Untamed: (Heath & Violet) (Beg For It) (3 page)

And usually nothing
did. We were off the grid in Watson. Every now and then the town
brewery came up with a new ale. The local youth hockey team had some
winning seasons, some losing. Each year brought a couple of bad
storms, rain swelling the river over its banks or snow caving in a
roof. But mostly it was a whole lot of nothing happening, day after
day. Just how I liked it.

But now what would a
city party girl like the one trying to order an appletini be doing in
a town like this? Seemed like oil and water to me. She was exactly
the type I steered clear of. The type of woman I’d seen far too
much of growing up. The type you never could trust.

Which was why it made
abso-fucking-lutely no sense that from the second she unzipped that
giant parka I was hard as a fucking rock. Giant, massive wood
pressing into the seam of my jeans. It had to be like a chemical
malfunction. When you went too long, your system went haywire. You
started having fierce, raging, raw attraction to exactly the wrong
type of woman.

Each time this pink and
blonde piece of cotton candy stole a glance at me—and she was
stealing some glances—my cock surged in response. Yes! This one,
take this one! Drag her off and bury yourself in her! You know she’d
love it. Look at the way she’s looking at you, her lips parted, her
eyes slightly glazed. She likes what she sees. Seize the day!

But that’s why you
needed to think with your big head, not your little head. The little
head made bad decisions. My father had torn up our whole family
thinking with his dick. I was as red-blooded and hard bodied as a man
got, 25 and ready to go at the drop of a fucking hat, but I sure as
hell wasn’t going to be an asshole about it. I’d seen too many
people make too many messes that way.

Me, I kept it simple. I
worked, making custom furniture and art out of wood and metal. I
slept and ate and stayed fit. No drama, no bullshit, no headaches.

But, aw hell, now a
couple of yahoos flanked her, right and left. I hadn’t planned on
going over and talking to her. I’d planned on sitting there while
my bartender buddy Dave made sure she was OK. He was a good guy. I
could cover for him while he gave her a ride wherever she needed to
go.

Because she sure as
hell wasn’t driving anywhere else tonight in that toy car of hers.
It looked like a clown car, parked up on the sidewalk in front of the
bar. How the hell had she made it even a mile in such an asinine
ride? She could have missed a curve so easy, skidding out on black
ice into the Mad River that wound its way like a snake alongside the
state road.

That’s what did me
in. She really did need help. Yahoo number two said something to her,
and I saw a flash of vulnerability in her eyes. The ice queen with
her perfect nails, salon-ready hair and pretty little white silk top
was trying to look like she had her shit together. But she didn’t.
She was scared. And she had reason to be. That car in a storm like
this was a death trap. And I didn’t know those guys. They weren’t
from around here. It was time for them to leave.

I stood up and they
didn’t put up a fight. Being as big as me had its advantages. It
had its disadvantages, too. You looked like a giant bear in a tux,
and some girls said you were just too much. But that didn’t happen
often out in the middle of nowhere. Not that many black tie affairs
and society girls out in Watson, Vermont.

I sat down next to her,
trying to make up my mind. I already could tell this girl would drive
me crazy. She looked high-maintenance. Materialistic.

But how was it that she
smelled so damn good? She fiddled with a thin gold necklace around
her neck, delicate and fine like her. She tossed her hair behind her
shoulder and it cascaded back, soft and golden. Our legs touched. I
was a big man, so I didn’t go out of my way to make it happen, but
I could have pulled away once it did.

I didn’t. She felt so
slender beside me, so feminine. It would be easy to wrap my arm
around her waist, pull her closer. She’d fit against me real good,
up on my lap. I could pull her up there and bury my face in that
hair, figure out if that’s what smelled so inviting, or maybe it
was her skin? I could investigate that, too, under her jaw, along her
neck where I could see her pulse pound.

I took a sip of my beer
and pulled my attention away. This woman was trouble. I liked life in
my small pond, the water smooth and glassy. She was already making
too many waves. Out the window, I caught a glimpse of her bright red
toy car. A fucking MINI convertible in this snow. What had she been
thinking?

“You’re not driving
out of here tonight in that MINI convertible,” I told her.

She didn’t seem to be
listening. She was looking straight at me, but she had a dreamy look
on her face like she couldn’t get enough of what she saw. Her
tongue darted out, flicking along her plump bottom lip. She needed to
stop looking at me like that. I shifted my weight, my cock straining
for release.

I repeated myself and
that seemed to snap her out of it. Turned out she didn’t have GPS
in her car, either. Her plan was to rely on her cell phone in this
weather. I could just see her holding her pink sparkly phone up in
one hand, trying to peer out the frozen window and find her way out
to some condo she’d apparently rented. Her car would be wrapped
around a tree within minutes.

I took a sip of my
beer. I knew what I was about to say. And I knew I shouldn’t say
it. I was asking for trouble. I was an island, a loner, a hermit by
choice. I’d simplified my life, cleared out all the complications,
the junk. Why would I possibly get involved even on a small scale
with this train wreck of epic proportions?

Dave stood over at the
other end of the bar wiping down a glass. I was sure he’d give her
a ride in his truck and he wouldn’t be an asshole about it, either.
He’d make sure she was safe.

But I wanted to make
sure she was safe.

“I’ll get you where
you need to go,” I heard myself grumble. She didn’t say anything.
She looked down at the bar, her fingers gripping the wood.

I realized I probably
had come off like a creep, a big, scruffy, scary-looking guy giving
her a lecture about her lack of preparedness. She probably hadn’t
ever driven in weather like this. Turning toward her, trying to
soften it up a touch, I added, “you’ll be safe with me.”

She nodded, but didn’t
answer.

“What’s your name?”
I asked.

“Vi.” She spoke in
a quiet voice, nothing like the bossy tone she’d tried to use with
those other guys. Vi. I had to admit, it didn’t seem to suit her.

“Is Vi short for…?”

“Violet.” She
looked up as she said it, and damn if her eyes didn’t look nearly
violet blue. It felt like a light gust of wind could have knocked me
over. And I was I solid man. Gusts of wind didn’t so much bother
me.

“Violet,” I
repeated. Now that worked. Violets. They bloomed in late winter,
early spring, ushering in the thaw. As a kid I’d lived in England
for a couple of years with my grandmother. At the right time of year
the hills in Yorkshire would be covered in violets, deep purple blue.
I remembered learning how you could eat violets, suck the sweet
nectar from their stem.

I bet Violet tasted
even better.

She said something.
“What’s that?” I hadn’t caught it. I’d been too caught up
in thinking about licking and sucking.

“What’s your name?”

“Heath.”

“Is Heath short
for…?”

I shook my head. I
wasn’t going to give her that. She didn’t need to know my full
name was Heathcliff. That would raise all kinds of questions.
Heathcliff wasn’t an everyday average Joe type of a name. Being
named after the brooding romantic hero from Emily Bronte’s classic
Wuthering Heights
wasn’t typical. Unless your grandmother was a baroness and that was
the sort of thing your family did.

“Do you live here?”

“In this bar? No.”
I had to tease her. She looked so incredulous that she’d discovered
me there.

“I don’t mean
that.” She flushed light pink, biting that lip again and tucking a
lock of hair behind her ear. I’d be happy to bite that lip for her.
I’d pink her right up. “I mean, do you live in Watson?”

“Yup.” I couldn’t
affect the true Vermonter response, “A-yuh.” Not yet, at least.
I’d only lived in Vermont for four years. I’d have to make it at
least a decade before I could adopt that local dialect with a
straight face.

“And you’re from
L.A?” I asked. I’d overheard her tell Dave. I couldn’t think of
a place more opposite from here. She’d traveled from one polar end
of the planet to the other.

“I’ve lived there
almost seven years now. I moved out right after high school.” So
she was my age. Interesting.

“Where did you grow
up?” I knew Dave over in his corner must be busting at the seams
wondering what in the hell was I doing. Big silent Heath, chatting up
some California blonde. I’d probably said more to this girl than I
had to a bunch of local girls over the past few months. The strong
silent type, that was how I rolled. At least, that was how I usually
rolled.

Maybe it was because I
knew she had to just be passing through. In a town this small, you
hit on a local and then you had to see her again and again. You had
to be damn sure you were in it to win it. But Violet? I’d bet big
money she’d be gone this time tomorrow, no turning back. I might
never see her again.

“New Jersey,” she
answered.

“What town?”

“Englewood.”

I nodded, but didn’t
say a word about the fact that we’d grown up a mere 10 miles away
from each other. No one in Watson knew that I’d grown up on
Manhattan’s wealthy Upper East Side, and I wasn’t about to start
yapping about it now.

Plus, telling her we’d
grown up near each other wouldn’t be saying we had anything in
common. From what I knew of Englewood—and I had to admit, I hadn’t
spent a lot of time there—it wasn’t posh. Parts of it were pretty
rough. Apparently the now glam and polished Violet had grown up a
Bridge and Tunnel girl, living on the wrong side of the Hudson River.
My kind would have turned their noses up at hers.

“Anyway, that’s a
long time ago.” She waved her manicured hand dismissively.

Exactly how I felt
about my childhood. It didn’t matter now. “So, where are you
trying to get to tonight?” I asked, changing the subject.

“Um,” she
swallowed, still seeming flustered. “I’m supposed to head to a
condo. Some guy named Gary has the key?” She showed me an email on
her phone. Gary Bartlett. He owned some properties up by the big,
commercial snow resort a town over. Overpriced for what you got, if
you asked me.

“Sure, I know where
he’s at.”

“You do?” She
looked at me like I’d performed a miracle.

“It’s a town of
1,700 people.”

“Right.” She
nodded.

“And your plan is to
drive there in that toy car of yours?”

“It’s not a toy
car.”

“It’s as good as a
toy car in a storm like this.” I liked watching her huff and puff.
She looked like a baby chick, fluffing itself out to look big. Just
made you want to touch it more.

“I can drive slow.”

“Into a tree.”

“Heath.” She rolled
her eyes. I liked hearing her say my name. Those lips made a man
think about all sorts of nasty things. I’d like to make her say my
name again, soon, calling it out nice and loud.

But that wasn’t a
good idea. Best to get her off and on her way. Not get her off, not
like that. Down, boy.

I shifted. Better to
get this over with, quick as I could. “He lives about ten minutes
away. I’ll take you there.”

I stood up and went to
grab my jacket from my barstool. Dave raised his brow and caught my
eye. I shrugged. I didn’t know how to explain myself. I could try
to pass it off as courtesy, plain and simple. She was a damsel in
distress and I was helping her out.

I told myself it wasn’t
because I wanted to get her alone and find out just how sweet she
tasted. I didn’t do that type of thing. Most of the women around
these parts didn’t even try with me any more. When I’d first
moved into town, they’d wanted to climb all up on me like I was a
freaking jungle gym. But enough nos cooled off even the most
determined of pursuits. They’d learned I kept to myself. I didn’t
want the hassle. I was an island.

Violet slid down off
her stool. Her jeans left nothing to the imagination. I wouldn’t
have wanted them any other way. Long and slim, curves right where you
needed them, I thought my tongue might be lolling out of my mouth
like a cartoon character.

So much for the island.

Then she shrugged her
way back into that oversized monstrosity she called a coat. She
zipped it all the way to the top, pulled up the hood and stood there
like she’d been swallowed whole by an aggressive parka.

I almost cracked a
smile. But I wasn’t trying to make friends with this woman. I was
providing safe passage from point A to point B. Ten minutes and she’d
be Gary’s problem. Then I could go to bed knowing she hadn’t died
in an icy car crash. Of course, before I slept I’d probably need
some quality time with my hand. She had me hard as a fucking rock.

But that wasn’t a
problem for me. Abstinence, solitude, these were my middle names, and
that was the way I liked it. Someone just needed to send the memo
down below my belt.

Outside, she still made
her way over to her car. She’d only been in the bar for twenty
minutes and it already had a half-inch of snow on it.

“You’re not driving
that car,” I repeated, making my way over to my truck. I was parked
in an actual parking space, over to the side of the building. Not
perched up on the sidewalk like a damn bicycle. Then again, her car
was about the size of a bicycle.