Shifter Starter Set

by Candace Ayers

  “What are you doing? I told you to stay up there.” Roman was back, his hands on my waist again. Effortlessly, he lifted me back on the counter a second time, tsk-ing like I was an insolent child. This time, he spun me to the right until my foot rested against cold metal. The sink.

  I gritted my teeth against the pain that had just started to register. His hands were warm as he held my calf, and I focused on that instead. “This is surreal.”

  He was close enough that I could feel his breath against my temple as he spoke. “What?”

  I laughed. The laugh felt strange forming in my stomach, coming up my throat, tickling my lips. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed. “I almost died. I was trying to get out of the floodwaters and back to my house when the rip current caught me. Before I knew it, I was swept out to sea. Yet my worst injury of the day is from stepping on a piece of broken glass.”

  “Why do I feel like there’s more to that story?” His hands were still on my leg. Was he aware that he was absently stroking my calf?

  I blew out a frustrated breath at the reminder of my story. “In high school, Greg’s parents kept the liquor in the cabinet above the fridge.” I motioned with my head to the refrigerator behind me. “Why don’t you check? Maybe we’ll get lucky. I think I need some. A lot.”

  Roman squeezed my thigh. “I can take a hint.”

  I found myself holding my breath. My heart was racing and there were butterflies in my stomach. I chalked them up to nerves from the storm and from almost dying, but part of me insisted they were from Roman’s touch. Either way, I hoped the liquor would help settle them.

  Roman pressed a bottle into my hand a second later. “Have at it while I clean up the glass. It’ll help dull the pain when I clean up your foot in a minute. And do not get off that counter!”

  I twisted off the lid and took a long pull from a bottle that turned out to be cheap vodka. I coughed and sputtered, but forced myself to swallow. A few more healthy swigs and the stuff didn’t taste half bad. Before I got drunk, though, I put the lid back on and rested my head on my bent knee.

  Roman came back with a lit candle and placed it on the other side of the counter facing me. It was then that I noticed the towel wrapped around his waist. I blinked a few times and replayed the last several minutes in my head. He hadn’t been wearing a shirt. That, I remembered. But he’d had pants on. Hadn’t he? Shorts, swim trunks, anything? The harder I tried to remember, the more I felt my face heat. He had been full monty and I hadn’t even noticed. I guessed that the near-drowning experience affected me more than I’d first realized.

  “Okay, let me look at your foot.” He was gentle as he cupped my heel and lifted my foot from the sink.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that he hadn’t been wearing anything. How had I not noticed? As my brain strained to fill in the gaps, against my better judgment, I barely noticed as he prodded my foot.

  “This isn’t going to feel good.” He looked up. “I’m sorry, Megan.”

  I opened my mouth to ask why he was apologizing, or maybe why he hadn’t been wearing clothes, but before the words emerged, a sharp pain ripped up my leg as he pulled a shard of glass out of my foot. At least, that was what I assumed he’d done. I screamed, unprepared for it.

  Roman pressed a towel to my foot, but still managed to move close enough to wrap an arm around my shoulders and pull me against his chest in a hug. “I’m sorry. I know that hurt.”

  I shouldn’t have turned my face into him. Or inhaled his warm, masculine aroma. He was a stranger and, despite my current marital situation, I did still have a husband. I kind of couldn’t help myself, though. I was too shaken from—just everything—to fight the comfort his embrace brought.

  “It’s okay. We’ll get some more cheap vodka into you and it won’t hurt for much longer.” His voice was so sure and strong. “I’ll get you all fixed up. I promise I’ll take care of you.”

  Those words spoken with such soothing reassurance nearly brought tears to my eyes. After the way I’d been treated by Dylan for the past few days, and far longer than that if I was being honest, having someone—even a complete stranger—say those words to me, “I promise I’ll take care of you,” and say them with genuine compassion and concern was like a drug to my soul. My heart skipped a beat and butterflies started up in my stomach. But, the side of my face was pressed against the bare chest of a man who wasn’t my husband. I needed to stop. It wasn’t a dream. It was reality, and the reality was that I was still a married woman.

  I forced myself to pull away and blinked back an unexpected wave of emotion. “Um… I wonder if there’s a working phone here. I should probably try to call my husband.”

  Roman visibly tensed and, a heartbeat later, moved away, clearing his throat. “I’ll take a look around the place after I bandage your foot.”

  “Great, thanks.” Why did his reaction make me want to crawl back into the ocean and let the storm carry me away?

  9

  Roman

  Husband. My bear growled and thrashed as I focused on Megan’s foot. A big piece of glass had sliced deep enough that she probably could’ve used stitches. As it was, several butterfly bandages would have to do. I shut my mind down and focused on the mechanics of the task as I cleaned her wound and dried it off. It was a challenge to focus with her sweet aroma and delicious curves enticing me. I got the smaller bandages on and then wrapped her foot in some gauze and taped it into place.

  “There you go.” I put some distance between us and focused instead on cleaning up the blood and wrappers from the bandages. “Be careful getting down, but you should sit on the couch and prop it up.”

  She cleared her throat. “Thanks.”

  I was tense as she lowered herself from the counter, waiting to catch her if she fell or screamed in pain again. A shiver went down my spine at the reminder of the pain I’d caused her when I’d removed the glass shard. The scream had been like a punch to the gut. Almost as bad as hearing her say she had a husband.

  I couldn’t help but watch her move away. She was tall for a human female, and her body was thicker than most of the women around the small island. Her hips were wide, her curves soft. I loved the look of her, especially the swell of her ass under the drenched T-shirt. It was as enticing, as the view of her from the front. Before the mention of a husband, I’d been dreaming of running my hands over those curves.

  I swore softly and made myself look away. She was taken. She’d made a point of letting me know, too. She’d practically waved a big red flag in my face. It was perplexing, though. Because of the way I was reacting to her, my attraction to her that bordered on a soul connection, I would have guessed that she was my…

  “I’m going to get cleaned up in the bathroom. I’m sure Greg, or his wife, has something I could wear for the time being.” She limped toward the bedroom as my eyes followed. It made no sense. I let my head fall back and stared up at the ceiling. The way she called out to my bear, to me, was baffling.

  I had to check in with the team.

  Everything’s good here. Local woman got sucked out to sea. Rescue was successful. We’ve taken shelter in a home on the beach. It’s holding up well against the storm.

  Serge’s voice came back at me right away. It took you fucking long enough. Did you have to swim to Siberia to pull her from the sea?

  No, asshole, I was administering first aid. She was unconscious and underwater when I reached her. And I’d been busy touching her and ogling her figure. We’ll wait out the storm here. Yell if you need anything.

  I looked around the house. Megan took the candle, but I didn’t need it to see. My bear felt like he was ready to crawl out of my skin, the scent of Megan was driving him insane.

  While waiting for her to return, I planted myself on the couch and listened to the battering rain of the storm raging outside. The house rocked ever so slightly, just enough to keep me on edge. Still, it was oddly cozy inside the house. And rather quiet. Too quiet. I was hy
peraware of every sound coming from the bedroom where Megan had gone.

  The steady stream of swearing she was doing would’ve been enough to shock any sailor. I found myself grinning, listening to her.

  “You okay in there?”

  “Just peachy.”

  “You never told me the rest of your story. The long version.”

  She hesitated for a few moments. “I got swept out to sea during a hurricane. The end.”

  “There’s definitely more to the story than that.”

  “My car probably got swept out to sea, too.”

  “Okay, how about all the in-between stuff you’re leaving out?”

  “I’d just put a few thousand dollars’ worth of professional photographs in the back of it to keep them safe from the storm.” She grunted. “Lot of good that did.”

  I whistled. “Why didn’t you evacuate?”

  Silence. After a while, I figured out she wasn’t going to answer me, which made me want to know even more. I resolved to get the whole truth out of her. We had time. The storm wasn’t going to let up for hours.

  Settling back into the couch, I made myself as comfortable as I could with an angry bear pacing and clawing at my insides. Neither of us was pleased that Megan had a husband. My bear wanted me to go into the other room to be near her, to rub up against her and show her that we wanted her. I gritted my teeth against the urge and rested my forehead in my hand. Never before had I ever felt such a pull to be glued to a woman’s side, but I drew the line at attempting to seduce a married woman.

  “How long do you think the storm will last?” Her voice was soft as she called from the bedroom.

  “It will be several more hours, at least, before it begins to let up. It’s supposed to stall over us before moving farther north.”

  She sighed. “I hope the rest of my worldly possessions make it.”

  “Besides your car?”

  “Besides my car. My house and my business. I didn’t get to finish closing them up—not as securely as I would have liked.” My guess was that revelation was the beginning of the rest of her story I was waiting to hear.

  “No?”

  “I found some clothes. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  I heard the bedroom door shut and listened for the sound of a lock turning. Good, lock me out. I needed more signs that she wasn’t mine. My bear wasn’t accepting it, and I was having a hell of a time myself.

  10

  Megan

  I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror. The candle Roman had procured was burning brightly, emitting a lavender aroma that was doing nothing to comfort me. I looked like a drowned rat. A giant rat, but still a rat. My hair was in sopping, frizzy curls that stood out in every direction like a perfect rat’s nest. I still had slight traces of makeup from two days before, just a bit of mascara flakes and smears hanging out under my eyes. I had bags big enough to fit a couple of designer dogs in. The oversized white shirt I’d been wearing had turned into a see-through dress that was so heavy and cold that even wearing some of Greg’s dirty laundry would’ve been an improvement.

  Fortunately, I didn’t have to resort to that. I got cleaned up the best I could and, rifling through Greg’s dresser, found a pair of boxer shorts and a T-shirt. The shirt wasn’t as loose as I would’ve liked. Greg was a thin guy, like Dylan. Dylan. My husband. Who was not the man on the forefront of my mind. It was the complete stranger in the next room that had monopolized my thoughts and had my mind spinning in circles.

  Not just my mind, either. Butterflies seemed to have permanently housed themselves in my stomach. I was facing my reflection in the mirror, obsessing about how I looked and nervous about going back out to the living room with him. I was behaving like a schoolgirl and it was ridiculous. I kept telling myself to knock it off. It was inappropriate. I’d never seen the guy before in my life, and for all I knew, he could be a serial killer. He was probably out there sharpening his knife, getting ready to filet me.

  Still, I was concerned about my ratty hair.

  “You okay in there? How’s the foot?”

  I jumped as Roman’s voice sounded from right outside the bedroom door. My hands shook slightly, but I forced myself to look away from the mirror and walk over to the door. “Yeah, I’m done.”

  Sure enough, he was standing just outside the door, and when I opened it, his eyes trailed over me. They stopped at my rat’s nest and a smile stretched over lips. “Cute hair.”

  I ducked my head and limped around him. “I’m just going to prop my foot up.”

  “You do that. I’ll bring you the vodka.”

  I didn’t need vodka. I hadn’t had a thing to eat and the last thing I wanted was to get shit-faced with a handsome stranger while huddled together in a beach bungalow as we weathered a tropical storm together. If that wasn’t the perfect setting for a romance novel, I didn’t know what was. Besides, I had a feeling I couldn’t trust myself not to say or do anything stupid around Roman, especially if I was drunk.

  He was some kind of magic man, though. When he stepped into the living room, he had the bottle of vodka in one hand, but he also had a bag of chips in the other—family size. The chips were exactly what I needed. He raised his eyebrows when my stomach growled and tossed them onto the couch beside me. “When’s the last time you ate?”

  I ripped into the bag and shoved a handful into my mouth, suddenly ravenous. “I don’t even know. A day or two.”

  “What?” His scowl of disapproval spoke volumes.

  I didn’t need his approval, I told myself. I just needed food.

  “What’s the story, Megan? Are you in danger?” Right on cue, his eyes traveled to my upper arm. When I followed his gaze, I saw the fingertip bruises from Dylan. The longer sleeves on my T-shirt had covered them. Greg’s didn’t. “Who…”

  I shouldn’t have been so gratified to see the fury on Roman’s face. I didn’t know him. Yet, I felt warmed by the angry expression he wore on my behalf.

  “Your husband?” His voice sounded a lot like a growl.

  “It’s not what it looks like.” I took the bottle of vodka and downed a swig. “We own a business together and we were arguing… I bruise easily.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Dylan. Dylan Pratt. We own Pratt’s Photography on the north side of Main Street.”

  Roman’s eyebrows raised. “I know the place. I walked by a few days ago. I’m guessing it was your husband I saw there. Why didn’t he close up the place properly?”

  I opened my mouth to lie for Dylan, as I’d done hundreds of times, then stopped. Roman didn’t know us. I had no reason to lie to him, and maybe I was just sick of making excuses. “He refused. He doesn’t do manual labor. He leaves it to me. I have a bigger build than he does, so he figures it’s easier for me.”

  Roman’s eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his skull. He snatched the vodka from my hand angrily and took a long pull himself before nodding to himself like he was making sense of things. “He told you that, did he? That you’re bigger than him, so it’s easier for you?”

  Mortified, I scoffed. “No! No, that’s not what I meant.” And there I went making excuses again. “It’s just, well, I am bigger. And stronger, so I do that stuff. He hates physical labor so he handles the office work.”

  Roman muttered something under his breath. I couldn’t quite hear what he said, but it sounded an awful lot like he was calling Dylan a pussy.

  Roman focused smoldering eyes on me. “You’re not bigger or stronger than I am.” Those seven words spoken aloud raised my core temperature to sizzling. The corner of his mouth twitched. “Are you?”

  I couldn’t look away from him. I needed to look away. Wild, frizzy curls, chip crumbs on my fingertips, vodka on my breath, I was a mess and I knew it. Look away, Megan. My eyes didn’t cooperate. My voice was barely a whisper. “No, I’m not.”

  Finally, he shrugged and turned to set the vodka bottle down. Spell broken. Clearing his throat, he ran his hands d
own his face. The hint of stubble matched the golden blonde of his buzzed hair. “No, you’re not.”

  I swallowed audibly and shoved more chips into my mouth. I had to get away from him. He was doing something to me that made no sense. Maybe I was ovulating or something.

  “So, where is your small husband?”

  Suddenly, the house shook with a hard wind gust, and I dropped the bag of chips and held onto the couch with both hands, chip crumbs and all. “Are we safe here?”

  “I won’t let anything happen to you. You’re safe.”

  Why his words relaxed me, I didn’t know. A man—even a buff, muscled one like him—who could confidently say he was no match for a hurricane was a little over the top egowise. Deciding it was time to step away from the chips, I glanced down at Greg’s couch, covered in greasy crumbs, and winced. “I’ll have to pay to have his couch cleaned.”

  “I doubt they’ll notice your crumbs over the animal print.”

  I reached for the vodka bottle and took another pull. Roman had asked me a question and I could tell from the intensity of his gaze that he wasn’t going to just let it drop unanswered. “Dylan evacuated in time. He’s inland, somewhere.”

  Roman’s jaw dropped. “He left you?”

  I gave a tight little laugh. “Yeah, you could say that. In more ways than one.”

  “What kind of man leaves his wife to fend for herself in a hurricane?!” Roman began pacing the floor, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. He looked like he was ready to go out and find Dylan just to beat the shit out of him. He shook his head at me. “You almost drowned. You were underwater when I reached you, not breathing, seconds from the point of no return.”

  “Yeah, thank you for rescuing me, by the way.” I leaned back into the couch, finding it incredibly comfortable. The vodka was hitting me a little harder than I’d meant it to. Still, I was sober enough to know that, now that I’d begun the story of why and how he found me in the water seconds from death, I had to say more. “Yeah, Dylan left. I had to close up the house and the shop myself. By the time I finished securing things, it was too late to get myself to safety.”