by Lib Starling
As they made their way down into the bowl, entering into the austere, moonlit world of Blackmeade, Roxy’s hands went damp and clammy on her steering wheel. She gritted her teeth to keep them from chattering together as Scarlett directed her to a house where a party was in full swing. Why did I even come? Roxy asked herself grimly. I should have stuck up for myself – I should have told Brooke and Scarlett “no way.”
But sticking up for herself had never been Roxy’s strong suit. If it had, she might not loathe fraternities as much as she did. It was never okay for men to be rude and cruel to women – in fact, Roxy was firmly of the belief that it was just as wrong for women to be rude and cruel to men. But the truth was, her own meek nature had led her into trouble with college boys more times than she could count. She just couldn’t say no to the girls in Hanover when they’d wanted to pack her off to parties or football games or clubs, and inevitably she’d ended up mortified over the way the men had treated her, and hated herself a little more each time she came home with a tear-stained face and a bruised heart. But somehow, in the face of other girls’ exuberance, she couldn’t bring herself to disappoint them. Roxy’d had no real friends there, and it had always seemed worse to be the kill-joy among girls who might turn into friends, than to be the butt of a man’s jokes. It had always seemed worse, that was, until the mocking words began to fly.
And now here she was in Wyoming, thousands of miles from Hanover, letting herself fall into exactly the same trap.
After tonight, she promised herself as she parked the Jeep outside an enormous Victorian house, its yard strewn with red plastic cups and beer cans, I won’t do it again. Roxy stared resolutely up at the white letters hanging over the Victorian’s front door. Alpha Delta Phi. I left Hanover so I could turn over a new leaf; from here on out, I keep to myself and let my friends party without me, no matter how they whine or beg.
She only had to make it through one night, one last party… and then Roxy swore she would be free of frat boys forever.
Chase lifted his cup of beer high as he made his way through the crowded hallway of Alpha Delta Phi, trying to avoid a collision that would slosh his drink all over his shirt. It was no simple task. The party was beginning to pick up steam – music was getting louder, laughter harder and more frequent, and the town girls had begun to arrive in Blackmeade Village, their high-pitched voices and shrieking giggles cutting over the dull, repetitive thud of the music. The house was filling with the excitement of his brothers and their guests, a rising tension that threatened to spill over at any moment.
Chase peeked out a hallway window as he passed, pressing himself against the wall just in time to avoid a good-natured tussle between Jack and Darien as they stampeded from the upstairs den toward the gathering downstairs. Outside, the moon pulled itself clear of the jagged horizon. Its white light washed the mountain peaks, and Chase squeezed his cup of beer until the rim split with a loud crack.
“Shit,” he muttered, licking the splash of beer from his knuckles without taking his eyes off the moon. It was almost full, though he didn’t need to see it to know. Chase could feel the coming phase of burgeoning power tingling along his skin. No wonder Alpha House boiled with energy tonight.
He downed his beer in a single, long draft.
Chase descended the stairs into the living room, a mess of mismatched couches and easy chairs, most of them strewn with lounging brothers and the girls who writhed and giggled on their laps. The thumping heartbeat of the music seemed to rise up Chase’s body like a tide of warm water until it closed over his head. Logan, one of Alpha Delta Phi’s newest pledges, was spinning the wheels tonight, pressing one half of his oversized headphones against his ear as he tickled the records with deft fingers, oblivious to everything but the music. A few girls shouted to one another over the pounding track as they danced in the center of the living room floor.
Alexander leaned against the huge, carved-oak mantel of the fireplace, watching the women dance with his cool, ice-blue stare. A shag of hair, so palely blonde it was nearly white, hung over one eyebrow, drawing Chase’s eye to Alexander’s perfectly sculpted face. His jaw and nose managed to be pronounced but not overbearing, and his sharp-angled cheekbones gave him an air of perpetual watchfulness that Chase both envied and resented. He may have been only twenty-one, but Alexander already had the undeniable stamp of a natural-born leader. And even in the face of the waxing moon, Alexander remained calm and detached, looking with quiet amusement on the flustered state of his frat brothers and the women who flitted among them, hopeful-eyed and reeking of hot desire.
Briefly, Chase considered pushing through the crowd to Alexander’s side. He wanted to stand back and watch the party happen around him, just as flawless and self-possessed as the fraternity’s leader. But Chase, too, felt the call of the moon, and he knew that if he came close to Alexander the turmoil surging within would only make him say something unforgivably stupid.
Or maybe something dangerous. It had been nearly a year since Alexander had scooped Katrina out of Chase’s hands, winning her heart as effortlessly as he did everything else. Chase hadn’t been able to stand up to him then – who could? – but even long after Katrina had left Jackson Hole entirely, Chase still rankled over his leader’s interference. Better not to mention it, though, he reminded himself. Just let it go – that’s all you can do. Alexander looked cool and self-possessed now, but Chase had seen the leader’s mood change in an instant. He knew Alexander’s temper.
The front door flung open as Darien and Jack took their wrestling match out into the dry, dusty yard. Chase watched them leap from the porch and roll on the ground among the beer cans, smacking each other’s shoulders and laughing as they grappled. He started to turn his face away again, but something held his attention – something he could not, as yet, see.
Chase blinked, staring stupidly toward the open door, filled with the sudden tension of waiting. He drew in a deep breath as if searching for a faint scent, and allowed his eyes to slide around the room. Most of the brothers were looking up, their senses coming to life, gazing around with eyes that were suddenly sharp in spite of the beer they had all consumed freely. Even Logan was peering up from the DJ station; his hand fell slowly from the headset.
Alexander’s pale blue eyes focused intently on the doorway, the stark black pupils constricting to pinpoints of darkness. He stood up straight, abandoning his air of casual detachment, and watching him, Chase felt a flutter of nerves deep in his stomach.
Then a trio of girls stepped through the door, and Chase forgot everything else.
There were two, plainly pretty in a typical sort of way, whom Chase dismissed at once – a sandy blonde and a thin, dark-haired woman in a pushup bra and a red lace camisole. They moved at once into the party like experts, heading for the alcohol, rolling their shoulders to the beat of the music.
But the third girl – the third.
A nearby lamp glinted on the waves of her ponytail, which was the color of bright copper. A flowing, silky top, open at the throat, exposed the skin of her neck and the tops of her ample breasts. She was as white and smooth as cream, and Chase’s mouth watered with the sudden desire to run his tongue along that tantalizing hint of collarbone, licking and tasting. Tight jeans showed off the arcing curves of her wide hips and thighs. As her friends departed, the redhead narrowed her green eyes and glared after them, her lush pink lips compressing in a look of sullen resentment. She strode after them, never deigning to look at the party that had come to a halt around her.
As she moved, several of the brothers leaped to their feet or left the girls they were dancing with to drift in the redhead’s wake. Chase, too, found himself halfway across the living room floor before he even realized he had taken a step.
But Alexander was already several paces ahead of him.
“Hey,” Alexander said, just loud enough to be heard over the music. It was a warning; most of the brothers subsided, going back to whatever they had been doing before, but
their eyes still followed the redheaded woman as she sidled through the kitchen’s swinging saloon doors in search of her two friends.
Alexander followed the woman, and Chase, deliberately crushing his self-doubt and his wariness of the frat leader, followed Alexander.
By the time Chase made it into the kitchen, Alexander was already making his move. The redhead was reaching for a bottle of water in one of the ice-filled bins. Alexander reached first, but before he could open it and hand the drink over, the girl stepped away from him.
“I don’t take drinks from strangers,” she said.
Alexander smiled politely. Like everything else about him, his smile was charming, and it typically had the power to disarm even the wariest woman. She, however, only frowned at him.
“Sounds like you’ve had some bad experiences at parties,” Alexander said smoothly.
He handed her the water unopened, but as if to make her point perfectly clear, she dropped it back in the ice barrel, pulled out a different bottle, and twisted the lid off by herself.
“Let’s just say I’m not your typical party girl,” she said, her voice dry with suspicion.
Alexander’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “I have no doubt of that.”
The redhead’s gaze flicked from Alexander’s face to Chase’s. Chase stood up a little straighter under her scrutiny, suddenly aware that his face bristled with five o’clock shadow and that he wore his most comfortable, but decidedly crummiest, t-shirt. Beside Alexander’s neatly groomed perfection, Chase knew he looked shabby and forgettable. But he wasted no time in grinding his teeth over the way his leader had managed to outmaneuver him yet again. He saw the girl’s eyes dart, and he turned to follow her gaze.
Past Chase’s shoulder, which he used to prop the kitchen’s swinging door open, five or six members of Alpha Delta Phi were packed in the hall, staring into the kitchen with silent intensity. Despite Alexander’s warning, they’d been as unable to tear themselves away from the redhead’s presence as Chase had been.
“Alexander Kane,” purred the dark-haired girl in the flimsy red top. “Fancy meeting you here.” She stuck out a hand to shake.
Alexander took the offered hand and dropped it again almost immediately, a faint annoyance pinching his features. “I’m always here.”
“I told you,” the sandy-haired girl muttered.
“I’m Scarlett,” she went on, oblivious to Alexander’s disinterest. “Scarlett Winters. I live in town,” she added lamely.
Where else did any of these girls live? Certainly no women attended Blackmeade University – even if it hadn’t been a men’s-only college, no female applicants would have made it through the admissions process. It was an exclusive group, a school for young men who had certain things in common – not only families of means and influence, but particular gifts as well. And no woman shared those gifts. It was impossible.
Chase scratched at the stubble on his cheeks, eyeing the appealing curves of the red-haired girl again.
It is impossible… isn’t it?
Alexander’s all-charm smile returned as he looked at the curvy one, who was now sipping her water and watching the hallway full of men with hard, challenging eyes. “And you are?” he prompted.
“Not here,” the girl insisted. She strode past Alexander, past Chase, and out into the hallway.
Chase couldn’t resist inhaling sharply as she passed, even though his poorly disguised eagerness drew a sharp look from Alexander. She smelled clean, of soap and some bright, floral shampoo. The feminine warmth of her body flooded Chase’s senses with its delicate, intoxicating spice. But beneath that delicious smell, he detected a sharp tang of anger and fear as she strode through the hallway, as the brothers of Alpha House fell back to let her pass. And buried even deeper, so deep he almost couldn’t find it, was the feral bite of wild lands, of wind in the sage and the song of moonlight.
Chase’s eyes widened. His fingers stilled against his rough chin.
Impossible.
Or was it?
.3.
I t took every ounce of Roxy’s bravery to walk slowly through that hallway and out into the old Victorian house’s main room where the music was thumping. She wanted to run. The walls were lined with silent, staring ranks of men; she was sharply aware of their forceful, intrusive eyes, as she was aware of their bodies – all of them trim and muscular, and each with a brooding, dark intensity that piqued her interest in spite of her anger.
Scarlett hadn’t been kidding: these boys were, Roxy reluctantly admitted as she stomped past them with her head held high, ridiculously hot. Blackmeade University must place heavy emphasis on sports, she assumed – every single one of the men she passed was as lean and strong as an athlete. In spite of her determination to avoid the boys’ unwanted attention, she still would have enjoyed checking out the eye candy. If, that is, those fit, quivering bodies hadn’t been leaning toward her with an interest that was almost predatory.
Here it comes, she told herself, wry and tired. It was only a matter of moments before one of them made a crack about her size, or the snickering began – Roxy was no stranger to the way this same unwelcome scene played out. It was always the same.
This time, though, she wasn’t going to react. She wasn’t going to so much as acknowledge that any of these idiots existed. The DJ seemed pretty good – she’d park near the music and keep to herself until Brooke and Scarlett had finally had enough and were ready to go home.
The frat boys in the hall shifted with a nervous energy as she broke free of their confining gauntlet and stalked across the living room. She felt them gather in a knot behind her, felt all their eyes on her back as she walked away, and she couldn’t suppress a sick shiver. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves before she turned on the edge of the little circle of dancing women, and when she glanced back toward the hallway and the kitchen beyond, at least a dozen men were staring at her, their faces alight with hungry expectation.
Roxy rolled her eyes and spun abruptly to focus on the dancing.
One track bled into another, then another. Girls came and went from the ersatz dance floor, some of them dropping with a giggle onto the laps of the guys who watched from the overstuffed couches or the beat-up recliners. But even though the guys were quick to fill their hands with the slender, perfect bodies of the other girls, Roxy still felt those ravenous stares pelting her body like hailstones.
This was by far the most hostile-feeling frat party she’d ever been to, and that was really saying something. None of these jerks could wait to inflate their own sense of manliness by battering down her self-esteem; their attention on Roxy’s presence was so strong that it was palpable, and it turned her stomach.
I should tell Scarlett and Brooke we’re going now, before things get out of hand. Scarlett would complain bitterly if her chance to score with one of these Blackmeade hotties was snatched away, but Roxy was the designated driver, and she held all the cards tonight.
She looked around for her friends. Across the room, the telltale flash of Scarlett’s red tank top caught Roxy’s eye. Scarlett was leaning her trim little butt on the dining-room table, looking up into the tall blonde guy’s face as she chattered. Alexander – that’s what Scarlett called him in the kitchen. So this was the man Scarlett had set her sights on.
Roxy couldn’t blame her. Alexander was strikingly gorgeous, with his snow-pale coloring and his features as perfectly carved as those of a Greek statue. He was dressed preppy-perfect, too, in neat slacks with a soft blue button-up shirt, unwrinkled and spotless even though the party raged around him. It was open at his throat, and Roxy noted the glint of a thin gold chain against Alexander’s neck. Adding to his good looks was the hypnotic intensity of his stare, which Roxy couldn’t help but feel, as it was directed straight at her despite Scarlett’s persistent flirting.
When she realized Alexander had been watching her, Roxy blinked hard and felt an uncomfortable heat rise in her cheeks. Her hand strayed to the necklace her m
other had given her years ago, as it always did when she felt flustered. As she rubbed the small gold medallion between her fingers a tiny measure of confidence returned – but not enough that she wanted to stay in the line of Alexander’s sight.
She began to shuffle along the edge of the dance floor, trying to put a few bodies between herself and Alexander, but the impeccable blonde strode toward her before she could work her way out of his vision.
Alexander maneuvered ever closer, and Roxy stepped away deftly, weaving through the party as quickly as she could manage, striving to keep him at a comfortable distance. But the members of the fraternity seemed to press in around her, hemming her in with the heat of their bodies, and they fell back before Alexander’s advance, clearing the way for him to close on Roxy with his languid, slinking gait. She stuffed one hand into the pocket of her jeans and felt the Jeep keys there, jagged and reassuring – and in one swift move she dodged through the crowd, bumping against a frat boy who gave a low, menacing growl as she shouldered past.
She staggered through the still-open door into the cool air of a Rocky Mountain night. Two guys were picking themselves up from the ground, laughing in drunken glee as they brushed dirt from one another’s clothes.
“Good match,” the shorter of the two said. “You win again.”
“I always win, Jack. If you keep on challenging me to wrestling matches, I’m going to think it’s because you want to roll around with me.”
“You wish.”
“You wish I wished.”
Jack snapped his head around, as if suddenly aware of some compelling sound that Roxy couldn’t hear. Like the rest of the guys at the party, he was fit and strong-looking, though his lean arms and thin build gave an impression of twisting, wiry spryness rather than the brute strength suggested by the other men’s developed muscles and impressive height. When he saw Roxy on the porch, clutching her water bottle and keys like a sword and shield, his sharp-featured face broke into a slow grin that felt at once crafty and possessive.