Chased Mate: Cybermates

by Ayers, Candace

  Copyright © 2020 by Lovestruck Romance Publishing.

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  This book is intended for adult readers only.

  Any sexual activity portrayed in these pages occurs between consenting adults over the age of 18 who are not related by blood.

  Contents

  Story Description

  1. Arden

  2. Arden

  3. Flynn

  4. Arden

  5. Arden

  6. Flynn

  7. Arden

  8. Flynn

  9. Arden

  10. Flynn

  11. Arden

  12. Flynn

  13. Flynn

  14. Arden

  15. Arden

  16. Flynn

  17. Arden

  NEXT BOOK IN THIS SERIES…

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  Chased Mate

  Cybermates

  Candace Ayers

  Lovestruck Romance

  This series is dedicated to my children.

  You are my all.

  Arden Richardson has no excuse.

  It’s a total lapse in judgement.

  The comatose man isn’t even her patient.

  But….

  Her stolen kiss awakens the sleeping giant.

  Flynn Bennett has a shady past.

  It extends back almost to the cradle.

  He’s trouble with a capital T.

  But…

  One kiss is all it takes.

  The bad boy.

  The ex-con.

  The bootlegger.

  Vows to be a better man—for her…

  The beauty.

  The nurse.

  His mate.

  1

  Arden

  With a raging hunger so fierce her pulse raced and her knees quivered, Federico’s kisses devoured Katiana until she was consumed in burning flames of fevered passion.

  She was a moth to his flame, peanut butter to his jelly, cheese to his macaroni.

  But as the mysterious figure in black emerged from the shadows, Katiana’s world shattered. Could she really be Federico’s long-lost lover? In the blink of an eye, the pieces of Katiana’s broken heart rained down like slivers of glass.”

  “Wow. That was so good!” I sniffled and my hand flew to my heart. “But the cliff-hanger ending… Oh, my god!”

  I grabbed a tissue from the bedside table, dabbed my eyes and blew my nose. I would have offered one to Flynn, but he didn’t need a tissue. He was unconscious.

  “Normally, I hate cliff-hangers.” I slid my kindle back into its carrying case and kept talking, even though I was the only one in the room listening. “Not to worry, though. Book two is pre-ordered and goes live at midnight, so tomorrow we can pick up where we left off.”

  My gaze landed on Flynn’s immobile form. “Unless you’re awake, that is. How ‘bout you surprise us all and wake up, huh?” I knew as well as anyone that his prognosis made that unlikely. There had been too much brain trauma. I also knew that the longer he lay immobile, the greater the risk of something like pneumonia setting in—and that could be a death sentence.

  “I’d read you the kind of books you like, if I had any clue what those were. Since I don’t, you’re stuck with Dancing in the Golden Sunlight and, starting tomorrow, Loving in the Pale Moonlight.” Flynn Bennett, the man in the hospital bed, gave no sign of acknowledgement.

  For months, Flynn had been my sounding board, my confidante, and my best friend. I tried not to dwell on how disturbing it sounded to say that a guy in a coma was my best friend.

  The whole thing had started innocently enough, when I’d had to stop in to the long-term care wing to drop off some mislabeled supplies, a shipment of bedpans that had been mistakenly delivered to our maternity wing.

  After that, the story got kind of convoluted. Somehow I found myself standing in Flynn Bennett’s room, and somehow I found myself asking Camille, the charge nurse, all about him. What she revealed—no family, no friends, no visitors, no one—broke my heart. The rest, as they tended to say, was history.

  I’d learned in nursing school that in rare instances, people emerged from comas having heard everything that had gone on around them. I hated the thought of Flynn lying in his hospital bed all day with no mental stimulation. He deserved to know he mattered, even if the only mental stimulation I could offer was reading romance books aloud and regaling him with stories of my boring love life. Flynn mattered. Weird thing was, he had begun to matter more and more to me every day.

  “That reminds me, I went on that date with Martin Fink last night, the accountant I told you about. The one that my parents fixed me up with.” I sighed heavily. “He talked about himself all night and I got a creepy sort of vibe from him, like he peeks into neighbors’ windows at night to catch them having sex, or he wears red, lacy thongs and garter belts under his tweed business suits. I turned him down for a second date.”

  My parents, well, my mother, kept trying to marry me off to anyone with a sizeable bank account and cushy stock portfolio. She couldn’t seem to grasp the fact that I’d rather remain single than be bored to death by the Martin Finks of the world. She arranged dates for me, and as much as I wanted to, I didn’t say no. Sometimes with my mother, it was easier not to rock the boat.

  I was holding out for a guy like Federico, provided Federico wasn’t a weasel and two-timing Katiana with the mysterious woman in black, of course.

  “Last night wasn’t a total loss, though. They’re showing Deborah Kerr movies this month at Sunkissed Cinema, so we went to see From Here to Eternity with Burt Lancaster. I don’t think Martin liked it very much, but it’s always been one of my favorites. Next week they’re showing An Affair to Remember.”

  I sighed again, wistfully. “Cary Grant. Now there’s a leading man. I guess maybe I was just born too late—after my time. I mean is it so wrong to want passion? Sparks.” I grinned. “Maybe a little naughtiness thrown in? I want sparks.”

  I checked the time on my FitWatch. “Welp, I need to get going before I’m late for Sunday dinner with the folks and the rest of my fam-damly. Cross your fingers my mom doesn’t ask about Martin.”

  He, of course, made no such gesture, but I stared at his hands anyway, mentally willing his fingers to move. They didn’t. As I rose from the chair at his bedside, I reached out to run a strand of his silky hair through my fingers. I loved his long, flowing hair.

  “I’ll be back tomorrow, Flynn. Pleasant dreams.” I tucked my kindle under my arm and smoothed the thin sheet that covered his large form. “Please try to wake up.”

  I paused briefly at the door for a final glance over my shoulder before heading back to the maternity ward to grab my purse. When I emerged from the elevator, it was obvious that Ruby had been dealing with a patient from hell. I knew it as soon as she stepped out of room 215.

  Ruby and I had worked together in maternity at Sunkissed Key Medical Center for close to five years. We shared a kind of verbal and mental shorthand, and that vertical wrinkle between her brows was a tell
tale sign of distress.

  I met up with her at the nurses’ station and squeezed her shoulder.

  “What happened?”

  “Oh, nothing I can’t handle. Mrs. Chan is demanding I bring her another baby.”

  “Huh?”

  “Yeah, she swears her cone-headed, flat-nosed, puffy-eyed newborn isn’t hers and she keeps threatening to have me fired for baby-swapping.” Ruby rolled her eyes.

  “Uh-oh. Fired? Whatever will you do?”

  Laughing, she walked around the desk and began sorting through the paperwork that needed to be completed. “Oh, it wouldn’t be so bad. I could use the vacation time. She’ll calm down in a day or two when the effects of being squeezed through a vaginal canal wear off and her baby looks more like the cherubic pictures in magazines. Hey, I forgot to ask, how was the date?” She looked up at me and waggled her eyebrows.

  I groaned. “He was a dud. Story of my life.”

  “So, I take it there was no after dinner bow-chick-a-wow-wow?”

  I barked a laugh. “Hardly.”

  “Shame. When’s the last time you swept the cobwebs out of that womb-tomb of yours?”

  “Oh, don’t start.”

  I ignored her question which, Ruby being Ruby, didn’t deter her a bit. “Girl, I’m telling you, there’s more to life than work, spilling your guts to a guy in a coma every day, and going home to a cat. You need to get yourself laid.”

  I shrugged. Was it my fault I had no luck with men? Waving her off, I strolled to the elevator bank. “I’m outta here. See ya’ tomorrow.”

  As I rode down to the parking garage, I fantasized for the gazillionth time about Flynn Bennett. What would it be like if he kissed me the way Federico kissed Katiana in Dancing in the Sunlight, a kiss with raging hunger and flaming passion? I’d damn sure never experienced a kiss that made my pulse race and my knees quiver. Or a kiss like the one Burt Lancaster gave Deborah Kerr in From Here to Eternity.

  I thought of Martin’s stiff, cold lips and how they’d felt against my cheek when he’d said goodbye. Maybe those pulse-racing, knee-quivering kinds of kisses didn’t happen in real life. But if they did, I imagined Flynn Bennet had been the kind of man who could deliver one.

  * * *

  I paused at the foot of the front walkway to shore up my backbone. Sunday dinner was a family tradition that I’d never been able to escape. I knew this for a fact because I’d spent many Saturdays devising creative excuses. None worked. Not against the iron will of Margarite Richardson.

  Margarite and James Richardson, my Mom and Dad, lived in huge house at the end of Palm Street. Right on the ocean, of course, with a wrap-around porch and no less than six ceiling fans swirling overhead at all times—even with the central air running. There were always vibrant flowers blooming in the planter boxes and the handmade wreath on the front door always corresponded to the current holiday season. The house was picture perfect, much like the couple. But for me, growing up, the place had seemed more like a granite and shiplap prison.

  Just as I took the first step, the front door burst open and my sister Chloe’s icy blonde head appeared. “What in the world are you doing just standing there, Arden? You’re already tardy. Get in here. Dinner will be on the table any minute.”

  Chloe was the mirror image of Mom. Tall, slender, naturally blonde, with perfect blemish-free, porcelain skin. She also had the perfect husband, the perfect children, and the perfect dog, all of which made her the apple of my parents’ eye. Her perfect husband, Vincent Hill, owned a chain of nightclubs in the Miami area. Her perfect children, Courtney and Mason, attended exclusive private schools in which they earned perfect grades.

  “Coming.” I sauntered to the front door, attempting to gather my mental armor before facing the metaphorical firing squad.

  “What are you wearing?” Chloe’s button nose wrinkled as she frowned down at my outfit.

  I glanced down and frowned back at her. “Scrubs? I worked the weekend shift.”

  My other sister, Hailie, pulled the door the rest of the way open. The corners of her lips turned down as well. “You didn’t change for dinner?”

  “I came straight from work.” Gee, one would have thought I’d worn a bikini to a five star restaurant. What was the big deal? I showed up. Wasn’t that the important thing? Besides, my scrubs had a cute pattern of playful kittens on them. Hailie’s lip twisted and her nose wrinkled, the same face she always made when I mentioned my job.

  Hailie was the oldest and the most like our mother in demeanor. Mom and Chloe could’ve passed for twins, but Hailie inherited Mom’s razor-sharp tongue and disapproving scowl. Hailie was also the golden child, especially when it came to mom. I had a sneaking suspicion it was because she’d married a plastic surgeon and got family discounts on Botox injections.

  Hailie and Stuart had three of their own perfect children, all away at the best boarding schools in the country. She spent her time spearheading countless charity functions and growing competitive flowers that she referred to as her babies. If there was a race for number of trophies and ribbons awarded, her flowers and her children would be neck and neck.

  Chloe was the apple of my parents’ eye, Hailie was the golden child, and I was the black sheep. Everything Chloe and Hailie had perfected, I had managed to flub—according to Richardson standards. I had no children, sat on no committees, hosted no fundraisers, and had no prized flowers. All I had was a job, a handful of relationships that went nowhere, and a cat named Hissyfit who hated everyone—including me.

  “Honestly, Arden, you still haven’t gotten over that job thing? Come on. If the roast goes cold, we’ll all get an earful about you being late.”

  My family spoke about my job as though it was a silly phase I was going through. To them, graduating from an accredited nursing college and passing the NCLEX-RN exam was not nearly as impressive an accomplishment as marrying well, having babies, and growing flowers that won prizes. I really wasn’t in the mood to rehash the merits of a fulfilling career versus a wealthy husband. Some arguments never died.

  “I’m ten minutes early.”

  Hailie raised a perfectly shaped brow. “Not by the grandfather clock. You’re five minutes late.”

  Internally swearing, I forced a smile on my face. “That clock is fifteen minutes fast. Everyone knows that.”

  “And everyone knows that’s the clock Mom goes by.”

  “Arden, why didn’t you change? I’m sure you had a few minutes.” Hailie looked me over as I squeezed past her into the house. “At least to get the germs off of you.”

  “I worked in the NICU today. No germs.” I headed straight to the kitchen, forcing myself to face Mom and get it over with.

  As soon as my mother saw me, her jaw dropped and she shook her head. “Arden Danielle Richardson! It’s no wonder you’re still single with dinner attire like that. Are those...cats?”

  “Sorry, Mom. I didn’t think I was being auctioned off to the highest bidder tonight.” I barely stopped myself from giving her an eye roll.

  “Not if you show up looking like that!” She heaved a heavy sigh and pulled the roast from the oven, always pretending that she made the food herself. We all knew it was prepared by my parent’s cook, Magdalene.

  “I just got off work. I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t know what to do with you, Arden. At this rate, you’ll die an old maid.”

  I bit my lip and followed her into the dining room. The twelve-foot-long table was set the same way it was every week. Lalique china, three forks, two knives, three spoons and a linen napkin at every place setting. Water goblets had been filled and my father had uncorked a bottle of Merlot from the cellar.

  I sat at the end of the table, between my mother and my niece Courtney. Vincent, Stuart, and Dad were at the other end discussing the new Miami Dolphins’ quarterback while the food was passed. I took a few thick slices of roast, a serving of green beans, and when the potatoes came around, I helped myself to a hefty scoop of them. Oh, and a
couple of rolls. All I’d had to eat that morning was stale chips from the vending machine.

  “Oh, Arden. You really should cut back on the carbs.” Mom’s disapproving tone silenced the entire table and drew everyone’s eyes to my plate.

  I looked around noticing that I had piled twice as much food on my plate as my mother and sisters. I sighed. If I had to suffer through Sunday dinner, the least they could do was let me enjoy the food. “I skipped breakfast. And lunch. Work was busy.”

  Dad cleared his throat. “We don’t discuss work on Sundays, Arden.”

  I leaned back in my chair and rested my hands on the table. I wanted to say something, anything, in my own defense, but I knew from experience it wasn’t worth it. I was always outnumbered in my family. I’d learned to just let things go.

  “Sit up straight, honey. Slumped posture will catch up to you and you’ll end up looking like the hunch back of Notre Dame.” Mom smiled at Hailie. “Your sister has excellent posture.”

  I swallowed down my anger and bit my lip harder as Dad blessed the food and the quiet clang of silver on china started up. Shoveling a scoop of potatoes into my mouth, I mentally said my own prayer—the same one I said every Sunday. Lord grant me the ability hold my tongue and not let the words I’m thinking come shooting out of my mouth.

  2