by Calista Fox
"Oh, for crying out loud,” she said in disgust. “Give me a little something to work with here!"
But the night stayed dark. No moonlight. No lightning. She let out a long-suffering sigh. “Okay, fine.” She reached out to the dog once more and ran her hand lightly up to his neck. “You'll be fine if you just stick with me.” Large drops of water streamed down her cheeks and pooled under her chin, dripping to the ground. She could barely see an inch in front of her.
She swiped at the water around her eyes then used both hands to try to coax the animal to its feet. “Come on, now. I'm freezing to death and I'm sure you are, too. I can't lift you or carry you to the back of the truck, so you're going to have to work with me.” She tugged at his neck. He moved in the thick mud, but didn't get to his feet.
Serena groaned. She stood, but then bent over the injured animal. Hugging him to her chest, she forced the animal to shift and roll from his side to his stomach. Then she gripped him just a bit tighter, ignoring his low growl. He could protest all he wanted, as long as he didn't bite her. If he did, she was leaving him here in the mud.
"Here we go,” she said as he unsteadily came up on all fours. The dog whined and whimpered, but she managed to guide it to the back of the truck. “Hold still now,” she said as she reached for the handle on the tailgate.
She paused for the briefest of moments, wondering if she'd get zapped again. She'd left her jacket on the hood of the truck, so she'd just have to chance it. One finger placed against the metal latch proved the truck no longer held a charge. Relief washed over her. That was one less thing she had to worry about.
When the heavy metal gate was down, she urged the dog toward it and helped him up so he could place his front paws on the platform. Serena straightened and tried to draw in a full breath. The rain fell on her, hard and unyielding. The thunder still rumbled, but she found it odd that the lightning had ceased completely. And the moon had taken full leave.
Wiping the back of her hand across her forehead, she steeled herself for the most difficult task of all. Getting the dog into the bed of the truck.
"You're gonna have to put some effort into this,” she said. “I can't lift you, and even if I could, I'd probably slide in the mud and we'd both end up on our asses.” She grasped the animal by his hindquarters and felt the sticky, goopy pool of blood under her right hand. The dog growled in pain and she shifted that hand. Clearly, that was where he'd connected with the truck and the headlight.
"I told you I didn't mean to hit you,” she snapped. “So stop growling at me. You're the one who jumped out of the night in front of my truck. You can't blame me for your injury."
The dog groaned, as though her complaining nauseated him.
"You've got a bit too much attitude for my taste,” she grumbled. “Alright. Here we go.” She coaxed him up with her hands. In one swift move, the dog leapt onto the tailgate, then let out a low howl. She couldn't see him very well, particularly with his dark coloring, but she heard his body collapse onto the bed of the truck. He whimpered softly.
Serena's heart wrenched. She loved animals and it broke her heart to know one was in pain. Worse was knowing that it was in pain because she'd hit it.
Guilt swirled around in her belly again. She pulled the tarp she kept in the bed over the dog and then pushed the tailgate into place. Hoping the dog survived until she could get Pete to come get it or get the vet out to her place to help, she returned to the cab of the truck and slipped inside, immediately reaching for the switch to the heater and cranking it to high. Water ran into her eyes and the bench seat was instantly soaked.
She took a moment to compose herself. What a bizarre night this was!
Her hand shook when she reached for the steering wheel. Gripping it tight, she held it steadily as she shifted the truck into gear with the other hand. Pressing her foot against the gas petal made the truck lurch forward. Her soaked jacket slid off the hood and she murmured a low curse for forgetting about it.
The tires slipped in the mud, but she made her way down the road. With the one good headlight, she managed to find the turnoff to her house. Two miles down the road and there was her cottage.
Pulling into the narrow carport, she shut off the engine, but left the single headlight on. Either the bulb that hung over the doorway to the cottage had burned out, or the storm had knocked out the electricity. Regardless, she breathed a sigh of relief as she set the emergency brake. She'd made it home alive.
Hopefully, she could say the same for Pete's dog.
Climbing out of the truck, she worked her way to the back and lowered the tailgate. Rain dripped from every inch of her and she shivered as a cool breeze swept through the carport and chilled her bare, soaked skin.
The moon was still shrouded behind gray clouds, but with the high beam hitting the wall of the carport and softly illuminating the narrow space, she had ample light to see the lump beneath the tarp. Unfortunately, it wasn't moving. Groaning, Serena reached for the corner of the thick material and tossed it back.
"Holy shit!” She gasped.
There was no dog in the bed of her truck.
What Serena found, instead, made her head reel and her body vibrate with shock. Her gaze grew wide as she stared at the figure before her.
It was a man, curled on his side.
And he was bare-assed naked!
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High Voltage: Chapter 2
For a moment, Serena couldn't think straight. Her mouth gaped open and her mind went blank. It took an absurd amount of time for her brain to start functioning again.
What was going on here?
Where the hell had the dog gone? And where the hell had this man come from? Had he been in the back of her truck all this time?
"No,” she whispered. She would have known. She would have seen him.
Wouldn't she?
Shaking her head, she tried to rationalize that it had been pitch black outside when she'd helped the dog into the bed of the truck. The man could have sought refuge there when she was in town. Right?
Panic welled inside her. Again, she couldn't agree with what her reasonable mind was trying to tell her. She would have known he was there. She would have sensed his presence. Heard him. At the very least, the dog would have known he was there and that would have alerted her.
A bit freak out, she moved away from the truck and stalked over to the washer and dryer in the far corner. She flung open the cupboard above the washer and retrieved a towel and a thick blanket. She then returned to the bed, setting the dry covers on the tailgate. The man didn't stir. He was curled in the fetal position, his arms wrapped around his wide chest. His eyes were closed.
The way her heart pounded so erratically in her chest made her wary to wake him. She wasn't exactly in the mood for a confrontation.
Glancing around the carport, she located the long metal handle that belonged to the tire jack she'd left behind when she'd cleaned out the bed of the pickup so she—with Pete's help—could bring home an armoire she'd bought in town last week. She gripped the rod tightly in one hand. Just in case. Unfortunately, her arm shook violently from the chill that had set in. Yet adrenaline kept her moving.
With tentative steps, she returned to the back of the truck. Using the long piece of metal in her hand, she gently prodded the man who still lay there, completely oblivious to his surroundings.
He didn't budge. It occurred to Serena that perhaps he was dead.
"Fuck,” she muttered. “That's just what I need. A dead guy in the back of my truck and one of Pete's dogs on the loose, injured.” She lifted her eyes heavenward—except that her gaze didn't make it any further than the white, clapboard-covered roof. “Why me, God? I mean, seriously? Every time I turn around, it's something new."
She shook her head. Bizarre occurrences seemed to find her wherever she went.
Returning her attention to the still unmoving figure, she poked his forearm with a little more force. “Come on, free ride's ov
er. Time to be on your way, pal."
One more jab of the jack handle and she jumped backward. The man didn't just stir or rouse from sleep. He sat bolt upright and glared at her. His long, powerful legs swung over the tailgate and he jumped to his feet in one quick, fluid, incredibly graceful movement.
Serena's heart slammed against her chest. He gazed at her with such intensity it nearly knocked her on her ass. As it was, she took another step backward. His eyes elicited a physical reaction—she could feel his steely gaze deep inside her.
Standing in the rain now, because she'd inched her way from under the protective covering of the carport, she clutched the rod with both hands and raised it toward his heart. “Don't try anything funny. I'm not afraid to use this thing."
His dark brows knitted together for a brief moment, before one crooked upward. His vibrant green eyes, which were really quite mesmerizing, seemed to glow in the dark. When one corner of his mouth quirked up, she knew he found her amusing. Not a threat, as she'd hoped.
No, he thought her little act of bravery was ... comical.
Bastard.
"Don't make any sudden moves,” she said, forcing some authority and firmness into her otherwise quaking voice.
He held up his hands in a placating manner. As though in surrender.
And that's when she got the full effect of him. Her eyes shifted from his black-as-night hair and devilishly handsome face to his thick neck, his broad shoulders, his wide chest. Water streamed down his perfectly sculpted body. Unable to stop herself, Serena let her gaze sweep lower, following the droplets to the ridges of his abdomen. Lower still to his lean hips and...
Before the sight of male flesh and glorious muscles overwhelmed her mental faculties, her brain shifted into high gear and her tour of his body came to a screeching halt. Just as she was getting to the really good part.
Her eyes snapped back up to his face, seemingly of their own volition.
Serena let out a long-suffering sigh.
Wacky things happened to her all the time. For once, she'd like to reap some reward for being permanently stuck in The Twilight Zone.
She focused on his face again, doing her absolute best to ignore the flicker of desire the assessment of his perfect body sparked. “Put the towel around your waist, for Christ's sake."
He merely smirked at her. His eyes lit with amusement and something else ... Supreme male confidence?
She rolled her eyes. Of course. No man who looked that good would show even a modicum of modesty. He knew he was hot stuff. And he knew she liked everything she'd seen of him thus far.
Except ... That was all bad and wrong. She didn't know who the hell he was. He could be an escaped convict, for God's sake. A dangerous criminal. A rapist.
Yet, he really didn't look like a bad element. In fact, he looked rather clean-cut and decent. A bit aristocratic, even.
Damn. He really was gorgeous. And when he crossed his powerful arms over his wide chest, she fell just a little bit further under his mystical spell.
Her arms dropped a few notches.
Making no move to cover himself up only added fuel to her internal fire so she finally had to fix him with a serious gaze.
"Gimme a break, huh?” she said, exasperated. She hated like hell that it took more willpower than it ought to in order to keep her eyes locked with his, instead of letting her gaze roam his body as it so wanted to do. “Towel?"
With a very cocky grin on his too-perfect face, he unfolded his arms and reached for the thick piece of material. He rubbed his damp hair, making it an unruly mess that only served to add an edgy element to him, then dragged the towel down his face and chest. Finally—yes, thank God, finally!—he wrapped the towel around his lean waist and tucked the corner behind the fabric to secure it.
"Better?” he asked in a low voice.
Aw, shit. She groaned inwardly. Not only did he look sexy, but he spoke in the most intimate, sensuous tone.
As if she really needed one more thing about this man to be so damned stimulating.
She spared another glance heavenward, this time without the impediment of the carport.
What the fuck is this? she silently demanded. You sent me a gorgeous psychopath?
"Just my luck,” she muttered aloud. Serena never could catch a break.
Returning her attention to the hunk standing before her, she said, “Okay. Who the hell are you and what the hell were you doing in my truck?"
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High Voltage: Chapter 3
She didn't recognize him, but Garrett knew who she was. Serena Lamond. New York City transplant. She seemed to grow more beautiful every time he saw her. Even looking like a drowned rat, she radiated an irresistible sexuality that called to him, making his gaze ease over her long, luscious body from head to toe, and then back up again.
She wore jeans that were plastered to her slender legs and shapely hips. Her pale pink lacy tank top clung to her flat stomach and full chest. Droplets of water slid slowly down her long, graceful neck and her toned arms.
His gaze lifted higher and landed on her beautiful face. Her deep blue eyes were wide and questioning. Soft, rosy-colored lips were slightly parted and covered with just a hint of gloss that managed to defy the rain.
Garrett's groin tightened at the sensual look she projected, though he was certain she had no idea how desirable she was.
But that really was a moot point at the moment. Her life was in danger, and only he could help her.
Garrett knew Serena had been in Silver for several months, yet she was still too new to know what went on in this remote town on nights of the full moon.
"Look,” he said, holding his hands in the air to keep her from whacking him over the head with the jack handle. Well, trying to whack him over the head would be the more appropriate statement. She'd never get close enough to him to cause him bodily harm. He was much too quick, his instincts much too keen. But she didn't know that. And he was trying to do everything in his power to put her at ease. “My name is Garrett Slater. You may have heard of me."
Her brow furrowed for a moment. Then her expression turned suspicious. Even more so than before. “Garrett Slater? You really expect me to believe you're Garrett Slater?"
He gave a noncommittal shrug of one shoulder. “I understand you'd expect me to look a bit ... different. But this is me."
Her jaw worked vigorously as she seemed to process his words. Finally she said, “You own the Silver Mountain Ski Lodge."
"Actually, I own the whole damned mountain. And most of the property surrounding the lake. And, well, about half of the town.” He grinned. “But who's counting?"
"Apparently, you are,” she said, her tone dry. “You're certainly arrogant enough to be Garrett Slater."
He chuckled. “I was born this way. Nothing I can do about it.” He forced his tone to remain light, his gaze easy. The last thing Garrett wanted to do was frighten her more than he already had ... more than he likely would when she discovered his true identity.
Thinking of the danger she was in—the danger she knew nothing about—he took a small step toward her and extended his hand to her. “Let me help you inside."
Her gaze shifted suddenly as something caught her attention. “You're bleeding."
Glancing down at his right hip, he saw a crimson stain on the white towel he'd wrapped around his waist. His gaze returned to her striking face. “It's nothing."
She stared at him, dumbfounded. “It doesn't look like nothing. In fact, it looks pretty bad."
And then it occurred to her.
Garrett could see the change in her visage, the questioning and uncertainty that entered her eyes. The way her body suddenly trembled so violently told him she had just made a correlation that was not only inconceivable to her, but which was also probably the most shocking thing she'd encountered in her young life.
"Oh, holy shit...” she said on a sharp breath. Then, “Where'd the dog go?"
Garrett too
k another small step toward her. Serena's body shook visibly and she pressed her back against the column at the entrance of the carport for support. She was still getting partially rained on, but he could see that the sturdy wooden beam provided her some measure of stability.
In a low, even tone, he said, “There was no dog."
Her arms finally dropped all the way to her sides and the iron rod clamored to the concrete floor as it slipped from her long fingers. “I saw it,” she whispered. “I hit it. And then I helped it into the back of my truck.” Her deep blue eyes narrowed on him as she said, “I felt the blood. He hit the corner of my pickup and smashed the headlight. He was injured. Bleeding. I felt the blood on my fingers."
She lifted her right hand, but of course there was no evidence of what she spoke. The rain had washed the blood away.
Garrett reversed his steps and retrieved the thick blanket from the tailgate. He returned to her, closing the gap between them, and draped the unfolded blanket across her chest and over her bare shoulders.
His gaze locked with hers and he said, in the most non-threatening voice he could muster, “You need to get inside. You're soaked and it's cold out here.” There was more to it than that, of course, but he didn't want to freak her out.
One hand reached up and pressed the blanket to her breast, holding it in place as he turned away.
Garrett stalked over to the driver's side of the truck, ignoring the shooting pain in his right hip. It would subside soon, so it was easy to dismiss the throbbing sensation. He yanked the keys from the ignition and then rounded the front of the truck and unlocked the back door to Serena's cottage. He shoved open the door and then returned to the cab, where he'd seen the pile of groceries. After depositing the bags and the case of wine on the kitchen counter, he moved deeper into the small cottage and lit a fire in the hearth. The living room was tiny and it doubled as a bedroom. Serena's queen-size bed sat off to the right in an alcove.