Untamed Hearts (BBW Biker Werewolf Romance)

by Catherine Vale

  Untamed Hearts

  By Catherine Vale

  He’s a wild and dangerous shifter on a motorcycle. She’s a feisty full-figured waitress trying to rebuild her life. Both have something to hide; neither is willing to let go.

  Can two people with so many secrets ever learn to trust again?

  Warning: This novel contains mature content intended for readers 18 years of age or older.

  Praise For Catherine Vale...

  “Catherine Vale writes some of the hottest paranormal romance online. Sinfully and unapologetically naughty.” – Romance Monthly

  “Delicious. It’s all so incredibly delicious. Alpha males everywhere, around every corner, down every lane. Catherine Vale knows how to create a world in which every hot blooded woman would love to live!” – Janice Delaney

  “Catherine’s writing is so fresh and clever with a hearty helping of spice!” – Vanessa White

  “It’s just plain old fun! Every story leads you down a different path, but you can always count on there being more fun than you’ve had in awhile!” – Sizzling Reads

  Untamed Hearts

  Werewolf Biker Romance

  by Catherine Vale

  First Edition. May 2014.

  Copyright © 2014, Catherine Vale

  Published by Wild Hearts Press

  Website: http://www.CatherineVale.com

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, brands, incidents, and places are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction. The publication/use of these trademarks is not associated with or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Table Of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  About The Author

  Chapter One

  “Jillian. He’s here.”

  Keri’s stage whisper was loud enough for practically the entire diner to hear. She knew who Keri was talking about, and without turning around, she knew exactly what he’d be doing, even though she didn’t know anything else about him. He’d be swinging one long, lean leg over the counter stool, the same motion she’d seen him use as he climbed on his bike the first day he’d ridden the big old Harley to the diner. Then he’d grab a menu—even though he always ordered the same thing, coffee, black—and run a hand through all that messy black hair, hunch his shoulders as he glanced down at the greasy plastic in his hands, and pretend to read what Betty’s Lunch Box had to offer the hungry customer.

  But the best part came next. A shiver of anticipation ran through her and she briefly closed her eyes.

  The best part was when she’d stop in front of him, pad and pen at the ready, and he’d look up at her.

  The first time it happened, she’d felt like she had when she was a little kid and she’d gone ass end over the handlebars of her Schwinn, landing on the pavement, hard. It had taken a small eternity to draw that first painful breath, and she’d believed she was lying dead in front of old Mrs. Perkin’s house and her mom was going to kill her for it. The first time she’d looked into his blue eyes—eyes the color of a warm ocean, and just about as deep—she’d been unable to breathe, much less ask him what he wanted to order.

  “Jillian...your guy is waiting.”

  She shook herself and shot a look at Keri, a look that clearly meant for her to knock it off. But Keri only winked, then giggled and flounced her way to the other end of the counter.

  She knew now to breathe in before he looked up, just in case the whole Schwinn experience replayed itself.

  “Ready to order?”

  He’d been coming in since Monday and she’d said the same thing exactly five times. Mentally, she kicked herself. Was it so hard to think of something, anything, other than that?

  He looked up at her, and the blue eyes did their magic.

  “Coffee, please. Black.” He returned her smile. Trying to appear competent, she nodded, then made the effort to write something on her pad. The word might have been coffee.

  He reached to put the menu back, but it slipped out of the metal holder on the counter. She reached for the menu at the same time he did, and his fingers brushed against hers.

  It hit her like a tidal wave. Images flashed in her mind: teeth, claws, black fur. She staggered back and the menu hit the floor with a slap. She looked at it lying on the floor, as if it was responsible for what she had seen, then turned and stumbled away from where he sat. Her knees were weak, her breathing all messed up again.

  He was like her. He was a shifter.

  “You okay?” Keri’s hand on her elbow startled her, and she blinked at her friend.

  “Um, yeah. Lost my...footing. Slipped. I’m fine.”

  She made it to the coffee pot, grabbing a cup with a trembling hand. Either she was slipping, or he had been able, somehow, to block who and what he was for the past five days. She knew damn well he had no clue she was a shifter. It was the first thing her Alpha had taught her, to mask everything about her that might give away her true self. With humans, keeping that little secret was a piece of cake. But with other shifters, that was a different story.

  But why, suddenly, was she able to know who he was? Had he dropped his guard accidentally, or on purpose? Gotten lazy, made a slip?

  Or did he think he was the only shifter around?

  Her brows drew together. The guy was more questions than answers. She shook her head and poured his coffee, slopping only a little into the saucer.

  “Here you go.” She set the coffee in front of him and hesitated, wavering between walking away and the overwhelming urge to ask him who the hell he was and why he was sitting at her section.

  But before she had the chance, all hell broke loose.

  * * *

  “What the hell’s wrong with the coffee here? Why do you have to go out to get coffee?”

  Gunner glanced over at his boss. Reece was sitting on the edge of his wooden desk, heavy brows drawn together, holding a dirty carburetor from a Harley in his big hand. The desk behind him held an assortment of tools, rags, and other motorcycle parts in various stages of disassembly. Gunner wondered if Reece ever did any work in the shop. Every time he’d gone looking for his boss, he’d find him here, tinkering, perched on the edge of his abused and scratched desk.

  “I go out for coffee because this...” Gunner held up the half-full glass coffee pot, swirling the inky liquid. The smell of burned coffee mixed and mingled with the smell of the shop, years of accumulated oil and grease and sweat. “This is not coffee. We have motor oil that’s thinner than this.” He set the pot back on the burner.

&nbs
p; “You know, Gunner, if you weren’t such a good mechanic...” The older man shook his head.

  Gunner laughed. “If I weren’t such a good mechanic, what? You’d throw me out?”

  Reece gave Gunner a rueful smile. “Yeah, I know, I’d still be stuck with you. You’re family.” He waved a grease-stained hand in Gunner’s general direction.

  “Go then, so you can come back and do some work. We got three new bikes in for work, one of them is for Malone, and I don’t want that slacker Grady working on it.”

  “Got it.”

  Gunner left the shop, striding down the sidewalk. The mid-morning sun was warm, the breeze carrying just a hint of spring flower scents. He drew a deep breath, wishing, not for the first time, that the diner was far enough away to ride his Harley. But a half-block didn’t warrant taking it out, as much as he wanted to. He’d done it once and felt foolish. It had taken longer to park the damn thing than ride it. Maybe he’d go for a ride after work, as the sun was setting. Yeah, that would have to do for today.

  Betty’s wasn’t the only dive diner within walking distance, and the coffee certainly wasn’t the reason he went there every day. He could have done without the coffee, but he wasn’t about to go without his daily fix of the waitress that worked the breakfast shift. Coffee was the only excuse he could come up with for going there.

  He’d wandered in one day, sat at the counter, and grabbed a menu out of habit. When the female voice asked if he was ready to order, he’d looked up. And then lost the power of speech.

  She took his breath away. Red-haired, curvy...really curvy. And those curves all were in the right places.

  But the eyes did him in. Her eyes were gray, a shade bordering on silver, a ring that was almost black circling the iris. She held his gaze and he saw her pupils dilate. Even though he was tongue-tied, apparently some of his charm went to work on her.

  “Coffee, please. Black.” He’d managed to get the words out and then she was gone, off to fetch his coffee. He watched her walk away, tried not to stare, gave up, and gave in. Ten feet of that view was worth the price of a crappy cup of coffee.

  He’d kicked himself, that day and every day since, for not coming up with something original, or even something else. Women didn’t do this to him. Why did she?

  Women—and motorcycles—were the love of his life. He’d played more women than he could remember, even liked a few of them...one more than he’d care to think about. But he loved everything about them, the way they smelled, the round curves of their bodies, the softness of their skin under his hands. The way they made him feel inside.

  But this girl, Jillian, according to her nametag, did something else to him, confused him, scrambled his brain and his body. Every nerve was tingling, his breathing coming up short, as if he’d just run up a flight of stairs, or twenty. As if he’d just gone ten rounds with this girl between the sheets.

  It was the same today, the breathless anticipation, the buildup, watching her behind the counter. Either way, coming or going, she was gorgeous. Her back was to him as he sat down, but he knew she sensed his presence. Even without the other waitress’s announcement, she knew he was there behind her. Waiting.

  “Coffee, please. Black.” He’d had a line ready today, now forgotten, and he’d actually gotten flustered and fumbled the menu he’d been trying to stick in that ridiculous little metal holder on the counter. She’d reached out and their hands had touched.

  In that instant, he knew. She was like him. A shifter. A young one, but clearly capable of masking herself, and doing a pretty damned good job. Or he’d lost his touch, been so overwhelmed by the curves and the eyes he’d missed it completely. Shit, Reece would never stop tormenting him if this got back to the shop. It’d be a cold day before he’d let that happen.

  She’d come back with his coffee and hesitated, and for a moment, he was positive she was going to say something. He was dimly aware of the harsh jangle of the bell above the door behind him as someone came in. Her head jerked up, eyes wide, and her face went pale.

  And then all hell broke loose.

  * * *

  The bell above the door distracted her for a split second. She looked up out of habit, and the question she had finally formed, the question for the mystery man at the counter, died on her lips. The trembling she’d felt, the sweet, hot excitement caused the guy with the blue eyes, was replaced with a surge of adrenaline. And a healthy dose of fear.

  Adrian was here. That could only mean one thing.

  He’d tracked her down and had come to take her back to the pack. And that was the last thing she wanted.

  “Are you okay?” She was vaguely aware the guy at the counter was talking to her, but his voice was just a distant rumble. Every sense she had was focused on the man standing in the doorway. She took in the three-piece, custom made Italian silk suit, the pristine white shirt, and even though she couldn’t see his shoes, she knew they were also handmade, probably from the hide of some almost-extinct animal, and they cost more than what she made in a year in tips.

  Eyes locked on Adrian, she started sidling down the counter. He was looking the other way and she’d made it almost all the way to the swinging doors to the kitchen before he turned in her direction.

  Their eyes met, and she saw in that instant that he might not be so interested in taking her back to the pack. The look of recognition, quickly followed by pure black rage, told her he’d probably be just as happy to take her out back and get rid of her, slowly, piece by piece.

  She had, after all, left him at the altar.

  Her feet suddenly rooted themselves to the floor. Fear wound its numbing fingers around her body as he took a step in her direction.

  He bellowed her name, his voice cutting through the clatter and din of the diner, and everyone stopped to look at him. In that moment of silence, she could hear her heartbeat, the sound of breath passing through her parted lips.

  Adrian took a step forward, then another. Then stopped. His path was blocked by the guy sitting at the counter, who now stood facing Adrian.

  “Hey, buddy. How about you leave the girl alone? Clear to me she’s not interested in you. And you’re bothering the other diners.” The guy’s voice was low, controlled, but radiated power. It didn’t hurt that he had a couple inches on Adrian. And that was bad. Adrian was vain about his height as it was.

  “Like I give a fuck. And who the hell are you?”

  The edge to Adrian’s voice was razor-sharp, and she recognized by the pitch that he was close to losing it. With Adrian, that usually left someone—usually her—bloody and bruised.

  “I’m nobody. Just a guy trying to keep you from a mistake that you just might regret.”

  Adrian barked out a cruel laugh, then tried to push past the guy. But the big hand on his chest kept Adrian from advancing. He looked down, his face darkening.

  “Take your paw off my shirt, you stinking animal.”

  The guy did remove his hand from the white shirt, only to grab Adrian’s tie. The crazy thought that the deep blood-red silk was one of his favorites flashed through her mind.

  The guy jerked it hard, pulling Adrian forward. She almost didn’t see what happened, but the loud crack of bone against bone, along with Adrian dropping to the floor, told her the guy had given Adrian a professional head butt.

  Before she could recover, the guy vaulted over the counter, landing lightly a few feet from her.

  “Come on. He’s not going to be out for long.”

  He grabbed her arm, dragging her through the swinging doors into the steamy and chaotic kitchen. Glen, the fry cook, gawked as they ran past, holding a spatula in one hand like some bizarre greeting, the eggs burning on the grill.

  They burst through the back door into the alley. She blinked in the bright sun, momentarily disoriented. Then the full weight of what just happened crashed down and she sagged against the dingy cinderblock wall, knees as rubbery as the diner’s lunchtime Jell-O.

  “Oh, shit. You really shouldn
’t have done that to Adrian. Really.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re worried about that asshole?”

  She shook her head, hands resting on her knees. Fainting seemed an imminent possibility, but probably not the wisest move right now.

  “No. I’m not worried about him. I’m worried about me...and you. When he wakes up...”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “I’m sure you can...it’s just...”

  “It’s just, he’s a shifter and you’re worried he’ll turn and tear my throat out? Like I said, I can...”

  “Yeah, I know. Take care of yourself, being a shifter and all.”

  For the first time, the guy’s cocky façade cracked and he blinked at her.

  “You know? Since when?”

  “Since today.” She held up her hand. “Since we touched.”

  She suddenly stiffened, ears tingling. Over the noise of the diner’s exhaust fan, she heard the unmistakable bellow of Adrian’s voice calling her name. The guy’s head jerked up, so she was pretty sure he’d heard it, too.

  “I need your help...um, what the hell is your name?”

  “Gunner Hastings. You’re Jillian?” He pointed to the name tag, now hanging askew on her uniform. She glanced down, yanked it off, and pitched it into the dumpster.

  “Actually, no. It’s Claire. Claire Emerson.”

  “You usually use an alias?”

  “Only when I’m on the run. So, can you help me?”

  “On the run from him?” Gunner jerked his thumb toward the diner. There was a loud crash, a yell she recognized as Glen’s, and then the sound of a body taking a punch. She didn’t think it was Adrian on the receiving end. She straightened and moved away from the diner’s back door.

  “Yeah. Can you help me?”

  He hesitated, and Claire thought he was going to bail on her. But he grabbed her hand, pulling her down the alley, talking fast over his shoulder.

  “Can you ride a motorcycle? I’ve got mine at the shop just around the corner.”

  She nodded, which he missed in their headlong dash onto the sidewalk of Lindhurst Street, now pulled in his wake down the block toward Hearne’s Bikes.