."

  Logical, that’s true.

  Sawyer holds out the beer. "I just opened it and haven’t drunk any."

  "I don’t drink," I say quickly.

  "Okay. If you’re sure."

  "I am so sure."

  That makes him smile. He is really gorgeous. In a confined room, his gorgeousness is making me want to hide in a corner and try to disappear.

  That was high school Claire. New Claire, with a makeover, should—

  A crazy thought hits me.

  If I could find out how to turn Sawyer on, maybe I could have one last chance with Trey.

  In the statics course that both Sawyer and I attend, we write regular tests—one every two weeks. We just wrote one a few days ago. Afterward, as people filed out of the classroom, I overheard Sawyer talking to other guys from the class. He admitted he didn’t study.

  "I’ve heard stuff about you," I say quickly.

  He stops with his beer bottle touching his lower lip. "What kind of stuff?"

  I’m being crazy, but I don’t want to stop. "I thought—well, I wondered if we could work out a deal."

  He looks confused. "A deal?" When he moves, his biceps bunch up under the short sleeves of his T-shirt. And…god, are those triceps? Are they supposed to bulge like that?

  "I—uh—wanted to ask you for a favor," I say. "I thought in return, I could help you. You know, with statics. Give you some tutoring."

  "You did—what was your name again?"

  "Claire."

  He sets his beer down. "I got a 98 on the last test. But you’re right—I do have room for improvement."

  Ninety-eight percent? Oh God, I never dreamed he was smart. Given the gossip he was an outlaw bike racer and given I heard him say he didn’t study, I never once entertained that conclusion.

  "Yeah, it’s a tough course," he continues. "I couldn’t fit it in my schedule last year and had to take it this year."

  He didn’t fail it. And apparently he doesn’t study because he doesn’t need to. My face goes bright red—I know it does.

  "I—uh." I have no idea what to say. Then it occurs to me that maybe I can get what I need without making a trade. I mean, he’s supposed to be notorious. Why not try it? Why not just tell him what I want to do? Maybe he would be willing.

  Do it! Do it! an inner voice shouts.

  "I actually kind of wanted to go to bed with you."

  There, I did it.

  Sawyer’s brow goes up again. He doesn’t say anything. Then he lifts his beer bottle to his mouth and takes a long swallow. He rubs his jaw. He doesn’t look me over or anything.

  My heart is wedged so tight in my throat I think I’m going to choke on it. What was I thinking? He is not going to want boring, plain old me.

  Now he’s going to make fun of me.

  I’ve started the cycle all over again. The teasing, the posts, the bullying—all the stuff I suffered through in my senior year of high school. I’m certain he is going to mock me, so I take a step back, intending to turn and get out.

  But he sets down his beer and smiles at me. It’s not a mean smile. It’s a soft one. "Why don’t we start with a date first, Claire?"

  Chapter Two

  I assume Sawyer is joking or he thinks he should deflect this crazy girl who just propositioned him. He bends to the door of the dryer and I move out of the way so he can take out a shirt, which he folds neatly. "Do you want to go out Friday?" he asks.

  I don’t know if I’m arranging to have sex on Friday night. Or if he is just avoiding the awkwardness that would follow rejecting me. At this point, I’m too embarrassed to ask. I pull out my phone and he takes my number, types it into his phone, which he slips into the back pocket of his jeans. My mouth goes dry as I watch his hand go into his pocket, following the tight curve of his butt.

  I don’t believe he’s going to call.

  It wasn’t that all the teasing in high school has made me doubt myself—well, maybe a bit. Mainly it’s because I am certain an invitation to a one night stand should have been done with more finesse. What was I thinking?

  "Uh, do you want to go upstairs and dance?" I ask clumsily.

  "Sorry. I have to study for a test."

  "Oh, yeah." I step aside to let him out of the laundry room. I asked both Trey and Sawyer to dance and struck out both times. My cheeks feel like they are brilliant red.

  Sawyer balances the basket on his hip, opens the door, and steps aside to let me leave first. Hmmm, I guess it would look strange if I stay in the laundry room after he’s gone. "I have to go home," I say. "I should study too."

  "Would you like me to call you a cab?"

  Great. Maybe he thinks I’m drunk because I propositioned him. "Thanks," I say graciously. "That’s very nice of you."

  That makes him grin. And I feel something catch fire deep inside me. Smoke smoulders through me. Oh. Oh. Oh. The flash of white teeth and dimples, the sight of the sexy lines that bracket his mouth, the hint of stubble—

  The only smile that ever had me almost whimpering and sobbing at its sheer gorgeousness was Trey’s. But against Sawyer’s grin, that is like a sparkler compared to a fireworks display.
Well, maybe the difference isn’t so extreme, but right now I am transfixed on the spot, gazing at the sheer sexual beauty of Sawyer’s smile. I’m melting. I’m going to turn into a puddle on the floor of the basement.

  He puts his phone to his ear and orders a cab for me. Then he nods toward a door. "That’s my room."

  Right now, if I were Shanelle or one of the other girls, I might be able to say or do something seductive and end up in his room with him. But I’m not ready for that yet. I know that now, standing in the hallway with the most gorgeous guy I’ve ever seen.

  He grins again. "Goodnight, Claire. See you Friday."

  Then he disappears into his room and shuts the door. A few seconds later I hear music—I think it’s a blues tune, a stark contrast to what they’re playing upstairs. A seductive feminine voice starts to sing about her guy, about how she’s not going to let him stray.

  I picture Sawyer putting his clothing away to the song—socks folded in the sock drawer, underwear in its drawer, shirts on hangers. It’s crazy but I have never been so turned on in my life and it’s from thinking about Sawyer dealing with his laundry.

  * * *

  As I leave the lecture room after calculus class, my phone buzzes in my purse. I take it out, and a deep, gorgeous male voice says, "Hi. Claire?"

  In a squeak, I say, "This is Claire." I sound like a fourteen-year-old boy whose voice is changing.

  "This is Sawyer. Are you still available for tonight? Want to go to a movie at the Westingham theatre? We could have dinner first."

  I can’t believe he is really asking. Having reached Friday with no phone call, I assumed he was just trying to avoid my request.

  I hesitate. I’m afraid to say anything in case this is just a set up for a huge joke at my expense. Instinctively I think: maybe this still isn’t real.

  You are not in high school anymore. "I’d love to," I say.

  I hold my breath after that and wait for some girl’s snotty laugh on an extension as she screams with malicious delight at how easily I was duped.

  But the next voice I hear is still Sawyer’s. It’s rich and soft and he has a smooth, easy way of speaking that makes my knees tremble. "I’ll pick you up at 7:00 from your dorm, Claire."

  "Sure. I’ll be there. Uh, I’m in Laker dorm. I’ll meet you by the front entrance."

  "Great. I gotta go. See you then." He hangs up.

  For a full five minutes, I stand with my phone against my ear and no one there.

  The truth is I’ve never dated.

  In high school, I did get asked out a couple of times. But it was by guys who I looked on as friends. I didn’t feel that spark of desire. So I said no because I didn’t want to ruin everything. I wanted to stay friends. I knew it was just a date. But I didn’t believe a guy dated unless he hoped, even infinitesimally, for sex. And if I had zero interest in sex, there was no point.

  Also, my brother has colitis. We found out because he ended up in hospital with a dangerous blockage. Charley had flare ups and felt crappy for a lot of the time I was in high school. While he was being tested and his doctors were figuring out treatments and medicine doses, Mom worked several cleaning jobs. I never had time to date.

  I have two more classes this afternoon. Whatever the professors teach makes no impression on me; I don’t hear a word. After my last class, which ends at four-thirty, I race back to my empty dorm room and jump in the shower. When I get out, wet hair tangled around me, I suddenly panic.

  I want to look good. As good as I did when I met Sawyer, after the makeover. Except I have no idea what my friends did.

  I phone Abby and Shanelle, but get voice mail. So I am responsible for my own makeover.

  Shanelle started with face primer, followed up with foundation (borrowed from Abby), bronzer, then blush. I don’t own any of those things.

  Eye makeup. That really changed my appearance and Shanelle bought some stuff for me. I quickly brush on the black, waterproof mascara she got. Then I remember she started with liner. Damn. I undo the liquid liner, lean into the mirror with the brush clutched in my hand and…WTF? It blobs on my lid and leaks into my eye

  Which makes my eye water.

  Which makes the stupid waterproof mascara run in a huge smear.

  Really? This is the waterproof kind?

  My next discovery? Tears make the mascara run, but it is sufficiently waterproof that it doesn’t wash off. Even soap and water won’t remove it.

  I end up with a bloodshot, stinging eye that is surrounded by a light grey smear.

  I hunt through the medicine cabinet with one eye shut until I find Abby’s eye makeup remover. "I’m so sorry." I look in the general direction of Abby’s empty bed. "I wouldn’t borrow this without permission unless it was an emergency. Which this is."

  Finally I get the makeup off and wash my face. I’m ready to start again when I realize I’ve blown forty-five minutes to get nowhere. Damn, again.

  I put on the waterproof mascara. Then lipgloss. I heat up Abby’s hair straightener and make a wild attempt to do my hair in five minutes. First I burn my neck. Then, as I juggle the flat iron to deal with my neck, I burn my finger. I run cold water on my finger to stop it from swelling and blistering, then I rub water on my neck.

  I have half-straightened hair. Cursing, I put water on the hair, scrunch it to make curls, then blow dry it as fast as I can. I brush it and it looks sort of like I intentionally made big, loose waves.

  I am running out of time.

  I find a skirt, but it’s so frumpy it makes me gag. I put on another pair of jeans and choose a fuzzy pink sweater, one I think looks cute. And it’s the perfect weight for an October night. I grab my wrap-around wool coat and run down to the entrance of the dorm.

  Given my makeup and hair disasters, I almost hope Sawyer doesn’t show.

  But he’s there. Standing by one of the posts for the canopy that covers the entrance. Tall, beautiful, wearing his black leather jacket, a dress shirt, and his black leather pants. He’s typing something into his phone and he looks mad.

  "Hi, Sawyer." I give a jerky, circular wave. Then want to smack myself for looking so awkward. "Look, if there’s something wrong and you would rather not go out tonight, that’s okay."

  He looks up. "Claire, hi." Suddenly his smile is there again. He doesn’t look at his phone and I notice he’s turning it off. "There’s nothing wrong and I’ve been looking forward to tonight since the party."

  The way he says it, in his deep, gorgeous voice, makes me shiver. He has been looking forward to seeing me. I know he asked me out, but I’m still surprised.

  "How do you want to get there?" I ask. "I usually walk. It’s not far."

  "I’ve got a car." He has the keys in his hand and a car in the visitor parking lot beeps.

  "Uh," I say. The car is bright red and looks like something Steve McQueen would have driven in Bullitt—I used to watch old movies while I was at home on Saturday nights, doing homework.

  Sawyer opens the passenger door for me. As I slide in, I remember Jenna’s warning that he raced motorcycles at 150 mph. I wonder if he’s going to peel out of the parking lot, and if he drives like a maniac.

  Within ten minutes, I learn he is probably the best driver in the world.

  We’ve left the Yardley campus and Sawyer is driving down the main street in Westingham. He stays at the speed limit, and I keep glancing over to watch him drive. It’s incredibly sexy. He steers with one elbow propped casually on the door. His legs are so long, he has to bend them slightly to fit. That leaves his thighs open, and makes me think about erotic things. Like sitting between his legs when we are both naked.

  Then I just happen to look up. A mom is standing on the sidewalk, talking to another woman. Her hand is on her little boy’s shoulder. Sawyer slows down.

  "Oh!" I gasp as the child jerks away from his mom and steps out right in front of us. Sawyer hits the brakes and stops at once. The woman runs out and gathers up her son, who is safe.

  I turn
to Sawyer, heart pounding. "You slowed down. If you hadn’t done that, you wouldn’t have been able to stop in time."

  "I noticed he was looking at the road, tugging at his mom, so I figured he might run out."

  "You saved his life."

  He grins and looks to me. "Fortunately nothing bad happened."

  The mother hauls her boy back onto the sidewalk and hugs him. She gazes at Sawyer and I see the gratitude in her expression.

  My heart is still racing. A reaction to the near miss, but also a really strong reaction to Sawyer.

  "I was thinking of dinner at Madison’s," he says, as he starts driving again.

  "I can’t afford that." I was so startled, I spoke without thinking. But Madison’s is the most expensive and exclusive restaurant in the campus town of Westingham.

  "My treat," he says. "I asked you out."

  After I asked you to go to bed.

  "I’m wearing jeans." I know I am not dressed well enough to go anywhere fancy. "Maybe somewhere more casual."

  "If you’re sure," he says, "Whatever you want. But if you would like somewhere more casual but really good, there’s a Thai restaurant."

  "Sure." I’m not entirely sure, actually. I’ve never had Thai food. But he suggested it and I can’t think of anything else. My heart is still pounding over the little boy.

  Incredible fragrances reach us as we enter the small restaurant. Sawyer holds the door for me—no one’s ever done that. Beautiful wood carvings of graceful figures wearing elaborate headdresses decorate the entry. We’re led to a booth in the dining room, which is decorated with exquisite, delicate wood panels and lit by exotic, perforated metal lamps.

  We order tea, then I tell Sawyer to choose whatever he thinks is good. But he doesn’t work that way. He wants to make sure I like what I’m getting. I finally admit I have no clue about Thai food. So he orders the dishes.

  Since I’ve never actually been on a date, I have no idea what to say.

  "You’re in my statics and calculus classes." Sawyer pours fragrant tea into a tiny porcelain cup. "I noticed you on the first day." He grins and actually looks shy.