Rae, Beverly - Taming Tamara [Night Runner Werewolves 4] (Siren Publishing LoveXtreme Special Edition)

by Beverly Rae

  She glanced at him then hunkered down over her bike and took the speed to another level. He did the same, and the world around them whipped by so fast he almost couldn’t make out the street signs.

  Neck and neck they raced, one taking the lead, then the other. They went on for miles. With his attention on her, Nick didn’t notice the sign signaling the road going to one lane until it was too late.

  “Oh, crap!”

  She zipped in front of him, edging him out of the way and speeding down the single lane road. He pumped his brakes, trying to slow down. Pavement gave way to dirt and pebbles as he skidded off the road. The ride jostled him, rattling his teeth until at last, he lost control. He flew over the handlebars and into a dense thicket.

  “Shit!”

  Nick came to a landing, back flat against the sharp branches and staring up at the sky. He groaned, tried to move, and groaned again at the pain in his buttocks. Grabbing whatever he could, he hauled his body out of the thicket. His bike had stalled out several feet away.

  “Are you okay?”

  The melodic voice almost took his anger away. Almost. “What the hell, lady? Are you trying to kill me?”

  His anger dissipated as he turned toward her. At once, his body came alive, every nerve ending awakening, every sense going on high alert. Heat swelled his cock and he forced himself not to look down at his crotch. But this was more than attraction to a beautiful woman. No, this was as though his body was screaming at him that she was the one he’d waited for. The one in his dreams. He swallowed and took his helmet off.

  She tilted her head to the side, the setting sun making the red streaks in the helmet shine even brighter. The picture of a wolf howling at the moon, one resembling the tattoo on his arm, covered a small area on the left side of her helmet. “No one forced you to race, you know. Don’t blame me if you can’t handle your bike.”

  “Who are you?”

  She laughed again, surging lust so hard into him that he almost pounced on top of her.

  “I thought we’d already established that. I’m the one who beat your ass.”

  He took a step toward her, hiding his wince from the pain in his butt. Seeing her grip her clutch as though to take off, he altered his direction. He wouldn’t spook her off.

  Instead, he strode to his bike and righted it, thankful that it hadn’t sustained any damage other than a few scratches. Easy enough to repair. Unlike his ego. He searched the dark tint of her shield and wordlessly urged her to take her helmet off. “I can ride with the best of them. I just didn’t expect you to cut me off like that.”

  She shrugged. “What’re you bitching about? You don’t look like you’re hurt much. At least not physically.”

  He tried taking another step toward her and let his pain show in a calculated wince. Maybe a little sympathy would put her off guard. “Trust me. I didn’t get out of this without a scrape or two. Still, landing in a bush is a lot better than landing on a rock.”

  Her giggle was airy and light. And heady enough to drive a man crazy with desire. “Why are you holding your butt?”

  He jerked his hand away. “Never mind.”

  “Did you hurt your little tushy?”

  He arched an eyebrow. “If I say yes, will you kiss it and make it all better?”

  “You wish.”

  He took another step closer. “Yeah, I do. But I’d settle for you taking off your helmet.”

  “Not a chance.”

  If her goal was to tease him, then she was doing a great job. But what if said helmet was like the proverbial bag over the head? Could she be ugly? He skimmed his gaze along her body, taking in not only the luscious curves but the confident way she held herself. No. No woman like this could ever be homely. Not this woman. Not the woman destined to be his.

  “Gotta run, cowboy.” She opened up the clutch but kept the brake on. “Think about getting some motorcycle lessons.”

  Shit. He hadn’t had enough time to get to know her. Hell, he didn’t even know her name. “The name’s Nick. Nick Rogers. How about we try this again—”

  Before he could finish, she spun her bike around, sending dirt flying into the air and around him. He spat dirt out, wiped the grime from his face, and watched her ride into the sunset.

  Ride on, girl. But don’t think you’ve seen the last of me.

  * * * *

  Tamara burst through the door, a grin still on her face. Setting down her helmet, she opened the refrigerator door and grabbed the carton of orange juice. She chugged several gulps of the cool liquid then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

  Nick Rogers was even better than in real life than in her dreams. He exuded testosterone and machismo. She glanced out the window of the kitchen and studied the blue sky. His eyes were the same sky blue but with a dash of gold. When he’d looked at her, she’d almost hopped off her bike to drag him on top of her. Or put him behind her to ram into her butt.

  She took another swig, hoping to put out the fire in her stomach. The fire that Nick had put there when she’d gotten a good look at his toned physique. She doubted he had to work out to get those muscles. No doubt hard work on the Matheson Ranch had formed his body.

  And that hair. She lifted her hand to finger the red streak in her hair and wondered if his red was natural or bottle-made like hers. She’d find out soon.

  He was the one. The man she’d waited for, the man who would take her heart and keep it safe.

  “You’re the only woman I’ve ever seen drink out of the carton like a man.”

  She stiffened, the smile fading as she turned to face Jackson. “What’re you doing here?”

  He pretended confusion. “Where else would I be?” He skimmed his tongue over his lips, his steely gaze looking through her as though he could see the tiny star tattoo below her belly button.

  “I don’t care. Just as long as you’re not around me.” She turned her back to him again, knowing he would take offense and not caring.

  She almost dropped the carton when he slid his arms around her waist and tugged her to him. “Come on, baby. You know you want me.”

  His erect shaft pushed against her buttocks. She clenched her teeth to keep from striking out. But oh, how she’d loved to hit him where it counted! Instead she elbowed him in the ribs, squirmed out of his grip, and banged open the kitchen door leading to the living room and the foyer.

  He cursed and came after her. She could hear his feet pounding the stairs behind her as she hurried to the second floor and toward the sounds of the other women. She had to make it to the room at the end of the hallway.

  A second later she fell, catching herself before landing face first on the second story landing. Her breath rushed out of her as he flipped her onto her back and pinned her arms above her head.

  “Take it easy, baby.” Jackson placed his face close to hers and drew in a long breath. “You smell good. Even after riding the road.”

  She refused to struggle, refused to give him that pleasure. Instead, she shot him a look that would wither any other man’s balls. “Get off me. Right now.”

  His eyes glittered as he shook his head. “Now why would I do that? Why don’t you just accept it? We’re meant for each other.”

  “No. We’re not. You and Sheila were meant to be together.”

  He blinked, and in that moment she saw another side of him. With Sheila he’d been different. But the glimpse into his softer side was quickly replaced with a hard expression. “Sheila’s gone. You’re what I need now.”

  “You know this isn’t the way. I’m meant for another.”

  She gasped as he cupped her breast then pushed his thumb against her nipple. “Not anymore.”

  Fear inched its way into her, making her give in to the urge to fight him. But he was too strong. “You’re hurting me.”

  He nuzzled her neck and slid his tongue along her skin. “You’re mine. Just get used to it.”

  “Jackson Walker, release her.”

  Jackson and Tamara twis
ted toward the voice. Louise Preston, their matriarch, stood watching, her bony arms crossed, her feet wide apart. At eighty-five years of age and with a diminutive frame she wielded more power than most of the men. Long, silver hair was tied back, and sharp blue eyes shone from her wrinkled face. Five other women, three of Miss Louise’s granddaughters, stood behind her, their expressions younger versions of hers.

  “Miss Louise, you don’t need to get involved.” Nonetheless, Jackson pushed his weight off Tamara but still kept her wrists in his grip.

  “Don’t go telling me when I need to get involved or not, boy.”

  Relief flooded Tamara, and she wrenched out of his hold then scrambled to her feet. She hurried to stand beside the old lady.

  Jackson’s nostrils flared but he didn’t try to stop Tamara. “I’m just claiming what’s mine.”

  “What’s yours?” Miss Louise studied Tamara then cocked her head in question at him. “Does she look like a horse or a cow? Maybe a dog who will call you Master? Last I heard, the state of Texas didn’t allow a person to own another.”

  Jackson got to his feet and held up his palms. Softening his demeanor, he attempted to placate the old woman. “Now Miss Louise, you know it’s not like that.”

  Tamara hid a grin as the octogenarian hobbled over to Jackson, lifted her head high to look him in the eyes, and then poked a finger to his chest. “I know exactly what it’s like, you hound dog. No woman is under the control of any man in this house, least of all you. Now git before I take a switch to your behind.”

  Jackson glared at Miss Louise then added a snarl at Tamara. “Fine. I’ll let it go. For now. But mark my word, this isn’t over.”

  Miss Louise raised her hand and struck out, but he moved too fast for her. He loped down the stairs and out the front door.

  “Whew. Thank goodness you showed up when you did. I was about to lose it. Ow!”

  Gripping Tamara’s ear, Miss Louise pulled her into the closest bedroom and slammed the door in the other women’s faces. She turned her loose then fisted her hands on her hips.

  “Girl, what’s going on? I haven’t heard anything for days. Jackson’s not going to hold out much longer. Not to mention how’s he’s talking to the other men and getting them on his side. You’ve got to hurry this thing along. There’s only so much I can do.”

  Aside from Lauren, Miss Louise was the only one who knew about the dreams. “I’m working on it.”

  “Have you sent him any more dreams?” The old woman sat down in a rocker, her feet inches from the floor, but she still managed to get the chair rocking.

  “Yes. Plus, I saw him today.” Tamara knelt beside the chair, unable to suppress the joy filling her. “I heard he likes to ride, so I waited on one of the side roads he’s known to travel. When he went by, I caught up with him.”

  “Good. Very good. And what then?” The intensity in her blue eyes grew.

  “I challenged him to a race and won.”

  “Good.” Miss Louise’s chuckle sounded like a mix of breaking glass and a hyena’s laugh, but no one would deny its allure. She’d been a beautiful woman in her younger years who’d had more than her fair share of men lusting after her. “Did you let him see you? Did you tell him your name?”

  “No. I kept my helmet on and didn’t tell him anything.”

  “You did well, child. This is a break of tradition, you sending him the dreams. Not many would like the idea. So take it easy. But you have to get with him soon. Before it’s too late.” The mirth died from her eyes, replaced by determination. “I’ll help you as much as I can, but Jackson’s not going to give up.”

  “I know you will. Things aren’t going to go easy if Jackson has anything to say about it. Miss Louise, why is Jackson so intent on horning in on their territory anyway? Why bring bad blood between the packs?”

  Miss Louise sighed and shook her head. “There are other packs in the area, but they work well with the Night Runners which, as you know, won’t be the case with Jackson. I think that man just likes to cause trouble for trouble’s sake. That and he’s gunning for payback. We could settle almost anywhere else, but he’s got his mind set on this part of Texas where his father lived. His father got his whole pack kicked out for killing cattle.”

  “Did Nick’s pack make them leave?”

  “No. I don’t think they were around here yet. The ranchers ran Jackson’s father off, but Jackson doesn’t care who pays.”

  Tamara saw the worry on the old woman’s face and decided to change the subject back to Nick. “Lauren and I are going to the bar where Nick works. I’ll let him get farther tonight.”

  Miss Louise bent forward and took Tamara’s hand between hers. “Playing hard to get is good, and I’m all for it. But you have to play the game just right. Men are like fish. You hook them, reel them in, then give them a little more line to let them think they’re putting up a fight. Before long, they’ll be ready to jump into your net.”

  Tamara rose and placed a kiss on the sweet woman’s cheek. “Then I guess it’s time for me to go cut bait or go fishing for real.”

  * * * *

  Nick slung the damp towel over his shoulder and checked the front door of the bar. Ever since he’d raced with the curvaceous female biker he hadn’t been able to think of anything else. But hoping she’d just walk into his place of work? Fat chance. Most people preferred to drive a little farther to a bigger town or even take a weekend trip into Dallas rather than frequent the sleepy town of Gully Gap. But he liked the laid-back atmosphere. Usually.

  Still, he could imagine her walking through the door, her perfect, made-for-his-hands body dressed in the tight, midriff-baring T-shirt and made-for-her-body jeans, her helmet hooked under her arm. Yet her face was still a blur.

  “What’s up with you tonight? You’re more uptight than a preacher on his first trip to a cathouse.”

  Candace, Whiskey River’s owner-manager, took the glass he’d held in his hand for the past few minutes, rinsed it out, then placed it in the dishwasher. She paused then glanced at the customers. “You and the Matheson group aren’t stirring up any trouble, are you? I know how folks in Lost Hills feel about you guys, but these folks are more open to your kind. I wouldn’t want that to change.”

  Nick jerked his mind back to reality. “No. Nothing’s up. Everything’s been real calm on the ranch and in the surrounding towns. I’m just off tonight.”

  Candace Sholtz was one of the few humans who admitted knowing about the pack. Everyone else either didn’t believe the stories or chose to ignore them as long as the Night Runners didn’t cause any ruckus. She’d proven her friendship many times, including giving Nick a job as a bartender.

  Her green eyes zeroed in on him. Neon-blue hair curled around her oval face. “Still, you act like you’re expecting something to happen. I need to know if there is.”

  “Again. No. I’m fine. But if you’re worried about how I’m acting, I’ll down a shot to mellow me out.”

  Although bartenders could have as many as two free drinks while on their shift, she held up one finger. “Okay. But only one extra. I don’t want a repeat of last spring.”

  “Shoot. That was a one-time thing on my birthday, no less. It won’t happen again. At least not until my next birthday.” He shot her a crooked grin. “I like your hair.”

  “Way to change the subject.” She blew him a kiss. “But thanks. I think blue’s more my color than your shade of red. Besides, one hot redhead in this place is enough.”

  He twisted the towel then popped her on the butt as she hurried away. Although they’d dated a couple of years earlier, both had known it was only a temporary fun thing and nothing serious. The relationship had grown into a great friendship. Pouring a shot, he took a deep breath and downed it.

  Only an hour later and he was too busy to think about anything other than keeping up with the drink orders.

  “Dang, where did all these people come from? Not that I’m complaining, of course.”

  He loo
ked up from popping the top off a bottle of beer to find Sally, the bar’s long-time waitress, wiping her brow. Her generous breasts caught his attention, but he brought his gaze to her face fast enough. As she’d told him often enough, she wore the low-cut blouses for the tips and not for his enjoyment.

  “I’m not either. I’m making good money tonight.”

  Nick caught the men at the counter checking her out. Or rather her breasts. “I bet you are.”

  “Then I’d better get back to it. Keep ’em coming, Nick.”

  “Will do.”

  An older man sitting at the end of the bar stared at Nick a little longer than most. But that wasn’t unusual. Sometimes curiosity got the better of the townspeople and they came in to take a look at one of the six men rumored to be werewolves. Nick didn’t mind. Let them look. They’d tire of watching him and leave soon enough. He busied himself behind the bar.

  “Could I get a pitcher of whatever’s on draft, please? And five glasses?”

  “You got it.”

  He grabbed a pitcher and pulled the lever, filling it with beer. Placing the pitcher and five mugs on a tray, he set it on the bar and lifted his gaze to the pretty blonde woman handing him money.

  He narrowed his eyes, took the cash, grazing his fingers along her skin, all while keeping his gaze on hers. The tingle of awareness ripped through him. She wasn’t human. But what was she? Werewolf? Yet with so many different types of supernatural creatures in the world, he couldn’t be sure.

  Her body was tight, ready to either flee or to stand her ground. He waited, accepting the unspoken challenge. At last, she blinked, showing her submission.

  “I don’t think I’ve seen you in here before. I’m Nick Rogers. I’m with the Matheson Ranch.” He didn’t bother extending his hand. She wouldn’t have taken it anyway.

  She darted her gaze to his then whipped it away again. No way would she dare stare at him again. To do so would be to invite either a fight or sex. “Is that a pick-up line or do you really want to know?” Her attempt to lighten her tone failed. Instead, she stiffened even more.