Accidental Alpha

by Laurel Curtis

  Accidental Alpha (A is for Alpha Male, #3)

  Published by Laurel Ulen Curtis

  © 2015, Laurel Ulen Curtis

  Cover Design by Stephanie White of Steph’s Cover Design

  Formatting by Champagne Formats

  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. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents 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, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold 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 ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Dedication

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  This book is for my mom.

  She already lovingly calls it hers anyway.

  I love you, Mama. You’re the best mom, friend, editor, assistant, and supporter I could ever ask for.

  Oh, and thanks for doing us all a favor and giving birth to me. That was really awesome of you.

  XOXO,

  Your Baby Girl

  WHEN YOU GET TO A certain age—and face certain circumstances—you find that your mind starts to wander backward. Backward to events and places, smells and sounds—the very feeling of each and every turning point in your life.

  At least, that’s what happened for me.

  It wasn’t hard to find things to remember. I had nearly fifty years to pick from.

  Times I wished I could take back or erase, but numerous more I wouldn’t trade for anything.

  The first time I experienced the pride of my parents, unfettered and overflowing, the very existence of my being becoming the reason for theirs.

  Of course, I had great parents. They showed me what I meant to them, always. They nurtured and fostered my ideals and values, even when they weren’t the same as theirs. For people of their generation, they were the exception to the rule.

  Unfortunately, that probably made the loss of them harder. I hadn’t been ready to lose them—especially my mother—when they were taken from me thirteen years ago. My dad fell asleep at the wheel, and in one blink of his eyes, they were both gone.

  And I was blessed twice over with the birth of my own children, watching them grow and change, and become altogether completely independent individuals. Haley has her quirks, but I love that about her. My life would be a lot more boring and about 50 shades lacking in color if she’d matured into a different kind of woman. And Hunter’s been a man—doing more than his part to protect our family and everything around it—since he was a boy.

  But when I really look back—when I try to figure out where I’ve been wealthy or poor—where my life feels both enriched and shortchanged—it’s in love.

  I fell in love for the first time when I was seventeen. Young in both body and mind and far too egotistical for what would be considered healthy. But Nick, with his blazing green eyes and even warmer heart, embraced it. He made me freer and safer all at once. Happier than the greatest peak of contentment.

  But again, with great gain comes great loss. And I didn’t have the gain long enough. I watched him suffer to hide his sickness from our kids. I watched his face when he came to the realization that he wouldn’t be around to watch them grow up—that he wouldn’t be around to help me raise them.

  It ate at him. And everything that ate at him ate at me more. I struggled to accept that I couldn’t change it.

  I struggled to accept that free will only takes us so far before fate does the rest.

  The fact that there are things we can control and many more that we can’t came alive in my mind thanks to the reality of Nick’s mortality.

  If he—one of the strongest, most loving individuals I’d ever encountered—couldn’t change his destiny, none of us could.

  And so, that’s where my thoughts were that September early evening. Life, its course, and the memories of fifty years passing too quickly.

  The ring of my phone bleated almost obnoxiously on the counter, just waiting for my compliance.

  Fate was calling, and I had no choice but to answer.

  Swiping my finger against the screen, I lifted its leaden weight and settled the smooth glass against my face.

  “Hello?”

  One, long-suffered breath told me all I needed to know.

  “Allison? It’s Robin. Dr. Addleton got the results of your colposcopy back.”

  HEFTING THE WEIGHTY BAG UNTIL the strap settled correctly on my shoulder, I closed the lift gate on the back of my Jeep Grand Cherokee and walked confidently up the winding concrete path that led to a perfect red door on a quaint country house.

  The driveway was long, the house sitting secluded through a crop of trees and in the middle of a rolling expanse of grass. In fact, it was just as I would have pictured the site of Danny’s youthful gallivanting, the space and privacy lending itself perfectly to the explorations and adventures of two young, knowledge seeking boys and one very spunky little girl.

  But the woman inside’s experience with this place had to be different. I’m sure she liked it, probably found comfort in the memories of making her young family here, but the maintenance had to take its toll. It wasn’t about her being a woman without a man; it was about her being a person without any help.

  The wood of the door sent my knuckles bouncing back smoothly as I knocked, and the sound of my percussion echoed through the door and into the entryway.

  I could see the lights on through the window, but something about approaching her secluded house with no personal warning didn’t sit right with me. I knew from my few years with Melly that a stranger (or for some reason, a long lost best friend) approaching the door of a lone female usually resulted in several evasive maneuvers, including hitting the floor and army crawling their way to the closet under their stairs until any sign of said person went away.

  On that thought, I rang the doorbell. I had a feeling persistence was going to be key.

  Just the weight of my clothes pulled on my opposite shoulder, and I fought the urge to cringe.

  Vacat
ion. That’s what they were calling it. But I liked to call it what it was. Forced disability.

  The time off would be good. I knew it would. But I hadn’t been stagnant in close to twenty-five years. From the time Melly passed away up until two days ago, I had worked. Every moment, every second, to keep myself from facing some of the emptiness in my life, I put everything I had into my job and making a difference.

  I rang the doorbell again.

  Finally, after what seemed like twenty years (at least the memories of them had flashed through my mind), two cute blue eyes appeared, wide and barely visible over several white looking fingers. The rest of her head was carefully hidden by the curtain.

  It was dark, the sun had faded nearly thirty minutes ago and the presence of a burning porch light was lacking. Something she should really rectify.

  I doubted she could see anything distinguishing about me.

  Seemingly simultaneously, the door cracked opened and the light flicked on, momentarily blinding me and forcing a step backwards and a scrunched up face.

  By the time I opened my eyes back to normal and took a step forward, it was too late.

  Her small frame landed on the hard tile floor with a thud, and the previously cracked door swung open wide on its hinges.

  I felt my heart lurch into my ribs at the sight of all that silky hair and smooth skin laying in a lifeless heap for the second time in my short knowledge of her.

  Dropping my bag unceremoniously, I jumped forward, taking care to keep the door from swinging toward her and injuring her further.

  My eyes jumped like pinballs, refusing to focus on one area at a time like I needed them to, as I knelt down on one knee close to her head.

  No blood.

  Thank God, there was no blood.

  Prodding her head gently with my fingertips, I checked to make sure there weren’t any lumps or obvious signs of distress.

  You know, other than her being unconscious.

  Luckily, I came up empty just as her eyelids started to flutter open.

  The black of her pupils consumed her normally brilliant pools of blue, and confusion wafted off of her like grease smoke out of a Waffle House.

  When her eyes finally settled, tired of wandering side to side and up and down, I spoke.

  But I did it softly.

  “This is two times now that you’ve passed out at the sight of me. Do it a third time and I might start to get offended.”

  Paying no attention to my lame joke, she shook her head languidly, the haze of dreamland lingering, and asked, “What are you doing here?”

  Her expression of shock was matched only by disgust. Or some other unpleasant emotion. I was hoping that it was just a side effect of disorientation from fainting rather than actual vehemence at the unexpected sight of me. Because frankly, that would kind of suck.

  “Danny was supposed to call you.”

  She said nothing.

  “I, um, need a place to stay.” Trying to inflect my voice with excitement, I added, “I’m on vacation.”

  Still, she gave me nothing.

  Women.

  “Danny didn’t think it’d be a good idea to stay with them. Something about the house being relatively small and not nearly soundproof.”

  She gave me something on that. More disgust. “Gross.”

  All I had was bland agreement. “Yeah.”

  Realizing my hands were still buried in her hair, the tips of all of my fingers rubbing softly at her scalp, I cleared my throat and removed them, climbing slowly to a full stand.

  She followed suit, collecting herself as demurely as possible, being that she was in a heap on the floor not of her voluntary making, and brushed her own fingers through her silky, chestnut tresses. I probably would have helped her more if I hadn’t just been caught touching her well past the appropriate time frame. As it was, I figured it was best to keep my distance.

  “So . . . I take it he didn’t call you,” I stated the obvious, awkwardly shoving my too large fingers into the too tight pockets of my jeans.

  “Nope. No phone calls from Danny dearest,” she confirmed, letting the ‘p’ in ‘nope’ pop as it rolled through her soft, peach lips. Her arms settled into a perfect pretzel across her generous chest, her lavender sweater stretching to just short of bursting, and I fought the urge to look down.

  Eyes. Pretty eyes.

  Counting eyelashes.

  Cataloguing shades of blue.

  I wonder if she waxes her eyebrows or if they’re that perfect all on their own.

  Just don’t think about nipples.

  Ah, man.

  Nipples.

  Rosy or brown, small or big?

  Shit.

  God really had a sense of humor when he programmed the male mind. It was like it was designed to constantly garner adverse emotion from females.

  When I finally got a lock on my hormones, I realized she still hadn’t said anything.

  Okay. At this point, I was really expecting her to be more solicitous. Graciously offer for me to stay in her home, or at least give some indication that she didn’t intend to castrate me in my sleep. The last time I’d seen her she’d flirted.

  Pretty obviously, in fact.

  I hadn’t exactly been a modern day Romeo, but I had big stuff going on. Surely she had to know that. Right?

  But instead, she stood silent and waited for me to make a fool of myself. That’s what the wicked glint shooting out of her eye suggested anyway.

  Maybe she knew about the nipples.

  Fuck! Stop thinking about nipples!

  “Well, Allison . . .”

  Shit. Was my voice squeaking? Shouldn’t that have stopped forty years ago? “I’d really appreciate if I could stay here tonight. I’d be happy to find somewhere else to stay tomorrow, of course. I wouldn’t want to put you out.”

  There. That sounded like something a woman might like to hear. Maybe.

  I had half a mind to punch myself in my own injured shoulder. Stupid thing. Making me realize that I’d grown all the way into middle age without making any real connections or friendships. So much so, that when forced to take time off from work, the only place I could come up with to go was to Danny’s.

  And as a result, his future mother-in-law’s.

  She seemed to really be considering it, her eyes thoughtful and averted. Frankly, I was starting to worry. Sure, I could stay in a hotel, but I’d reached my quota for feeling pathetic today. I didn’t need to spend a night in a room by myself, naming my remote Samsung and crying to it like it was my only friend.

  You know.

  Tom Hanks?

  Castaway?

  Come on.

  “You can stay here,” she finally offered, putting me out of my misery. “And you can do it for more than one night. You’re family.”

  Wow.

  Well.

  That felt better than I expected it to.

  Hmm, maybe I really was a lonely bastard.

  “Thanks. I really appreciate it,” I said earnestly. And only a little embarrassedly. “I’ll try to stay out of your hair,” I offered as she moved down the hall towards what I presumed was the kitchen. I reached back and swung my forgotten bag on my shoulder, closing the door behind me.

  She stopped and turned around, walked the few steps toward me, and pulled the bag off of my shoulder. Then tossed it heartily to the bottom of the steps.

  The puppet version of my head looked from her, to the bag, and back, all without realizing it was doing it. My ventriloquy mouth bobbed up and down soundlessly too.

  “Don’t worry, there’s nothing valuable in there,” I quipped through a chuckle when speech returned. Glancing to the bag one last time, I finished, “At least not anymore.”

  Her eyes met mine as she spoke softly, completely ignoring my comment and addressing my real concern. “Wade. Stop worrying about it. Make yourself at home.”

  When she turned to head toward the kitchen again, I almost didn’t hear her.

  “
Trust me, a couple of days and you’ll be the one looking for a way out.”

  I COULD FEEL HIM BEHIND me, tracking in my invisible footsteps all the way to the kitchen.

  The sight of him had done the usual—made me panic enough to pass out. But this time, I had a feeling it was for a different reason.

  I had a lot going on. As in, a lot. Having someone as perceptive as Wade around was probably going to throw a wrench into my secrecy. Or a bomb. Yeah, it was probably going to blow it wide freaking open.

  But amongst all the panic, I still felt a butterfly emerge from its cocoon in my stomach. And the damn thing wouldn’t stop frolicking.

  In fact, it was kind of making me feel queasy.

  Asshole butterfly.

  Addressing the Tim McGraw-like elephant in the room, I turned back toward him from the opposite side of the copper-veined granite island and explained, “I was just trying to figure something out for dinner.”

  His handsome face lit up. Light and shadow worked together to highlight the precision of his well-trimmed goatee as it framed the line of his lips. “You want me to cook? I’m sure I can figure out something to make from whatever you have in the fridge.”

  “You cook?” I asked, surprised and not doing a good job of hiding it.

  “What is it?” he replied nonsensically, holding his long arms out to his sides.

  “What is what?”

  “The thing that made it look like I can’t cook,” he explained, and then continued before I could answer. “It’s the penis, right?”

  His hands settled on his hips.

  Unauthorized and unavoidable, my eyes shot straight to his crotch.

  He laughed. Hard.

  The cords of his throat flexed and danced and the rich gravelly warmth of each chuckle slid right out of his mouth and right through me.

  I fought against the accompanying shiver.

  Blushing hard, I made my way to the refrigerator and corrected, “Actually, it’s probably the fact that I was going to make a cheese sandwich. I usually keep solo meals super simple.”

  With a wink, he shoved in at the refrigerator and whispered, “Well it’s a good thing you’re not solo tonight, huh?”