Carinian's Seeker

Dedication

To my children, the greatest substitute cooks and tea makers in the world, thank you for your never-ending support. To my boss, Mizz Stud—I could never have done this without your support. To my editor, Madam Knight, a living example of the word patience. To Bix and Carin for trusting me with their story and providing lots of middle-of-the-night ideas. Blessings to you all.

Chapter One

Carinian Derrickson wondered for the millionth time what nutball was responsible for sending her here in mid-January. She was a San Diego scientist, not a blasted snow bunny.

She snatched her gym bag out of the trunk of her rented Mustang GT and, shivering down to the little hairs on her toes, absently slammed it shut. The dark, cloud-covered sky threatened to dump on her but at least the snow had stopped for now. Wrapped in a down jacket, wool pants and a pair of low-heeled pumps she couldn’t wait to get out of, she quaked all the way through the front door of the fitness club. The foothills of Colorado might look like a nice place to live with its panoramic views of soaring snow-capped mountains, but Carin didn’t care for five-below-zero anywhere. At least she wouldn’t have to miss a workout in this godforsaken tundra.

She clenched her teeth, trying to stop them from chattering as she made her way to the check-in desk. Head tilted in wonder, she was unable to stop her brow from flying upward at the teenybopper dressed in a cropped T-shirt and short-shorts at the front desk. If the girl showed any more skin, she’d be stark naked. It was so cold outside Carin was sure the kid would be a popsicle by the time she made it to her car once her shift was over.

Numb fingers fished a guest pass out of her jacket pocket. With mumbled thanks she thrust it at the teenybopper and all but ran for the warmth of the locker room to change.

An average height of five-foot-seven, Carin loved her body—toned, cut and nicely muscled. Maybe she would enter the natural bodybuilding contest next year. She certainly had the build for it and could pull off feminine-but-strong any day of the week.

Through the loud Shania Twain remix and clang of weights came a brush against her mind. The gentle touch was a deliberate but unfamiliar whisper quickly swallowed up by the emotions whirling around the place, bombarding her empathic senses. Spine stiff, she glanced up from the free weight rack into the mirror. Had she become the center of attention of a few of the sweating, straining gym-goers reflected behind her?

The rough edges of the consciences of others sawed into her—too many women hated their shape, too many men were determined to grunt away their midlife crisis and too many of both sexes strutted around for nothing more than getting noticed. It was times like this she missed her gym at home, a small private facility where she rarely had to interact with more than a few members at a time. Easier on her mind that way.

Carin’s gaze settled on the width of her hips and the tiny bit of bulge around her middle. Nothing she could do about the hips. Her mother used to tell her,
“Honey, you may as well relax about your hips, ‘cause as long as you’re living in that beautiful cinnamon skin, your booty ain’t going nowhere.”
Then the woman would shove a slice of butter-smothered cornbread in her face without remorse, knowing Carin was constantly in the gym.

The memory brought a smile to her lips as she settled on an incline bench with a pair of twenty-pound dumbbells and lifted the weights smoothly. After pressing out eight good reps, the twenties hit the floor on a wince. Her shoulder was acting up again. Damn. She closed her eyes against the sudden pain radiating just underneath the scars from the arthroscopic shoulder surgery she’d had a year ago.

The sharp ache seared through the tendons where her left shoulder met the top of her biceps, then twisted through the bone and down her arm all the way to her wrist. It hurt like hell. Damned arm was supposed to be healed by now.

Abandoning the free weights, she sat on the leg extension machine, stretched out her legs and…her entire body screeched to a halt. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end when a presence, this one standing out from the others, seemed to surround her. Caressed and stroked, as if seeking a way in, instead of the constant beating of feelings she was used to. Hmm. This was more than a brush against her mind. Someone focused on her, strongly.

Goofball
, she chided herself. The place was packed, a veritable meat market. Everyone was checking out everyone else, so of course someone focused on her.

Head lowered in concentration, prepared to launch into another set of leg extensions, Carin frowned. The tips of a pair of Nike’s stared back up at her. Someone else’s Nike’s.

Carin looked up to a solid, thick set of calves, and up some more to the nicest pair of thighs she’d seen on a man who wasn’t on TV. The muscles were large, well-developed and went on forever before finally reaching the hem of his shorts. An obvious bulge declared the owner of said shorts as well-endowed.
Look at that thing, and he’s not even hard. Oh Lord, what am I thinking?
She compelled her gaze to make the rest of the journey up to his face and blinked twice. Okay, he was still there. Not a dream.

This had to be the most striking masculine face this side of heaven. She’d never been attracted to a man outside her race before, but it was instantly there for this man. His features were strong, chiseled, like some kind of rare marble sculpture with nicely tanned skin. A clean shaven face allowed her to see the smoothness of it. No five o’clock shadow. No scars. No wrinkles. Not a pretty boy, but ruggedly handsome with midnight black hair tastefully cut shorter at the sides and back, and just a little longer on top with a hint of wave.

Carin pulled in a swift intake of breath. His eyes were the color of…well, what? She couldn’t quite decide. They seemed to have trouble choosing whether to be hazel, or light honey brown with a hint of silvery gray. He towered over her with a friendly expression, a bit of humor etched into an easy smile.

“Excuse me.” Oh, she liked his voice, too. “Mind if I work my sets in between yours?”

Without a word she forced her stare to leave his face, shifted her butt on the seat and hopped off the machine.

He leaned over, set the machine to two hundred pounds—obviously a moderate weight for a man his size—and settled down to work. Carin stood with her arms folded over her chest and watched his legs extend and lift the weight with ease, thigh muscles flexing sinuously, smoothly. The man made it look easy.

Every nerve in her body snapped to attention as she admired him from head to toe. She tried to stop looking, she really did, but just couldn’t help it. Biceps and forearms bulged under his tight long-sleeved Coolmax workout shirt. Those arms were folded over a wide chest with nicely pronounced pecs. Sculpted abs tapered down to a trim waist. Rock hard, everywhere. Dayum!

Gorgeous face. Killer body. Beautiful smile. He was, in a word, perfect. But there was no such thing as a perfect man, or a perfect anything else. So he was probably an asshole.

Turning smartly on her heel, she walked away and left the dark-haired,
Lord of the Rings
action hero look-alike behind her.

She’d been gracious, almost friendly, when Bix asked to work his sets in between hers. Then she went all aloof on him and stalked off in a huff. After that he kept a close eye on her from a distance.

So
this
was Dr. Carinian Derrickson? The picture stashed in the back pocket of his shorts didn’t do the woman one whit of justice. She was clearly the finest milk chocolate skinned woman he’d ever seen. Damn, she had a killer body. Cut, well-defined muscle. Nice curves in all the right places. Her features were classically Afro centric—firm full lips, mysterious smoky brown eyes, and thick naturally coiled hair. It was pulled back into a long ponytail. The casual style allowed him plenty of opportunity to memorize the lines of her beautiful face. The woman was, in a word, hot. Too bad she was his target.

Thankful for his psychic abilities, Bix brushed gently against her mind and was puzzled. For some reason the woman was extremely uncomfortable in this place. He’d have to be smooth if he wanted to get anywhere with her and made sure their meeting on the way to the front door was perfectly timed.

Carin looked his way and smiled, her deep brown eyes expressive, warm. Then, as if she’d caught herself doing something she shouldn’t, those eyes glittered as cold and frosty as the sheet of ice covering everything in the parking lot.

Bix ignored her body language. Then he caught her scent. He hadn’t noticed it before in the midst of all the sweaty bodies moving around the fitness club. It was times like this he wished his senses weren’t so keen. Something about the way this woman smelled made his gums tingle and burn. Made his incisors threaten to slip free. He clamped down on the strange reaction, willed his fangs to cease their mutiny and turned on the charm.

“Hey there,” he called, plastering on his innocent-as-a-newborn smile. “You’re leaving, too?”

“Yep.” Her answer was short and definitely intended to send a go-away message. He purposely didn’t get it.

“I’m going across the street to get a bite to eat. Care to join me?”

“I’m sorry, but I have an early day tomorrow.” The flat quality in her voice made it clear his charm wasn’t working.

Oddly enough, her rebuff hit him square in the gut and he felt his facade slip just a hair. Ruthlessly squashing down the unexpectedly strong instinct to conquer, Bix got back to business. Carinian’s business. “Are you going to skip dinner altogether?”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but are you always this nosy with people you don’t know?”

She stopped underneath an illuminated lamp in the parking lot and planted her fist on her hip. When her tennis shoe began to tap out an annoyed rhythm on the cold, icy ground, he cut her off before she could get her reprimand—and he was sure that’s what it would be—out of her mouth.

Hands held up in the universal “you win” gesture, he backed up a step and kept right on smiling. “Look, I’m not asking you out on a date. We both just worked out and unless you’ve already had dinner, I’m sure you want to eat before it gets too late. I’m going right over there,” he said, pointing to the Village Inn restaurant across the street. “If you care to join me, please do. By the way, my name is Jon, Jon Bixler. My friends call me Bix.”

He extended his hand and waited patiently for her to take it. She looked down at it like she expected it to turn into a Gila monster, but he held steady. Finally, she placed her smaller hand in his with a firm grip, though her face said her first impression of him hadn’t been decided yet.

“Carinian,” she offered softly, eyeing him askance.

“Nice to meet you,” he said casually, pumping her hand up and down. His smile remained plastered in place even when she didn’t say the same. Something inside of him wanted her to soften up a little, maybe even see him as a…as a what? Hell, he wasn’t sure. No, that wasn’t true, he knew exactly what he wanted. Her. But in his heart he knew it was impossible. This woman should never trust him.

Bix turned away and started towards his car. After three steps, he turned back again. One side of his mouth tipped up when Carinian’s right eyebrow rose a good inch. She probably wondered if he’d forgotten something.

“I forgot to mention.” His voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper as he looked right and left. “I’m having the ribs.”

His insides warmed when laughter bubbled right out of her. With a wink, he disappeared across the parking lot, leaving her shaking her head. But at least she was smiling. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why he cared.

Chapter Two

A few minutes later Carin found herself seated in a booth across from Mr. Damn-You’re-Fine, laughing her head off like she was outside at a ballgame or something. He, of course, ordered the ribs with a simple side salad, just as he’d promised in the parking lot. She had the rice pilaf with a no-frills grilled chicken breast.

“So, Carin, where are you from?”

“San Diego.”

“What are you doing in Colorado this time of year?”

A giggle bubbled up past her lips at his raised eyebrows and look of chagrin. Yeah, exactly how she felt about being in the arctic that some people called the Midwest.

“Here for training. I, uh, work for a biotech company. We just bought some new analytical software and I was sent here to learn how to use it.”

“I’m sure you’ll be having a talk with the person responsible for sending you here as soon as you get back to the coast.” Then he laughed. It was the first time she’d heard him do it, and the sound rumbled up out of his chest in a controlled boom. Deep, sensual. Damned sexy.

And he just seemed to get more appealing as the minutes slipped by.

He told her the funniest stories about his hillbilly Arkansas family and friends, and their antics growing up in the South. Like the time he and some of his cousins decided to have a footrace and see who could make it to the bottom of the hill first. With their eyes closed. Bix ended up in the hospital with stitches from his forehead all the way down to his chin after running headfirst into a neighbor’s fencepost at full speed. Or the time he’d jumped off the roof of his mother’s house with a sheet tied around his neck to see if he could fly. It was amazing he had no scars from any of it.