by Lea Griffith
“I was worried about you. Word is that you were spotted running out of the Glass Hitch in tears. Told them I didn’t believe it, what with you being a tough girl and all.”
I sucked in air, and my cheeks warmed slightly. “Drivers are such fucking gossips.”
He chuckled, the laugh ending in a deep smoker’s cough. “Yeah. They don’t tell you that in the academy, but it’s awfully true. Can you blame us, though? It’s lonely out here.” He fished a cigarette out of his shirt pocket and trailed the end into the corner of his mouth.
I fought the sudden burning in my chest, as if I could force my tears back through an effort of will. “Yeah, maybe even a lonelier than I thought it would be.”
He shook out the match—an odd way of doing it, as all drivers used lighters, but Jeff was old-fashioned through and through—and his brows went up. “I take it your fellow. . .”
“He’s not coming.”
Jeff nodded and pushed his fedora back far enough to light his cigarette. The cab filled with the acrid scent of smoke, and I instantly felt torn. There was no good way to ask him not to smoke in here—and part of me also liked it, in a way. It was so familiar, so intimate. I didn’t smoke, and yet, since I started trucking, I was pretty much bathed in it. I didn’t want to stand outside, either. “Say, did I ever tell you about the goose we housebroke?”
I smiled. At least six times. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Well, you know, we had a houseful of pigs for a while. We were training them to go outside. Pigs are real smart, you know. . .”
Maybe I could call Luke back, convince him to still come? Just for a week? I bet if he tried it. . . The hope died as easily as a fresh-picked flower. He wasn’t coming, and the reaffirmation of something I knew, then forgot, then knew again crushed me as hard as it had the first time. Worse, the idea of looking him in the face made my stomach flip over. How much of what he had said had been true, and how much just designed to hurt me?
The problem was, I wasn’t really sure.
Jeff paused in the story and regarded me. His eyes twinkled. “I’ve told you this one before, haven’t I?”
“Maybe. You told me a lot of stories while we were driving team.”
He snorted. “When I was training you, you mean? I don’t remember you doing a whole lot of driving for half of that.”
I blushed and swatted a hand at him. It was true—new drivers had to build miles up gradually. Sitting in a chair all day didn’t come naturally to anyone. But Jeff had been there, showing me the ropes, easing me through every maneuver until it started to feel like second nature. “I almost quit a few times. I got homesick.”
He chuckled, the sound warm and somehow buoyant, as if it could float me up over my own pain. “Everybody does. That would have been a shame. And I did tell you a lot of stories, but what better way is there to pass the time? After all, they pay us—”
“To be bored.”
Jeff smiled at my memory of his catchphrase.
There were things I wanted to say, but I didn’t know how to say them. The silence grew into something that edged on uncomfortable. He sighed and nodded, and pointed back out the window. “All right, well—I’m parked on party row. Pulled in too late to get anything better. At least the weather’s nice tonight. Hope it doesn’t cool down too much, I’d like to just use the windows tonight.”
I nodded. “At least it’s not Jersey.” That state’s anti-idling laws didn’t exactly give drivers a choice.
“You think I listen to that environmental crap? I’ve been driving for forty years, sunshine. I’ll idle when I damn well feel like it, and FLEX can pay the tickets. I ain’t baking to death.” He touched the brim on his hat. On a different man, it would have been cheesy, but Jeff wore it with distinction. “Come and see me if you want.”
I felt a flash of regret as the door closed behind him, but I didn’t get out. Instead, I crawled back into my dungeon of a bed.
They pay us to be bored.
Maybe, but for the next few weeks, they’d be paying me just to keep it together.
Dominated by Becca Jameson
Coming October 2013
Chapter One
Warm breath hit Kathleen Davis’s neck, giving her only a second’s notice before she heard, “You’re mine.”
A chill crawled up her spine. A firm hand grabbed hers and gave a tug before she’d even seen the face that went with the voice and lips only millimeters from her ear.
Something didn’t feel right. Her heart pounded as adrenaline pumped through her body.
She stood taller, glancing around the crowded noisy room before turning toward the squeaky male voice. No one was currently paying attention to her. She’d been flitting from table to table, meeting other wolf shifters and enjoying the atmosphere of the meeting room.
Her face fell as she turned toward the man who’d spoken only those two words to her before pulling her toward the door. She was graced only with the back of his head. No face. Just a shock of thick black hair in need of a cut. He was short. Not more than an inch taller than her own five five.
His hand gripped hers tighter, sweaty and infuriatingly tight to the point her fingers ached.
She followed dutifully. He’d said she was his. She felt nothing. Wasn’t there supposed to be some sort of spark? A beam of light? A sign that he was indeed her mate? Didn’t the women feel the same intense connection as the male shifters?
In moments, the man weaseled his way through the crowd and out into the hallway. He kept walking until they rounded a corner. No one was around. Of course. Everyone who was unattached and looking for a mate was in that room.
It was Saturday night, the first night of the biennial gathering. The only people who would be leaving that room right now would be wolf shifters who encountered their mates and wanted some time alone. Was she one of them?
The dark-haired man turned toward her and pressed her into the wall. He smiled, but nothing about his face was sincere.
Kathleen gasped. She held her breath. He reeked. He needed a shower and a toothbrush. His dry lips curled up in an apparent grin, but it was ominous. His eyes were dark, but she couldn’t read his intent in them.
He held her to the wall with his entire frame, making it impossible for her to move an inch in any direction. He was strong for someone so small. Broad. No . . . overweight.
He grabbed both her biceps with his hands and leaned his face in closer. “You look so much like your sister. I hope you aren’t as big of a bitch as she was.” With one hand he reached to toy with a lock of her hair, twirling it around his finger before he grazed her cheek with his thumb.
What the hell? Her sister? Mackenzie or Cassidy? And what was he talking about?
Cassidy was giggling it up with her friends inside the meeting room. She was only nineteen and not ready to even consider mating.
Mackenzie, twenty-three, was where? No one had seen her for hours. Kath assumed she was hiding in the car with her chip on her shoulder, unwilling to succumb to the mating ritual.
Had this crazy man actually had an encounter with Kenzie earlier?
Kathleen turned her head to one side to get a breath. She couldn’t bear sucking in air with the man’s face in front of her.
He gripped her jaw, too forcefully, and turned her face back toward his. “Mine,” he repeated.
One thing she knew with absolute clarity—she was not his. He was delusional.
When he tried to lower his lips to hers, she pushed against him. “Get off me. I’m not yours.” The resistance was futile. He was too big. “I’ll give you two seconds to walk away and then I’m going to scream. Got it?” Something about him made her believe he was not all there, mentally.
He only chuckled. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Why? The man had a screw loose.
“I’m Marcus, by the way. And I’m going to claim you.” As he smashed his dry lips into hers, she lifted her knee and slammed it into his groin. He buckled, hunc
hed forward, releasing his grip on her.
Kathleen wiggled free and scrambled away. Gasping for breath, she ran as hard as she could down the hall, not considering the direction she was headed or the fact the majority of the meeting attendees were in a room behind both her and her assailant.
“Stop! You bitch! What’s with you Davis women anyway?” She could hear him catching up with her.
She ran harder, wishing she hadn’t worn a sundress and cute sandals. “Cute” shoes weren’t made for speed.
When she rounded a corner, she saw several closed doors. It was quiet in this corridor. Whatever conferences had been held there earlier in the day were all disbanded now. The older adults had probably headed toward the dining hall or a social event.
Desperate, Kathleen reached for a random door and found it unlocked. She slipped inside the dark room and pulled the door shut silently.
Her chest heaved. She couldn’t control her breathing, which seemed louder than it should in her ringing ears.
As she set her forehead against the cool surface of the door, a throat cleared behind her, scaring the piss out of her.
She whipped around, half expecting to find the crazy man who’d hoped to claim her from the hall. Irrationally, she wondered how he’d gotten the upper hand.
She leaned against the door and stared into the darkness. She had no idea what sort of room this was, let alone who might be sharing it with her.
“Hiding from someone?” The deep male voice came from across the room. It was filled with mirth. He had no idea how accurate he was.
Suddenly leery of just about any member of the male species, she pressed herself firmly into the door. Opening it wasn’t an option. How about slipping between the cracks in the hardwood floor and vaporizing?
“Yes.” What else could she say? It was the truth. But she had no idea how well she could trust this newcomer hiding in the dark. Maybe he was in cahoots with the asshole chasing her.
He stepped out of the shadows and materialized in front of her. He was huge. Tall and well built. She swallowed the lump in her throat and flattened her palms against the door. If he meant her ill-will, she wouldn’t stand a chance.
Kathleen jumped nearly out of her skin when the man reached around her, his fingers grazing her own. A soft snick filled the silence. He’d locked the door.
Shit. Had she just jumped out of the pan and into the flames?
“There. Whoever it is, they can’t get in here now.” His voice was gentle, soothing. He was over six feet tall, but she could still smell his breath as he stood close. Minty with a hint of red wine. So very much better than Marcus the Schmuck.
He stepped back. “Relax. Want to tell me about it?” He reached for the wall next to the door and flipped a switch. The room filled with light, making her squint.
“Oops. Too bright.” He grabbed the knob next to the light and twisted until the room dimmed to a tolerable level. “Come on in.” He stepped backward with one eyebrow lifted. “Unless, you’d rather take your chances in the hall.” His smile warmed her. The shaking subsided enough for her to take a deep breath. His teasing was a relief after the last several minutes of torture.
“No. Thanks. The hall is . . . not desirable right now.” Though she had yet to assess whether or not this particular gentleman was any better. He seemed friendly. At least he hadn’t shoved her against the wall and attempted to stick his tongue down her throat. That was an improvement.
“What happened? You are out of breath and. . ." He took a giant step forward and grabbed her wrist, lifting her arm up. “What the hell happened?” he repeated. Now his voice was angry. His gaze landed on her biceps and she ducked her head to follow his line of sight.
Shit. Her bare arm sported the obvious hand print of her assailant.
The tall behemoth holding her wrist as gently as if he were a doctor ran his free hand through his thick blond hair. He lifted his gaze back to meet hers as she stared up at his face. Deep blue eyes bored into her, narrowed in concern. A wave of hair fell across his forehead. She wanted to touch it for some reason.
When she sucked in a long breath, she froze. Damn, he smelled good. Her brain scrambled as she stared without blinking. A sudden need to lean into him and let the weight of the world transfer from her to him consumed her.
Suddenly, he dropped her arm as though she’d burnt him and stumbled backward a step.
“Holy mother of. . ." His voice trailed off.
Kathleen flipped her arm over, meaning to glance down at it, but she couldn’t take her gaze off the sexy blond god currently closing his eyes and ducking his head as though in shame.
Was her arm that bad? She knew it ached from being squeezed in the hall, but surely it wasn’t so bad it would make a grown man cringe in distaste.
He turned away, wandering back into the room until he collapsed into a chair and leaned his forehead on his palms, his elbows on his knees. Did he have a sudden headache?
“Sit,” he whispered. He released one hand to point at the couch next to his chair. He didn’t glance up.
Shaking, Kathleen inched her way farther into the room. She felt compelled on some deep, unrecognizable level. Why would she follow the demands of this man who’d behaved only with the oddest of mannerisms since the moment she’d entered the room?
Gingerly, she perched on the edge of the sofa and crossed her legs. She suddenly felt underdressed. The sundress she’d purchased specifically for tonight seemed out of place, cheap, and too flimsy compared to the elegant suit-wearing man in the chair. The only thing out of place about him was his tie, which he’d loosened at the neck, the top button of his perfectly creased, starched, white dress shirt undone.
“What’s your name?” he asked. He kept his face toward the ground. He dug his palms into his forehead now as though he were in pain.
“Kathleen,” she muttered. “Kathleen Davis.”
He breathed heavily for several seconds and then lifted his gaze, a pained expression covering his face. He’d clearly rather be shoveling shit than talking to her. “How old are you?”
She stared at him, angry now. Who the fuck cared how old she was? And what the hell was the matter with him?
She stood. “I’m gonna go.” Hopefully the coast was clear in the hall. She was so unwanted in this room, she was no longer sure the strange, mentally-challenged imbecile in the hall wasn’t her better option. She eased around the chair, not taking her gaze off the blond man following her with his own gaze.
He shook his head before she could advance more than a few steps. “Like hell. Sit.”
She flinched. He narrowed his gaze, demanding compliance with just a look.
She gripped the back of the chair and returned the stare. She straightened her spine, not letting him get the best of her. Fuck him. Who the hell did he think he was? Just because he smelled like sex on a stick and made her knees weak and her heart pound didn’t give him the right to order her around.
On a dime, he changed his facial expression, a grin spreading across his lips. He laughed. “Well, aren’t you stubborn? Sit, Kathleen.” He nodded toward the chair again. “I’m not used to such defiance. Tell me what happened in the hall. Please.” His voice was firm even though he’d lightened up a smidge.
Kathleen rounded the chair and resumed her spot. If he was going to stop growling at her, he wasn’t so bad. When she looked back into his eyes, he gave a small snort, clearly pleased with her obedience.
Her palms were sweaty and she wiped them on her short cotton skirt, gripping the material and balling it up in her fists. Too much leg was showing, and she quickly released the dress to smooth it out as far as it would reach, not even to her knees.
Why on earth had she ever thought this dress was perfect for this night?
“The hall?” He raised one eyebrow in question.
Kathleen gulped and opened her dry lips. She licked them slowly, trying to find a brain cell to use.
She watched as the man who seemed to fill the e
ntire room with his physique and his personality waited for her to speak.
“There was a guy at the meat market . . . party, I mean. He thought to claim me—”
“Why? You aren’t even his,” he interrupted.
She jerked. How the hell would he know that? “He, um, he seemed to think I was. Though I quickly surmised he was quite wrong myself.” Surmised? What’s coming out of my mouth?
“Go on.” His face went back to frustrated. He didn’t look as sexy with his brow furrowed like that.
“He snuck up behind me at the party, grabbed my hand, and dragged me into the hall.”
“Are you serious? Who is this guy?” Tall and handsome stood and began to pace. He ran his fingers through his messy blond locks again, making himself more appealing and sexy than before.
“No idea. Marcus something. He didn’t give me his last name.”
“Go on,” he demanded again, pausing his frantic pacing to stare at her. “You popped in here as though the hounds of hell were on your heels.”
Now her entire mouth felt too dry to speak. If he reacted this way to the first half of the saga, how would he react to the second half? She needed a drink of water. She wasn’t about to ask for one though. He didn’t strike her as the kind of person she should interrupt. “He insisted I was his, mumbled something about my sister, and then tried to kiss me.”
“He kissed you?” The man barked, his voice cracking at a higher pitch than he was capable of. He leaned forward, his neck craning as though he’d misheard her words.
“Sort of,” she mumbled, biting her lip. “He tried. His breath reeked, and I kneed him in the groin and then ran down the hall.”
Tall, dark, and handsome tipped his head back and chuckled again. “Good girl. I hope you maimed him.”
“I don’t think so. He was chasing me. That’s why I slipped into this room. Didn’t mean to disturb you.” She stood again, thinking to escape. The air in the room was filled with his scent, and she quickly lost the capacity to reason under the strange spell this man cast on her.
In a flash, he was in front of her, pressing her into the chair with his hands on her shoulders.