Romancing the Alpha: An Action-Adventure Romance Boxed Set

by Zoe York

  Seth Cooper has traded the rat race for life in the slow lane — the very slow lane. He’s thinking hammocks, beach bars, and siestas. But when Julie — unstoppable, unforgettable Julie — comes roaring back into his life on that battered old motorcycle of hers, one adventure after another ensues. The only thing he can be sure of is the way he feels about her — but that won’t keep either of them out of a Central American prison. Action will, but it’s not as easy as sailing off into the sunset, not with the wrong side of the law hot on their heels.

  Turn the page to begin reading Uncharted, or click here to return to this anthology’s Table of Contents.

  — ONE —

  Julie rolled her Kawasaki to a stop, pulled out her passport, and held it out for inspection.

  The border guard spent more time checking out her motorcycle — or possibly her ass, given the way he leaned right — than her passport. Eventually, he rifled through a few pages and handed it back. “Welcome to Belize.”

  “Gracias.” She waved, tucked the passport away, and revved the bike down the road after a goodbye glance toward Guatemala. The six months she’d spent there were everything she’d hoped for, but it was time for new adventures. Like exploring out-of-the-way ruins just for fun, because she’d been immersed in archaeological research for so long, she’d almost forgotten to appreciate the beauty of Mayan architecture. Or heading into the rainforest to listen to howler monkeys. Maybe scuba dive on the rainbow reefs of Belize’s Caribbean coast, if she could find a cheap enough deal.

  Small, tame adventures, that’s what she had in mind. Two weeks of fun as a reward for six months of sweaty field work before she headed home and buckled down on her thesis.

  The bike hummed down the road, and she could picture the coast already. The kaleidoscope reefs, the pristine sand. Heck, she could practically smell the salt in the air, hear the sound of waves swishing over a beach.

  Yes, she’d be there in no time. A couple of hours’ joy ride, and she’d be kicking back in the shade of a palm on a Caribbean beach with a good book. That’s how she’d start this little vacation. With peace. Solitude. Time to relax before she decided just which flavor of adventure to try next.

  An ear-splitting screech filled the road behind her, and her eyes jumped to the sideview mirror.

  A couple of jeeps came flying onto the bumpy tropical road behind her and started weaving in and out of cars, chasing someone. Someone in a hell of a lot of trouble, judging by the dust clouds those jeeps were kicking up. She put the blinker on to get out of the way. The jeeps were racing up behind her, getting frighteningly close, the engines roaring ever nearer.

  She was about to pull over when she checked the mirror again — and did a double take.

  The faces in the jeeps, the gesturing hands — they were all aimed at her.

  So were the barrels of three or four machine guns.

  She stared in the mirror so hard, she nearly rammed the flatbed truck ahead of her.

  Those jeeps weren’t chasing someone. They were chasing her.

  Me?

  The gears in her mind whirred, trying to come up with an explanation. Maybe they were after someone else. Maybe they were just waving her out of their way. That had to be it, right?

  But the minute she slowed to pull over, they did too. And when she took off again in a panic, they followed suit. Lights flashing, tires squealing — the works.

  Wind whipped at her face as she hunched over the handlebars and accelerated around the flatbed truck. What? How? Why were they after her? She hadn’t done anything!

  And yet there she was, speeding down the highway at breakneck speed, overtaking cars, mules, and fume-spewing buses. All the while, the two jeeps stuck to her like flies to a carcass — a fitting image, considering how close she came to some of the vehicles. Close enough to shatter her motorcycle’s side mirror with a high-pitched crack against a truck loaded with squawking chickens. Close enough that she’d be lying, big-time, next time she called her mother to promise how careful she was being while traveling Latin America alone.

  She could hear the conversation now.

  “Have you been taking care of yourself, sweetheart?” her mother would ask.

  “Um…yes.” Apart from high-speed chases down crowded roads, maybe.

  Racing away had been a mistake, for sure. Only the guilty fled, and she wasn’t guilty of anything but the occasional jaywalking. She was the one who always stuck to the speed limit. The one who never left anything off her taxes, even back when she’d been earning money before going back for her master’s degree. She was the one who carefully recorded every artifact she discovered, lest any of them fall into the wrong hands.

  But trying to explain that to a band of gun-waving commandos in unmarked vehicles had zero appeal. And a single woman pulling over for five or six men on the side of a Central American highway? No way.

  Vrooom! She revved the engine higher and peeled off across the oncoming lane.

  Horns blared; she barely slotted between two speeding cars. Hunched low over the handlebars, she shot down a side track overhung with vines as the road behind her erupted with noise. Tires screeched against asphalt; a sickening metal-to-metal crunch signaled a collision. Julie didn’t look back. She didn’t need to. The whine of an engine said one of the two jeeps was still hot on her tail.

  Who could be chasing her? Why? Those jeeps could be police, military, or mercenary. In Central America, it was hard to tell.

  The road ahead branched. She swung a hard left and ended up careening through a winding hillside village. A man bent low under a load of firewood paused in midstep to gape.

  “Watch out!” she hollered and clattered down an impossibly narrow lane. Mud splattered and the smell of cow dung filled her nostrils; the handlebars rattled under her arms.

  A slack-jawed villager watched her speed by. Another waved his arms as he yelled for her to stop.

  “Alto!” She barely heard him over the roaring engine, but the message was pretty clear. “Alto!”

  Stop? Like hell, she was stopping now. She slalomed around a pothole and thundered on.

  “Sorry!” She owed at least a dozen apologies by the time she shot out the other side of the village because she’d wiped out a laundry line, scattered a family of pigs, and excited a schoolyard of children as she whizzed past. But hell, it worked. The jeep chasing her must have gotten stuck somewhere along the way, because all she could hear now was the steady hum of the Kawasaki’s engine.

  That, and the thumping of her own heart. Jesus Christ. What had that been all about?

  She asked herself the question again and again over the next two hours, flying down back roads to put extra distance between herself and the men in pursuit. It was only when the coast came into view that she relaxed her white-knuckled grip and pulled over to think.

  If she hadn’t done anything wrong, why were the police after her?

  She squirmed, trying to settle her backpack more comfortably between her shoulder blades. The corner of something hard kept jutting into her back, and—

  She froze.

  The backpack. The box inside it.

  The box she’d agreed to bring to Belize as a favor to the professor in charge of her last dig.

  Oh my God.

  All around her, jungle birds chirped, and it sounded like gossip and laughter aimed at her back. Julie, the numbskull. Julie, the naive.

  “It’s just some documents, together with a small gift,” Professor Leeds had said when he’d asked her to take it with her. “I support an orphanage in Belize. Won’t you be so kind as to deliver it for me?”

  She swung the small backpack off her shoulders and into her lap then started burrowing frantically in it for the box. Fumbling with the brown paper wrapping. Prying a corner up. Peeking.

  Going stiff all over when she realized what was inside.

  Holy shit.

  The professor’s lie was as transparent as the turquoise water that stretched in ribbons of green and
blue all the way to the Caribbean horizon. She hadn’t been carrying a gift. She’d been smuggling.

  No wonder she was being chased.

  — TWO —

  After a long detour through fields, over a creaky wooden bridge, and down a meandering footpath, Julie rolled into the sleepy town of Santa Marta and made straight for her favorite seaside café. The calming sound of waves over a beach, the stunning pastel colors of the reefs, and a cool drink — those would help her make sense of things, right?

  She’d never planned on coming back to Santa Marta, but it seemed as though instinct had guided her here. Misguided was more like it, because there were too many memories, too much heartache associated with the place. But at some point in that crazy morning, she’d stopped thinking and just followed her gut. And rather than hightailing it north to Mexico, she’d somehow ended up in the quiet Caribbean beach town she used to call her favorite place on earth.

  She settled into a chair at the Coco Loco Café and took a deep breath. It had been a hell of a day, even by her standards.

  She lifted her sun hat just enough to wipe the sweat from her brow then tugged it back down — low. The fewer people who noticed her, the better. She leaned back in the shade of the beachside café, watching the sunlight flicker through the swaying palms.

  A hell of a day, and it was only eleven in the morning.

  Yeah, she would definitely be more careful in what she wished for from now on. What happened to small adventures? Down time? That’s what she’d had in mind.

  Not this. Definitely not this.

  She held the cool glass of her smoothie against her cheek for a moment before finding the straw with her lips. Maybe a cool sip of papaya and ice would slow down her runaway thoughts and make things seem normal again, because she’d left normal behind at the border.

  She closed her eyes and pulled her hat lower, trying to tune out the tourist chitchat drifting over from the other tables.

  “I swear there were more chickens on the roof of that bus than people inside.”

  “Yeah, the driver had great reflexes — with the horn! He barely touched the brakes, though.”

  “That’s what I always say. You want adventure? Just ride a bus in Central America.”

  Adventure? Buses? If only they knew. That morning, she’d had it all. Her heart was still pounding in her chest, her arms shaking from jackhammering over so many bumps.

  The floorboards of the café’s terrace creaked as someone came closer, and a shadow blanketed her face. She could feel it, even with her eyes closed. Her nostrils flared at the scent. It was familiar, somehow.

  Pleasing.

  Masculine.

  Close.

  Her pulse spiked and her gut warmed as it dawned on her who it was.

  Not him. Please, not him.

  Hadn’t she already been dragged through enough this morning? And now this?

  “Julie,” a quiet voice said. An all-too-familiar voice she’d once had close to her ear. Close to all kinds of body parts, actually.

  Even with her eyes shut, she knew who it was. And opening her eyes only made things worse, because she couldn’t pretend she was dreaming.

  “You,” she said, narrowing her eyes. Because it really was him.

  Caramel brown eyes, soft and sincere. Chiseled cheeks and thin, accent-mark eyebrows that said he’d been worrying, wondering. Perfect white teeth behind perfect coral-pink lips flashed a thin smile that promised he remembered every hot night they’d spent together, every idyllic day in what had been the best week of her life.

  Seth.

  He plopped down in the seat across from her, looking penitent and pained. Half of her wanted to throw herself into his arms the way she had the first night they’d met; the other half wanted to fling her drink in his face.

  “About that Friday,” he began. From his tone, you would have thought that Friday was two days ago instead of two months. The Friday he’d walked out on her.

  “The Friday you stood me up.” She leveled the words right back at him.

  He put his hands up like a guilty man. “I can explain.”

  “I bet you can.”

  “The weather changed.”

  She threw her head back and barked out a humorless laugh. “The weather. Right.”

  “Julie,” he said, and it was a whisper. A plea.

  And silly girl, she let down her guard and allowed herself to look into his eyes. Big mistake, because those eyes could seduce a woman in broad daylight. Those eyes and that earnest expression that said, Trust me, I’m a good guy. It was just like the day they met in a spot just down the road. She’d come to Belize for the week she had off from her excavation site in Guatemala and had barely settled into reading her book when Seth came ambling up to her. And just like that, she got lost in eyes that smiled at her — smiled like she was what he’d traveled all the way from North America to see. Like she was his destination. Like he saw a whole story ahead of them and couldn’t wait to live it out with her in real time.

  “Not even a note. Not even goodbye.” God, she sounded bitter. But hell, she was. She’d given in the very night she met him in the first one-night stand of her life. Woken up the next morning wrapped around him and ended up spending most of the week that way. But when Friday rolled around…

  “I thought we had…” She trailed off, not ready to say the rest. I thought we had something special.

  I thought so, too, his eyes said like he’d read her mind.

  She shook her head. Two months, and damn it, he only looked more delicious. His black-brown hair was long enough to curl around his ears now, his tan an even deeper shade of bronze. When she first met him, he’d still carried the last vestiges of corporate New York with him: the furrowed brow, the restless fingers, the hurried walk. But now, the watch was gone, his shirt untucked, his jaw unshaven. He was more buccaneer than weekend sailor now — and Christ, she’d better watch out.

  The waitress cantered over far more quickly than she had for Julie and fluttered her eyelashes at Seth. “Can I get you a drink?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “No!” Julie barked.

  The waitress looked between them, holding her tray up like a shield. “Maybe I’ll give you a minute.”

  Right, a minute. Like that would help.

  “Julie.” Seth picked up again once the waitress was gone.

  She put a hand up to halt him before his soft tones could melt her all over again. So what if he kissed like a pirate just back in to port? This time, she’d be stronger, smarter. This time, she’d send him on his way.

  “Seth,” she started, getting ready to do just that. “Don’t even—”

  She didn’t finish, because the road behind him sounded with the squeal of brakes, the creak and subsequent slamming of doors. Three scrappy mutts that had been snoozing beside the street scattered as a half-dozen men in khaki uniforms jumped out of two jeeps and scanned the street.

  Shit.

  Her eyes jumped to Seth, to the men on the road, then back to Seth. Her heart started pounding again, and her mind spun. Get away! Get away!

  But how? Where?

  Her gaze swung to where she’d left her motorcycle then over to Seth, and seconds slowed as her stomach bucked in a series of crazy little flips.

  It was Seth or the band of death-dealing thugs closing in from over there. Not really much of a choice, because even a heartbreaker was the lesser of those two evils.

  “Can you drive a motorcycle?” she asked, holding her breath.

  He blinked. “What?”

  “Can you drive a motorcycle?”

  — THREE —

  Could he drive a motorcycle?

  Seth stared at Julie, trying to articulate all the emotions jumping from his heart into his throat. Maybe even hoping for her to throw herself into his arms. But no, that wouldn’t have been Julie: Indiana Jones with two X chromosomes. Not that she had any of the props: no hat, no whip, no leather jacket. Just the glint in her eye, the
ready posture, the stories to tell.

  “Uh…yeah, I can ride a bike,” he managed, wondering why it mattered. Wondering what she was doing here. He’d been through town so many times looking for her. And now — his last chance before sailing south to Panama — Julie was there. If that wasn’t fate, what was?

  Except she didn’t seem too willing to give fate a chance, and he was screwing everything up. But how could a man think straight when everything inside him was on fire?

  He scraped his fingers through his hair and scrubbed his palms over his cheeks. Because it really was her. Julie with her sea-green eyes and kissable lips and pointed, pixie chin. Julie with the habit of sucking in her cheeks and tugging on her sandy brown ponytail before saying whatever was on her mind. Julie melted him, every time. Tough as nails on the outside, soft as a kitten inside. He knew; he’d seen her kick a ball around with the local kids and save food scraps for scraggly alley mutts. Seen her look at the wide horizon and quietly wish.

  But there was something vulnerable about her now, and he ached to know what it was. The first moment she looked up at him, her eyes had flashed with more than just anger, and he wanted to know what that was, too.

  And yet all he had come up with was I can explain.

  “Then take it. Take the bike.” She motioned down the road with one hand and dug into her pocket with the other. “Drive around the block. Meet me around the back.”

  “Um—”

  Her eyes had been shooting daggers at him, but now they were fixed over his shoulder. Wide in surprise — or was that fear? Seth spun around and saw half a dozen fatigue-clad solider-types piling out of two jeeps. By the time he turned back to Julie, she had the brim of her hat pulled so low, he could barely see her chin. What was going on?

  “Take the bike. Now!” she barked and shot a ring of keys over to him. They made a scratchy metallic sound as they zipped across the Formica tabletop and nipped his palm.

  “Get it.” A twitch of her shoulder told him which direction the motorcycle was parked. “Meet me around the back.” She pushed away from the table so fast, her chair fell back, but quick as a panther, she shot out a hand and caught it.