“You up here to ski?” one of the guys next to me asked.
“You lost?” the other one guessed. “We can help you out.”
“Thanks, guys. I’m fine.” I tried to adopt an authoritative tone as I scrolled through emails trying to find the one with the address of my rental condo. Or the address of the place where I was supposed to pick up the key.
“You need a place to stay?” one of them asked, taking a swig of his beer and leering at me. He had yellow teeth, foul breath and a lecherous glint in his eyes.
“Nope.” I wondered if I was going to have to leave the bar. I didn’t want to head back out into the storm just yet, but I’d do it if I had to.
“Hey.” A man spoke in a big, deep voice. I knew who it was even though I’d never heard him speak before. I turned and my mountain man stood behind me. He had to be 6’5”, a solid wall of brawn.
With only a mild grumble or two, the other guys stood up from their seats. I guess they knew the pecking order. The big guy had said “hey.” It was time for them to leave.
I took a quick sip of my cider as he sat down next to me, hoping the drink would help cool my flush. No such luck. His thigh brushed up against mine, thick and powerful as a tree trunk. He sat there, saying nothing, and took a slow sip of his beer. No teasing smile, no compliments about my model-quality good looks. It was not the kind of calculated flirtation I was used to. This man simply occupied space, yet I felt myself wanting to lean closer into his massive frame. He was built like a solid block of granite, only warm. I could feel the heat radiating off of him. I bet he knew how to keep a woman toasty on a cold January night.
I took another sip of my drink and made myself sit still. No laps.
“You’re not driving out of here tonight in that MINI convertible.” His voice rumbled low and sexy.
“What’s that?” I licked my lips. They just did not grow men like him back in the city. He didn’t even look like he’d fit in an office cubicle. He’d push the partition right over with his manly brawn, then grab the nearest girl—preferably me—and haul her into an office to have his way with her. Over and over. I knew I’d beg for more.
“I said, you’re not driving out of here tonight in that MINI convertible.”
Wait, what was he saying? Was he trying to boss me around? “I just need to get to my condo.”
“It’s not safe.” He shook his head no, done deal, no arguments accepted. Hello, Alpha.
“It’s probably only a mile away,” I huffed.
“Doesn’t matter how far. You’re not getting there in that car.”
OK, the Neanderthal appeal apparently had its limits. I’d taken care of myself for years now. The only child of a busy single mom, I’d been making myself dinner since I could press start on a microwave. I’d lived on my own for the last seven years in L.A. I didn’t need anyone to tell me what I could or could not do.
“What exactly do you suggest?” I tossed my hands up in frustration. “Can I hop on my Uber app and have a car here in two minutes?” He kept looking at me, flat and stubborn. The man probably hadn’t even ever heard of Uber.
“Listen,” I continued. “I just need to get to the condo where I’m staying. But I don’t have GPS and I wasn’t getting a signal on my phone.” I held it up, suddenly aware that my iPhone was in a pink case sparkling with rhinestones. The kitchy, tongue-in-cheek glam worked in L.A. He looked at it skeptically before returning his attention to me.
“You don’t have GPS in your car?”
“No, I didn’t think I’d need it.”
“You need it.”
“Well, I didn’t know that before!”
“Cell phone service isn’t reliable here. You could get lost.”
“Thanks. A little late for that advice.” My feathers ruffled, I sipped my cider. Part of me felt all tingly, the other part bristled right up. The tingle came from the way this big, handsome man seemed so protective and demanding about my safety. The other half shouted, “I can do this myself!” I wasn’t a little kid. He shouldn’t treat me like one.
But I was lost and had barely made it to the bar. He had a point. I just didn’t like admitting it.
He looked at me, seeming reluctant to say what he was about to next. Resigned, shaking his head as if he overcame his better instincts to do it, he said, “I’ll get you where you need to go.”
I swear, he didn’t say it like a sleazy come-on, but that’s exactly how my body wanted to interpret it. All sorts of flirty, outrageous replies popped to mind. I came dangerously close to batting my eyelashes and bantering back, “Oh, I bet you could get me right where I need it.”
But I didn’t. When had I ever batted my eyelashes? I took lunch meetings. I sealed deals. He might make me feel like a Highland lass in need of a rescue, but I wasn’t that, not by a long shot.
I looked down at the bar, at my cider, my nails. Anywhere but at him. I breathed, in and out, and forced myself to not say any of the crazy thoughts racing through my head. Because just then, where I felt like I needed to go was nowhere near a rented condo all by myself. My pulse pounded with need to go anywhere he was going so long as it was just him and me alone.
“You’ll be safe with me,” he added, deep and husky.
I bit my lip, knowing I was anything but.
CHAPTER 2
Heath
An appletini. She walked into the bar, sashaying along on 4-inch heels, her hair like a golden splash of sunlight. And she ordered an appletini plus some tuna tartare.
Man, it had been a while since I’d seen a girl like her. It had to have been the last time I was in New York. That’s where her type ruled the roost, partying and clubbing all night long. We got tourists up here, sure, leaf peepers and skiers, folks making their way up from Boston or New York with money to burn. But they didn’t look like her. They usually came to Vermont head-to-toe in Patagonia, North Face and LL Bean, sporting brand new gear they’d been dying to try out with big shiny new boots and Gore-Tex gloves good in 60-degree-below weather.
This woman had no gear. She wore heels, for God’s sake, stacked ones, and a parka so big it looked like a parody of a parka. If a casting agent didn’t know shit about Vermont but tried to dress someone for Vermont, he’d put them in that. It was a parka for the Iditarod in Alaska, sledding across the frozen tundra for days on end. She’d looked like a giant Oompa Loompa.
Until she took it off. She’d sat down on a stool and unzipped and damn if it didn’t make me take a deep swallow of my beer. She looked good. Really good. Slender and curvy and soft and she sat just close enough where I could catch a light waft of her scent, tantalizing and sweet like summer honey.
Damn. She hit me hard. It must have been all the time I’d been spending alone. I led a solitary life. I had a cabin and a workshop out on a few acres of land. Quiet, remote, just wilderness, time and freedom. I spent my days the way I wanted, far away from prying eyes or pressure. The handful of locals I now counted as my friends were straight-shooting and plain spoken. They helped you when you needed it, stayed out of your way when you didn’t. To me, Watson, Vermont was paradise.
But even a loner like me sometimes emerged from isolation. Tonight I’d come down to shoot the shit with Dave. He was a good guy. We’d gotten to know each other over at the locally-owned ski slope, Mad Mountain. It didn’t make artificial snow, didn’t allow snowboarders, and kept the trails narrow, winding and filled with boulders. It was everything I loved about this town rolled into a wicked good time. Cranky, independent, and barely breaking even year after year, Mad Mountain was how I’d discovered tiny Watson, Vermont back when I was still in college. I’d made the town my home for four years now, and I planned on keeping on doing the same. As long as nothing rocked the boat.
And usually nothing did. We were off the grid in Watson. Every now and then the town brewery came up with a new ale. The local youth hockey team had some winning seasons, some losing. Each year brought a couple of bad storms, rain swelling the river over it
s banks or snow caving in a roof. But mostly it was a whole lot of nothing happening, day after day. Just how I liked it.
But now what would a city party girl like the one trying to order an appletini be doing in a town like this? Seemed like oil and water to me. She was exactly the type I steered clear of. The type of woman I’d seen far too much of growing up. The type you never could trust.
Which was why it made abso-fucking-lutely no sense that from the second she unzipped that giant parka I was hard as a fucking rock. Giant, massive wood pressing into the seam of my jeans. It had to be like a chemical malfunction. When you went too long, your system went haywire. You started having fierce, raging, raw attraction to exactly the wrong type of woman.
Each time this pink and blonde piece of cotton candy stole a glance at me—and she was stealing some glances—my cock surged in response. Yes! This one, take this one! Drag her off and bury yourself in her! You know she’d love it. Look at the way she’s looking at you, her lips parted, her eyes slightly glazed. She likes what she sees. Seize the day!
But that’s why you needed to think with your big head, not your little head. The little head made bad decisions. My father had torn up our whole family thinking with his dick. I was as red-blooded and hard bodied as a man got, 25 and ready to go at the drop of a fucking hat, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to be an asshole about it. I’d seen too many people make too many messes that way.
Me, I kept it simple. I worked, making custom furniture and art out of wood and metal. I slept and ate and stayed fit. No drama, no bullshit, no headaches.
But, aw hell, now a couple of yahoos flanked her, right and left. I hadn’t planned on going over and talking to her. I’d planned on sitting there while my bartender buddy Dave made sure she was OK. He was a good guy. I could cover for him while he gave her a ride wherever she needed to go.
Because she sure as hell wasn’t driving anywhere else tonight in that toy car of hers. It looked like a clown car, parked up on the sidewalk in front of the bar. How the hell had she made it even a mile in such an asinine ride? She could have missed a curve so easy, skidding out on black ice into the Mad River that wound its way like a snake alongside the state road.
That’s what did me in. She really did need help. Yahoo number two said something to her, and I saw a flash of vulnerability in her eyes. The ice queen with her perfect nails, salon-ready hair and pretty little white silk top was trying to look like she had her shit together. But she didn’t. She was scared. And she had reason to be. That car in a storm like this was a death trap. And I didn’t know those guys. They weren’t from around here. It was time for them to leave.
I stood up and they didn’t put up a fight. Being as big as me had its advantages. It had its disadvantages, too. You looked like a giant bear in a tux, and some girls said you were just too much. But that didn’t happen often out in the middle of nowhere. Not that many black tie affairs and society girls out in Watson, Vermont.
I sat down next to her, trying to make up my mind. I already could tell this girl would drive me crazy. She looked high-maintenance. Materialistic.
But how was it that she smelled so damn good? She fiddled with a thin gold necklace around her neck, delicate and fine like her. She tossed her hair behind her shoulder and it cascaded back, soft and golden. Our legs touched. I was a big man, so I didn’t go out of my way to make it happen, but I could have pulled away once it did.
I didn’t. She felt so slender beside me, so feminine. It would be easy to wrap my arm around her waist, pull her closer. She’d fit against me real good, up on my lap. I could pull her up there and bury my face in that hair, figure out if that’s what smelled so inviting, or maybe it was her skin? I could investigate that, too, under her jaw, along her neck where I could see her pulse pound.
I took a sip of my beer and pulled my attention away. This woman was trouble. I liked life in my small pond, the water smooth and glassy. She was already making too many waves. Out the window, I caught a glimpse of her bright red toy car. A fucking MINI convertible in this snow. What had she been thinking?
“You’re not driving out of here tonight in that MINI convertible,” I told her.
She didn’t seem to be listening. She was looking straight at me, but she had a dreamy look on her face like she couldn’t get enough of what she saw. Her tongue darted out, flicking along her plump bottom lip. She needed to stop looking at me like that. I shifted my weight, my cock straining for release.
I repeated myself and that seemed to snap her out of it. Turned out she didn’t have GPS in her car, either. Her plan was to rely on her cell phone in this weather. I could just see her holding her pink sparkly phone up in one hand, trying to peer out the frozen window and find her way out to some condo she’d apparently rented. Her car would be wrapped around a tree within minutes.
I took a sip of my beer. I knew what I was about to say. And I knew I shouldn’t say it. I was asking for trouble. I was an island, a loner, a hermit by choice. I’d simplified my life, cleared out all the complications, the junk. Why would I possibly get involved even on a small scale with this train wreck of epic proportions?
Dave stood over at the other end of the bar wiping down a glass. I was sure he’d give her a ride in his truck and he wouldn’t be an asshole about it, either. He’d make sure she was safe.
But I wanted to make sure she was safe.
“I’ll get you where you need to go,” I heard myself grumble. She didn’t say anything. She looked down at the bar, her fingers gripping the wood.
I realized I probably had come off like a creep, a big, scruffy, scary-looking guy giving her a lecture about her lack of preparedness. She probably hadn’t ever driven in weather like this. Turning toward her, trying to soften it up a touch, I added, “you’ll be safe with me.”
She nodded, but didn’t answer.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Vi.” She spoke in a quiet voice, nothing like the bossy tone she’d tried to use with those other guys. Vi. I had to admit, it didn’t seem to suit her.
“Is Vi short for…?”
“Violet.” She looked up as she said it, and damn if her eyes didn’t look nearly violet blue. It felt like a light gust of wind could have knocked me over. And I was I solid man. Gusts of wind didn’t so much bother me.
“Violet,” I repeated. Now that worked. Violets. They bloomed in late winter, early spring, ushering in the thaw. As a kid I’d lived in England for a couple of years with my grandmother. At the right time of year the hills in Yorkshire would be covered in violets, deep purple blue. I remembered learning how you could eat violets, suck the sweet nectar from their stem.
I bet Violet tasted even better.
She said something. “What’s that?” I hadn’t caught it. I’d been too caught up in thinking about licking and sucking.
“What’s your name?”
“Heath.”
“Is Heath short for…?”
I shook my head. I wasn’t going to give her that. She didn’t need to know my full name was Heathcliff. That would raise all kinds of questions. Heathcliff wasn’t an everyday average Joe type of a name. Being named after the brooding romantic hero from Emily Bronte’s classic Wuthering Heights wasn’t typical. Unless your grandmother was a baroness and that was the sort of thing your family did.
“Do you live here?”
“In this bar? No.” I had to tease her. She looked so incredulous that she’d discovered me there.
“I don’t mean that.” She flushed light pink, biting that lip again and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. I’d be happy to bite that lip for her. I’d pink her right up. “I mean, do you live in Watson?”
“Yup.” I couldn’t affect the true Vermonter response, “A-yuh.” Not yet, at least. I’d only lived in Vermont for four years. I’d have to make it at least a decade before I could adopt that local dialect with a straight face.
“And you’re from L.A?” I asked. I’d overheard her tell Dave. I c
ouldn’t think of a place more opposite from here. She’d traveled from one polar end of the planet to the other.
“I’ve lived there almost seven years now. I moved out right after high school.” So she was my age. Interesting.
“Where did you grow up?” I knew Dave over in his corner must be busting at the seams wondering what in the hell was I doing. Big silent Heath, chatting up some California blonde. I’d probably said more to this girl than I had to a bunch of local girls over the past few months. The strong silent type, that was how I rolled. At least, that was how I usually rolled.
Maybe it was because I knew she had to just be passing through. In a town this small, you hit on a local and then you had to see her again and again. You had to be damn sure you were in it to win it. But Violet? I’d bet big money she’d be gone this time tomorrow, no turning back. I might never see her again.
“New Jersey,” she answered.
“What town?”
“Englewood.”
I nodded, but didn’t say a word about the fact that we’d grown up a mere 10 miles away from each other. No one in Watson knew that I’d grown up on Manhattan’s wealthy Upper East Side, and I wasn’t about to start yapping about it now.
Plus, telling her we’d grown up near each other wouldn’t be saying we had anything in common. From what I knew of Englewood—and I had to admit, I hadn’t spent a lot of time there—it wasn’t posh. Parts of it were pretty rough. Apparently the now glam and polished Violet had grown up a Bridge and Tunnel girl, living on the wrong side of the Hudson River. My kind would have turned their noses up at hers.
“Anyway, that’s a long time ago.” She waved her manicured hand dismissively.
Exactly how I felt about my childhood. It didn’t matter now. “So, where are you trying to get to tonight?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Um,” she swallowed, still seeming flustered. “I’m supposed to head to a condo. Some guy named Gary has the key?” She showed me an email on her phone. Gary Bartlett. He owned some properties up by the big, commercial snow resort a town over. Overpriced for what you got, if you asked me.
Untamed: (Heath & Violet) (Beg For It) Page 2