by Ivy Raine
Love of Steele
Steele Hearts #1
Ivy Raine
Love of Steele
Steele Hearts #1
© 2014 Ivy Raine
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the author. All representations within this novel are a work of fiction and in no way are based upon an actual person, living or dead.
To the gang. You all know who you are.
She’s running. He’s hiding.
Safety girl is her name. Checking and double checking is her game. Caution is as natural as breathing. It has to be – especially after what happened to her best friend Kyle. That’s why when Marta Manchester’s clunker breaks down on a desolate road on the way to the biggest interview of her life, she never envisions picking up a sweaty, grease-stained hitchhiker with a secret. Stash Steele has a special loathe of women and makes no effort to hide it despite his immediate attraction to the woman who practically ran him over half a mile back. Marta rebukes the concept of love. It’s already cost her dearly in her short life. But, when Stash hops into the passenger’s seat, it sets into motion a series of events that changes both of their lives. Together they take off on a soul changing adventure that just may heal their broken hearts – if the secrets don’t shatter them first.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Ivy’s Other Books
Chapter 1
“Who are you?” A layer of grime covered her from head to toe.
“I’m Kyle. I just moved in last night. I’m from Texas.”
Marta eyed up the skinny kid and wondered if he liked to make mud bombs, too. “Do you have any sisters?”
Kyle grimaced. “Yuck. No way. It’s just me and my mom and dad.”
Though a girl would have been acceptable, Marta was wary of things with pigtails. They tend to bite more than they bark as she’d found out a bit too late on her first day of fourth grade. Britney McConnell made sure she asserted her feminine authority over every other girl in the class, and you were expected to accept it – or else. “That’s good. Girls are mean.”
Kyle let out an exaggerated laugh. “You’re a girl, dummy.”
“Yeah, but not that kind. I’m not mean.” She picked up a mud bomb and slung it toward the street.
“What are you doing?” Kyle examined her stockpile of dried and drying balls of mud.
“Ammo. It keeps the mean girls away.” She looked up at Kyle and saw her chance to gain an ally from the kid with the funny accent. “Wanna try?”
He grabbed a still sticky ball from the top of her pile. “Sure. What should I do with it?”
“Throw it. What else?”
And throw it he did - right into the side of a passing car.
The sudden jerk and subsequent sounds coming from under the hood couldn’t be anything but bad news. Marta Manchester managed to ease her ten year old minivan to the side of the desolate road before it died completely. How could one day possibly get any worse? It was bad enough that she was going to be late for the biggest interview of her short twenty-two years, but now she had the added burden of paying for a tow with the last thirty-two bucks she had left in her account. Grasping for calm, she took a deep breath and grabbed her cell phone from her bag. Nothing says ‘need a new car’ like having your mechanic on speed dial.
“Hello? Hello! Can you hear me?” Marta punched down the number again, only to get dead air. “Son of a sailor!” She threw her cell on the passenger’s seat and shoved the door open. “Great,” she grumbled, looking up at the swirling sky. A light spray of warm, itchy rain smacked her in the face. She had a bad feeling that it was just a teaser for bigger things to come.
Wrestling with a hood latch should be an Olympic sport. At least it was something that she was becoming proficient at. After a thirty second finger battle, Marta won. Not that it did any good – she had no idea what to look for - again.
“What’s wrong with you?” she muttered to the aging hunk of metal.
“Probably the battery.”
Marta spun around, startled by the voice that seemed to come out of nowhere. “My god! Where did you come from?” She clutched at her chest and took a few deep breaths to calm her racing heart.
“You passed me about a mile back. Surprised you didn’t see me considering you nearly took off my thumb.”
Marta pulled her loose top a little tighter at the neck. “I don’t stop for hitchhikers.” Who the hell did this guy think he was?
The stranger with the three day stubble and ratty shoes looked her up and down. “Well,” he said at length, “it’s a good thing I don’t have the same attitude for girls stranded along the road. He reached over and wiggled her battery terminal back and forth. “Get in and see if it starts.”
An order? That’s certainly what it sounded like. Considering the situation, however, Marta was in no position to protest.
When the engine zipped to life, Marta let out the breath she’d been holding and looked at the clock. Only ten minutes lost.
The stranger poked his head in her passenger side window. “You’ll need to have the acid cleaned off of your terminals or it’ll happen again within a few days.”
He backed away, but Marta found herself reaching out to him. “Wait!” Now what? She had absolutely no idea why she didn’t just thank him and go on about her business.
“Yeah?” He looked and sounded annoyed that she was holding him up.
“Well, I…thought you might want a ride somewhere?” All reason and sanity just went out the window. If her parents ever found out that she’d offered a complete stranger a ride, she’d be dragged back home and locked in her old bedroom until she was forty.
It seemed, for the first few seconds anyway, that he would decline, but when he yanked the door open, her fate was sealed.
“Thanks – I guess.” He grabbed her cell that was still lying on the passenger seat and tossed it in her lap.
Marta bristled. “You don’t have to if it bothers you that much.”
The cloud that had been threatening to dash them to the ground let loose with a low rumble and pounded the car with its contents. The stranger laughed. It was a nice laugh, and Marta found herself smiling right along with him.
“Sorry,” he said, still grinning. “My name’s Aaron Steele, but my pals just call me Stash.”
Marta looked him over and wondered where his friends were now. “Marta, here. My friends call me Marta.”
He laughed again, and this time Marta was able to get a better look at his face. It was really a very nice face if you could look past the stubble, black grease, and ratty hair. Nice teeth, too.
“How far are you going?” he asked.
Marta eased the van back onto the road. “All the way.” Her interview was the only thing on her mind at the moment, but she quickly realized how it sounded and felt a bit of heat light up her cheeks. “In my job, that is. That’s where I’m headed. To a job interview.”
Stash raised a brow. “And where would that be?”
“Port Hamilton, of course.” Isn’t that where everyone went for the good paying jobs?
“Great!” He settled back in his seat and closed his eyes. “That’s where I’m going, too. Wake me up when we get there. I’m a bit tired
. Walking all night does that to a person.”
“You have business there, too?”
Stash opened one eye. “Sort of.”
This could be good. Marta had never been to Port Hamilton. “So, do you know your way around the city?”
Now he opened both eyes. “If you think I’m playing tour guide, you can let me out right here. I’m done with little girls who have diamonds in their eyes. Pull up your big girl pants and learn to read a map.”
Marta slammed on the brakes. “What a jerk! I’m not asking you to hold my hand! I just thought you might know where Elliot Enterprises is located considering I’m already running late and I don’t have time to get lost!”
He looked a little ashamed of himself, but Marta couldn’t tell if that was because he didn’t want kicked out in the rain or if he was truly sorry.
“Job interview. I forgot.” Stash sighed and ran a hand over his chin. “I believe I’ve passed the building a time or two.” Looking at her out of the corner of his eye, he gave her a half smile. “I’ll help you get there.”
She felt like kicking his ass out in the rain, and if she knew the trouble he was about to put her through, she would have.
“Fine. But once we get there, I want you to get lost.”
Stash touched his chest and put on the offended look. “Me? What have I done but save your butt?”
Marta smirked. “You’re annoying, you’re assuming, and you have zero manners.”
“Comes with the territory, I suppose.” Stash looked out the window. The faraway sound to his voice drew Marta in, and she burned with curiosity to know how he got in this position.
“Being a hobo makes you an annoying, assuming, ass?” Marta sped up. Another minute wasted.
“An ass? First I’m a jerk and now I’m an ass! That’s gratitude!” Stash forced the stern look, but Marta saw the ornery glimmer in his eyes.
“Oh, just shut up,” she said, doing her best to look irritated. “You know, for someone who needs me more than I need them, you sure are antagonistic.”
Stash practically bubbled up out of his seat. “You’re a woman! You were born antagonistic!”
There were no words appropriate for this situation – at least no words she used on a daily basis. “Well, Stash Aaron Steel – if that’s your real name – I’m not an antagonist. Never have been. I have, however, had the misfortune of running into too many people like you. Do you people have this secret, underground gathering place where you learn the finer points of being a hemorrhoid?”
Stash burst out laughing, pissing Marta off even more.
“Port Hamilton can’t come fast enough,” she mumbled through clenched teeth.
“You really hate me, don’t you, Marta.”
This Stash character seemed to get a healthy dose of sick pleasure out of torturing her, but she wasn’t going to let him get the upper hand.
“Not at all, Stash. I actually feel sorry for you.”
“For me? Oh, no, beautiful. Not me.”
His gleaming teeth glared at her in all their perfection, as if he were the one who should feel sorry for her. This made Marta feel as if she were lower than dirt – and that gored deep. She’d worked her ass off to get through college, partly to prove to the naysayers that she was more than just the daughter of a poor, patch town couple.
“Yes, for you! Hell, I know I’m not perfect. I’m sure you’d rather have been picked up by a bleached bimbo who wears a size two. Sorry to disappoint. You’ll just have to be satisfied with this all natural, size twelve brunette – imperfections and all.”
“Hold up!” He managed to interrupt her thoughts of ripping him a new asshole. “No one said anything about your looks. As a matter of fact, now that you’ve opened this avenue, you’re completely wrong about yourself.”
Marta felt naked as he raked his eyes down over her body. Sure, she had a nice set, but that comes with the territory when you’re a size twelve. The way he looked at her, though, felt different. She actually felt desirable again, and it dragged out the very thing she’d been locking up for the last six years.
“Don’t go getting any ideas,” she warned. “Let’s remember who owes whom a favor.”
Stash perked up. “I’d be happy to do you a favor any time you’d like. As a matter of fact, I might have a few no one else has ever tried on you.” The way he looked at her – serious and ultra-confident – scared the shit out of her.
Marta’s mouth went dry. Was she just propositioned? In her twenty-two years, this was the first time a man had actually offered up sex carte blanche within the first fifteen minutes of meeting her. Sure, she’d had the occasional drunk blather in her ear about what he’d like to do to her, but a sober man…that was something entirely new. It’s not that Marta was unattractive, because she wasn’t – but she felt like it, and she surmised that this is why men avoided her like the plague. Either that or the word ‘virgin’ tattooed across her forehead flashed like a neon sign when a man got within ten feet of her.
“Maybe we should change the subject.” She tried to sound authoritative, but failed miserably.
“To what?” Now she’d done it. Stash was wound up tight and ready to spring off in any direction. “How about we talk about why you want to work in the city? I hate the place. Too many people, too much noise, and not enough green.”
Marta grunted. “The kind of green I’m looking for can’t be found in the country.”
The look on Stash’s face changed. “So, you’re one of these money hungry girls, are you?”
Marta laughed, despite his sour demeanor. “If by ‘money hungry’ you mean I want to support myself and have a nice life, then yes.”
She watched his gray eyes darken and draw away. “You’ll marry the first rich creep who looks your way. Women are like that. They don’t give a shit if the guy treats them nice. They just want the money.”
Marta hit the gas a little too hard, sending Stash against the seat. “Oh, really? Well it just so happens that I want my own money! I have no desire to stroke the ego of a needy guy who can’t get a woman without his money. No way, no thanks. And that’s all they are,” she said, enjoying the look of fear on his face as she flew up the hill. “Rich guys are needy jerks who have to have money and a plastic woman to keep them happy. Nope. That’s not the type of man for me.”
Stash grunted. “Tell me that again when you’re faced with a choice between a ten million bank account and a ten dollar bank account. Then we’ll see.”
Marta knew this gig. She’s had a friend go through the same thing. “So, she left you for a guy with money, did she?”
The back of a hospital gown couldn’t gape as much as Stash’s face. “Well, not that it’s any of your business.”
“Ha! I knew it!” Marta felt vindicated. At least she had a semi-logical reason for his bad behavior. “Forget her. Being poor’s way better. You don’t have to worry about keeping something you don’t have and no one’s trying to take anything away from you. Problem solved.”
Stash glowered. “Then why are you trying so damn hard to get rich?”
“What’s rich to you, Stash? To me, being rich is being able to pay my bills, buy groceries and have a nice place to live. Having a little left over to save would be icing on the cake.”
Stash gripped the arm rest as Marta sent her minivan screaming around a tight corner. “Right at this moment, rich, to me, is making it to my destination with all of my limbs.”
Marta uncorked the steam bubbling up inside. “Sorry. I’m just in a bit of a hurry. I promise to make you the richest man alive,” she said, slowing down.
“You’re an odd one, Marta.” He didn’t say it with disdain this time, but instead with curiosity. “What happens if you don’t get this big job in the city? What then?”
The thought had crossed her mind once or twice. “I don’t plan to fail, Stash, but thanks for the boost of confidence.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
Damn, the man
was persistent! Marta eyed him up before letting out her bomb. “Then I have a job lined up as a stripper.”
Stash bit the inside of his mouth to keep from smiling. “Then I hope you fail.” He looked at her again, only this time he didn’t hurry away from her assets before he’d taken a good, long visual drink. “Then again,” he said, forcing his eyes back up to Marta’s face, “maybe I don’t.” Something shifted in his voice. “You’re not serious about that, are you?”
Being in a state of needing money could make a person say and do some strange things, and Marta had seriously considered this option before the call came from Port Hamilton – for about three seconds. “Oh, I dunno. I’ve got thirty-two bucks to my name and no job to make more. What would you do?”
Stash grunted. “I certainly wouldn’t take my clothes off for a bunch of toothless men.”
“And, I don’t think they’d want you to, Stash.” She sighed and ran her free hand through her curls. “Let’s hope I don’t have that decision to make, shall we?”
“How soon will you find out if you have this job you’re after?”
Stash was taking this job thing way too seriously considering she’d just met him twenty miles back.
“Hopefully within a week. Why? Do you need a ride somewhere else?”
Stash grimaced. “No. I just want to make sure you’ll be okay until you get hired.”
“Well,” she said, amused by his abnormal concern for her welfare, “I do have family, you know. I just don’t like to ask for help unless I’m desperate. Which I might be after this interview. I’ve heard Mr. Elliot can be a real prick. Especially when it comes to hiring women.”
“Picky bastard, huh?”
Marta shrugged. “I’m not sure if he’s picky or if he just hates women. Either way, this is an uphill battle.” She checked her reflection in the rear view mirror. “I hear he’s sort of partial to skinny chicks with massive … personalities,” she finished.
Stash chuckled. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard them referred to as ‘personalities’.”