Wild Horses in Love
Mating Auction Book One
Terri A. Wilson
Copyright © 2020 by Terri A. Wilson
Published by M.T. Press, Inc.
Winter Springs, FL 32708
http://mtworldspress.com/
Formatting and Book Design by Pink Moon Books
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
No animals, book boyfriends, or shifter were harmed in the making of this book. Speaking of book boyfriends, they are all spoken for already.
For Cap
Contents
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
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also by Terri A. Wilson
Bonus Chapter: His Injured Protector
Chapter One
Opal
One year ago
Opal narrowed her focus through the lens. The cold cement on her bare feet grounded her. She lifted her toes and balanced her weight. She blocked out the world around her and just studied the image through her camera.
After three arguments with the lighting tech, an assumed professional, though Opal had doubts, the model’s shadows fell precisely the way they should. She told the model to inhale, hold it for a count of three, and relax every muscle in her body.
Click.
Perfect.
Click.
Perfect.
“Now exhale for a count of five,” Opal said.
Click, click, click.
Perfect. Every picture was perfect. She didn’t have to check. When Opal, Opie to her friends, first started in the photography world, her mentor made her do everything else for a year before she ever peered through a lens. The time spent on set design, lighting, and even cleaning paid off now. Her reputation was solid. There were still down months where it was hard to make the rent, but people were learning the name Opal Ibarra.
“I’m happy with that. Let’s change out for the next shot. The ice in the glass has melted too much.” She glanced at her assistant. “Couldn’t find the silicone cubes?”
Zari and Opie had worked together since Opie’s first wedding gig.
“The client had a drink from one of the prop glasses without realizing it wasn’t real ice or scotch. Threw a fit demanding it be authentic.”
Opie stomped over to the table and picked up the prop glass. She held it against the umbrella lights then tossed out the amber liquid. “Shit. No wonder the shadows weren’t working. It was the wrong color.”
Ronnie Leeland and the client hurried over.
“What is the meaning of this?” The client pointed to the dark stain in the concrete.
“Please redo the prop glass,” she said to her assistant and ignored Ronnie and the sniveling man next to him.
“The success of this campaign depends on people believing in what they see. How can they believe in something if it isn’t real?” the Sniveler said.
“Because my photos are that good.”
“I’m not trying to argue with you—”
“Then why are we still talking?”
Ronnie leaned his head back, his jaw clenched.
Opie gulped. Where did her attitude come from? She believed in herself and her work but never took a bold stance like this. A small bead of sweat rolled down her back, and her hands grew clammy. She needed this job, but she also needed it to be excellent. Ronnie did not know what he was saying.
The door to the set opened. All three stopped and watched a man walk through the door.
Opie struggled to keep her jaw from dropping even as her body warmed in not-safe-for-work places. He waved to Ronnie, who excused himself, vowing to fix everything in a minute.
Ronnie stepped closer. “You were my first choice, you know, but not his.”
Opie didn’t respond to that. Well, she did but kept it in her head.
The client droned on about how using sex to sell his product did not uphold the image he wanted for his company.
Opie forced back a giggle when she thought about the millions of times his product led to action. Was this guy celibate? Didn’t he get it?
Sex sells, Buddy.
As if on cue, Ronnie’s friend let out a loud, warm laugh, the kind two men share when they have a lot of funny stories from their past. She studied him with her other eyes. He was a shifter horse by the aura.
“Are you listening to me?” the client asked.
Opie nodded, forcing herself to focus on his words. Her eyes burned, and her throat started closing. She lifted her eyes to the ceiling.
Don’t cry, Opie. Don’t cry.
Ronnie walked up to them. He asked the client to step away with him for a minute. She couldn’t hear everything he said, but the phrase “no shoes” and “unprofessional” stung like a cigarette burn.
She glanced at her purple-painted toes. Taking pictures without shoes helped her distribute her weight by spreading the toes evenly. Her friend, Wednesday Hanson, taught her that trick. She called them “yoga toes.”
When he returned, he told Opie, “The client wants to go another direction.”
“What the fuck? Are you kidding me?” She glared at the client’s smug face as he ate a bagel. Leaning in close to Ronnie, she whispered, “I need this job.”
Ronnie turned his head to the client. “Don’t worry about that. I have another idea. Trust me. I got you into this mess. This guy’s an ass. You do outstanding work, and I always love it. Come by tomorrow before you leave town, and I’ll have a check for you.”
“But the job’s not done. It wasn’t what he wanted.”
He put his arm around her shoulder. “Your contract is with me, not him. I take care of my own.”
Opie closed her eyes and enjoyed his scent. He was the exact guy she needed for a mate. The guys she hooked up with were too far on the jerk scale. When they realized she did a decent job of taking care of herself and wasn’t waiting to be rescued, they left. Ronnie had told her about the matchmaker he used, but that was too much of a luxury. Rent and food were more important than a mate.
She put on her shoes, raspberry Chuck Taylors, thank you very much. Jerk.
Ronnie hugged her goodbye and then returned to the client.
Holding back the unexpected tears was harder than she wanted to admit. She had to get out of there. Without saying a word, she and her assistant packed up their equipment and left.
It took her at least ten minutes of sitting in the car before she could start it. Thankfully, Zari stayed quiet and played with her phone.
Years ago, when she first started taking pictures, a teacher told her she would never amount to anything. Maybe he was right. This should have been a simple job. Ronnie found beautiful women. The set was amazing. The energy level was high. What happened?
You assumed you knew better.
She let her head drop onto the steering wheel.
Zari rubbed her back. “You want to grab a drink?”
“Yes, and not just one. Many. Our flight doesn’t leave until tomorrow.”
Opie and Zari bumped fists.
“Don’t forget we have to come back by here before we leave,” Zari said. “Pick up a check.”
Opie nodded and pu
t the rental into gear and pulled away from the curb.
An hour later, they walked into a pub-like bar close to their hotel that reminded her of a pub in Scotland.
Opie worked as an apprentice for a photographer who did a magazine spread on a small Scottish town. They spent all day hunting for perfect lighting, only to spend fifteen minutes actually taking pictures. But every night, the crew met at a local pub. Those hours of drinking, darts, and laughing made the hard work worth it.
Inside this bar, it took several seconds for her eyes to adjust to the darker room. The smell of beer and pheromones tickled her inner shifter and made her horny. It had been too long since she had been with anyone. Between working her business and building her business, there was never enough time.
As the door closed, four male heads turned in her direction. They played darts in a back corner. Each one checked her head to toe. It was fun to watch their subtle body movements as they began posturing for her attention.
She inhaled. Three wolves and a dragon.
For half a second, she wondered what it would be like to have all at once. Did she have it in her?
A slight smile escaped from her mouth as she followed Zari to the bar. She shook her head. Her life was a mess; one man would make her crazy, but four, no way. Her mother would kill her.
Zari ordered them two margaritas. “So, now what?”
“What do you mean?”
“We have nothing scheduled. Nothing. Nada.” She passed a bowl of pretzels to Opie.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Ronnie’s check should help for a month or so.”
The bartender brought their drinks.
Zari licked off a bit of salt and sipped the margarita. “Look, Opie, I don’t mean to be a bitch, but I need to know there’s more money coming in, or I may have to get something else.”
Opie let out a slight sigh. “I don’t think you’re a bitch. I’ll get another roommate, if I have to.”
Zari furrowed her brow. “Really? You, Miss I-hate-all-people?”
Opie gasped in feigned hurt. “I don’t hate all people, just most of them. I let Lou move in and she’s been great.” She put a handful of pretzels in her mouth. “The Libre Volare wants me to be their go-to photographer for weddings and events. I could do that.”
“Ouch. Has it gotten that bad?”
“Zari, you should go out on your own. You’re as good as I am.”
A loud cheer interrupted their conversation. One of the guys must have made a good shot. The others made a big scene, slapping him on the back and giving him a hard time.
Zari glanced around. “I didn’t realize how many of these guys wore kilts.” She switched to a poor imitation of a Scottish accent. “I may have to hook up with one of these lads.” She leaned in closer and whispered, “Are any of them, you know, like you? Shifters?”
Opie smiled. Zari loved to ask her that question. She called it Opie’s superpower, shiftdar.
“The four in the corner.” She dipped her head toward the dart players.
Zari almost fell off her stool. “OMG. I want to get close to all of them. I mean that one with the long hair—” she fanned herself with her hand, “—he’s in a flipping kilt. Oh, good Lord.”
Before Opie could agree, a small group from the floor stood and pushed back their tables and chairs. Three people hopped up on a small stage, and a harmonic chord filled the bar.
Opie dropped her head to the bar and groaned.
Zari’s eyes sparkled with anticipation. “What’s wrong? Why are they doing that?”
Opie raised her head and watched the four guys in the corner practically fly down to the lower level. One of them beckoned her with his bent finger. She gulped down the rest of her drink, signaling Zari should do the same.
“Are they seriously doing this?” Opie asked the bartender.
He smirked and shrugged then lifted his eyes over Opie’s head. “Looks like you’ve caught someone’s attention.”
The same guy stared at her. Opie was sure she heard him growl. Wolf shifters were always the same. Damn alpha males. They thought every woman’s panties went wet with even the smallest amount of attention. But he stood there clapping and stomping his foot, and of course, her arousal was moving fast and her panties were wet.
Another of the wolf shifters hooked arms with Zari and helped her off the stool.
“Wait, what the hell?” she sputtered.
Opie followed close behind her. “It’s too late, they have pulled you into the Ceilidh Vortex.”
“Huh?” Zari called as her partner ushered her across the room.
A loud voice did a count off, and the small group began clapping, whistling, and whooping while the band played a jig.
Opie winked at the wolf shifter and sashayed around the floor, hooking arms with one person after the other. Traditionally, the sequence should be boy-girl, but this group didn’t seem to care.
One woman stood on a chair, barking out commands and the dance steps. Her face grew crimson as her intensity increased. She even stomped her foot for effect. No one listened to her.
Zari made her way to Opie. “This is insane. These people are—” Another partner whisked her away.
Opie watched her wolf admirer work his way through the crowd.
Let’s have some fun, Wolfie.
He moved left, and she moved right. He moved right, and she moved left. She got to the eighth person and instead of moving on, purposely took an extra step dancing by herself. Zari hooked elbows with her again, and she lost track of him. Two turns later, she stepped into a wall, a wall with long brown hair, eyes the color of clover, and a chest made of solid, oh-my-god alpha wolf.
He bent down close to her ear, his hot, deep breath making her legs weak. “Let’s get out of here.”
She balked. “I don’t even know your name. You could be a serial killer and planning to make me your next victim.”
“I’m not a serial killer. The name is Geoff. I’ll buy you a drink, if you want. I’ll even buy you breakfast.”
“I came here with someone.”
He pointed across the room. “Your friend is busy at the moment.”
Opie followed his gaze, and her jaw dropped. Zari sat on a barstool between the dragon shifter and another of the wolf shifters. “Oh, uh, er.”
“I get that you’re concerned with your safety, but I promise I have no ill-intention. How about we go upstairs for a more private drink?”
Zari knew about shifters, but her experience with horny shifters was a different story.
“I’m not leaving my friend.”
“Then bring her.”
Opie crossed her arms over her chest. “Wait, what’s upstairs?”
“My apartment.” He fanned his hand out in front of him. “This is my place.”
Of course, it is. That’s convenient.
Whether it was the crappy day, her grumpy mood, or the escape from reality, something drove her to accept. It wasn’t hard to convince Zari, and all five of them headed up a back staircase.
Damn alpha males.
Opie pushed up her sunglasses. Anything to block out the sunlight streaming in from the picture windows of the hotel coffee shop. She rarely drank enough to be hungover. Shifter metabolism helped with that. But here she sat drinking coffee, picking at a croissant, and cursing at the bright light. Zari was still asleep. They might not make their flight. She hadn’t even made it over to Ronnie’s.
Shit.
She sat up straight, ignoring the throb in her head. Ronnie Leeland had her paycheck.
After sending a text to Zari, arranging for another night, and inhaling a handful of aspirin, she hailed a cab and headed to Leeland Marketing.
The secretary called Ronnie, and he met Opie at his office door.
A woman dressed in a cream silk blouse, and a multi-strand pearl necklace uncrossed her legs and walked over to Opie.
She held out her hand. “It is fortuitous that you came by. We were just talking about you?”
Opie glanced sideways at Ronnie.
He held up his hands in protest. “It was all good, I swear. Gerri and I were talking about the shoot yesterday and what an asshat that guy was.”
Opie shook Gerri’s hand.
The woman stood in front of her with a scrutinizing look in her eyes. Opie hunched her shoulders. She felt naked and wanted to apologize. Who was this woman?
Gerri held out her other hand to the couch. “Come sit. Ronnie, get the girl some coffee.”
Ronnie bowed his head and grumbled something under his breath.
Opie sat on the couch next to the strange woman. “I’m in a bit of a hurry. I have a flight to catch.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I won’t keep you. Ronnie showed me some of your pictures, and I’m very impressed.”
Ronnie handed her a cup of coffee then sat across from them.
Heat rose on Opie’s cheeks. “Are you in need of a photographer?”
“No, but I have a friend who is. Is your passport current?” Gerri crossed her legs, twisted, and rested an elbow on the back of the couch.
“Yes, but I don’t have it with me.”
“No worries. You wouldn’t be flying out until the day after tomorrow.”
Opie glanced between Ronnie and Gerri.
Ronnie propped his feet on the coffee table. “Opal Ibarra, this is Gerri Wilder. She runs the Paranormal Dating Agency and has friends all around the country.”
Opie set her coffee cup on the table. “A paranormal dating agency? I didn’t know such a thing existed.”
Gerri narrowed her eyes. Opie shrank a little against the couch.
“Are you with anyone?” she asked.
Opie thought back to Geoff from last night. Considering she didn’t get his last name, there was no future there.
“Um, no, but I’m not looking either.” Opie picked up her cup and hid behind it as much as possible.
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