Untamed: (Heath & Violet) (Beg For It) (4 page)

“I’ll be fine,”
she insisted.

Leaning against the
back of my pickup, I crossed my arms against my chest and watched
her. Waiting. She’d come around. No sense exerting the energy
fighting with her when I knew I’d win.

She pressed the button
on her remote car opener, but then struggled with the door.

“How’s it going?”
I called over to her, watching her try to get a better stance in her
heels. She kept slipping and sliding in the ice and snow. “You got
an ice scraper? You’re not going to be able to see out of that
windshield.”

“Why is everything so
cold here!” she yelled in frustration.

“It’s Vermont.”

“I know that.” She
sounded so snippy. Then she crossed her hands over her chest. Only
she couldn’t really, not in that giant parka. Her arms kind of
slipped over one and other and then fell down to her side again.
Squinting at me, she asked, “How do I know you’re not going to
kidnap me?”

I shrugged. “You
don’t.”

“Oh, that’s
reassuring.”

“Ask a dumb
question—”

“I get it.” She
stomped her foot, then seemed to think better of it as she slipped
and had to steady herself on her car.

“How much longer is
it going to take for you to let me give you a ride? Because if it’s
going to be much longer, I’m going to go wait in the cab of my
truck.”

Even in the dark with
the snow coming down, I could see her roll her eyes.

“What am I supposed
to do with this car?” she asked. “Just leave it here overnight?
Won’t I get a ticket?”

Now I did smile,
picturing the type of expensive, highly restricted parking she was
used to in L.A. Here in Vermont, the staties couldn’t be bothered
with things like parking violations. Our town constable Elmer would
probably notice the red car up on the sidewalk tomorrow. He’d
scratch his head and tuck into the bar for a beer with Dave to figure
out what’s what. Then he wouldn’t come out for several more
hours, and once he had he’d have forgotten what he went in for.

“Don’t worry about
it,” I assured her.

“I have luggage.
Things I’ll need tonight.”

I had no one but myself
to blame as I made my way over to her damn car to haul out her
suitcase for her like a damn hotel porter. Make that two suitcases. I
stood looking into what passed for a trunk in her MINI.

“I have another one
up front and one more in the back.” She gingerly made her way over
to the passenger door.

High maintenance, just
like I’d thought. I picked up two. Not a problem for me, but they
were heavy as fuck. “What do you have in these? Rocks?” I
recognized the crisscross pattern with the Gs. She had Gucci luggage.
Figured.

Heading back for the
remaining bags, we passed each other right as she started to slip and
fall on her ass. Covered by her down comforter of a parka, but still.
I caught her, pretty much carried her over to my truck and plunked
her down on the seat. She’d best not plan on staying long in
Vermont. I didn’t see her lasting more than 24 hours without ending
up in the ER.

Luggage in back,
windshield scraped, doors slammed shut, I turned the key and cranked
up the heat. With any luck, this would be over in no time.

“Wait.” She brought
her hand to my arm, and even through my jacket I felt her touch with
a jolt. “I’m still not sure this is a good idea.”

I looked over at her.
She needed more convincing? She should be careful what she wished
for.

Violet

The cab of his truck
was small. Or maybe it wasn’t, maybe it was just that he was so
big. He seemed to fill it up, his big shoulders and forearms. This
close I could get a good look at his strong profile, his determined,
set jaw. He had enough of a beard it would feel rough against my
skin, in exactly the right way.

My hand on his arm, I
looked up at him. I knew I’d already signed my own death warrant.
If he were a serial killer, he wouldn’t tell me that he was. He
wouldn’t let me out of the truck, either.

Even though it was
pointless, I couldn’t help expressing my reservations. Everyone
knew it was a ridiculously bad idea to hop into the truck of a
strange man in a strange town where you knew no one. Add to that my
cell phone that barely functioned and I was basically writing the
plot to a new bestselling murder mystery. Only it probably wouldn’t
sell because readers would say it was too unrealistic. What woman
would just hop into a truck like that? No one would be that stupid!

“I’m not going to
kidnap you.” He looked down at me with those dark, intense eyes and
the smallest part of me, the craziest smallest part, felt a twinge of
disappointment. Because I obviously didn’t want to get kidnapped.
No one did, not really. But if I did ever get kidnapped, please Lord
let it be by a man who looked like him.

“No, I know,” I
stammered. “I just, I shouldn’t be doing this. Jumping into a
truck with a strange man.”

“I’m not that
strange.”

“You’re a stranger
to me.”

“Do you want to get
to know me better?”

Oh no, the way he asked
that, his suggestive low tone. He had such a seductive voice, like it
had been smoked and slow-cooked, not rushed, taking its time until it
was done just right.

I swallowed. “I guess
I’d feel better if I knew anything about you. I don’t know who
you are or what you do or—”

“I’m a woodworker.
Metal, too.”

“You make things? Out
of wood and metal?” I knew I sounded stupid, basically repeating
what he said. But I didn’t meet too many people who actually made
real things you could touch and hold.

“Furniture and art. I
custom design.”

“So you work with
your hands?” Oops, my voice got a little breathy on that. I
shouldn’t be so close to drooling on this man.

He nodded, slow and
sexy, never taking his eyes off of me. My heart pounded in my chest.
I bet he did amazing work with his hands. Maybe it would have been
better to have simply driven off into the night in my snow-encrusted
tiny car without a map. The danger of crashing and burning somehow
seemed a lot higher in the heated confines of his truck.

Flustered, I grasped at
a question for distraction. “And you live here in Watson?”

He nodded again and
stretched out his arm along the back of my seat. It wasn’t an
overtly sensual move. We still weren’t touching at all. But I felt
so enveloped, so surrounded. I guessed it should have made me more
nervous but all I could think was how good it would feel to sink back
into his arm, let him encircle me, pull me closer. He must have
strong heaters in the seats of his truck. I knew I’d been outside
in a raging snowstorm moments ago, but now I was starting to feel all
warm and tingly.

“Downtown? Or…?”
I tugged at the neck of my parka, flushed.

“A few miles out. I
built a cabin.”

“You built a cabin?”
Now I didn’t feel stupid repeating what he said. It was worth
repeating. Who knew how to build a cabin?

He nodded again and I
didn’t know if it was my imagination but it seemed like he was
leaning in closer. Or that could have been me slowly closing the gap
between us. I couldn’t tell anymore.

“I’m good with my
hands,” he said, his voice low and gruff. I think I managed to
suppress my soft moan, but it was right there in my throat ready to
be released.

“You have nothing to
worry about, Violet,” his voice caressed me. “You’re safe with
me. I’m not into women like you.”

I should have been
offended. I should have gotten huffy and asked something like, “what
do you mean women like me?” I guessed that would have happened had
I been listening to his words. But I wasn’t. I was watching his
lips, seeing the heat intensify in his gaze as he fixated on my mine.
I licked them, nervous, and he watched my tongue. The wicked,
seductive look in his eyes started a deep throb inside me. I squeezed
my legs together. How could this man make me wet when he hadn’t
even touched me? We were just sitting in the cab of his pickup truck.

And I was allergic to
pickup trucks, had been from a very early age. My mother had raised
me right. Scrimping, struggling, living month-to-month as a single
mom, she’d taught me about the importance of checking out a man’s
wheels. She was right, you could tell a lot about a man from his
ride. Don’t get me wrong, my mother wasn’t a snob. She knew good
guys came from all kinds of backgrounds. But with my deadbeat dad
drifting between low-paying jobs that never seemed to amount to a
single child support payment, my mom had learned the hard way that
money made a difference, sometimes a big difference in life. From her
perspective, in the ocean of men, wouldn’t it be better to hook up
with one driving a BMW?

I’d followed her
advice. Ever since I’d started dating, I’d only spent time with
the type of man who’d take me out to fancy restaurants where he
paid the bill. Too bad none of them had ever made my heart pound like
this giant man in a battered old pickup truck.

“I’m not into guys
like you, either,” I responded, leaning into him. His jacket was
simple, black, and he hadn’t zipped it all the way up. I could
still see that one button unbuttoned on his shirt underneath. A
glimpse of chest peeked out, calling to me.

“Yeah,” he agreed,
his breathing slightly ragged. “I’m not your type.” The heater
in his car worked wonders. Either that or this parka was magic. I
felt all hot and bothered and wanted to unzip. That way he could slip
his hands around my waist and pull me onto his lap.

Again with the lap. I
tried to pull my gaze away from his lips, so full and so close.

“No, you’re not my
type,” I panted as I inched closer still. I could smell him now,
the kind of scent every cologne company tried desperately to patent.
“Lumberjack leather man mmm” they could call it. Or maybe just
“she’ll want to fuck you if you wear this.”

“No, not at all,”
he agreed as his hand wound behind my neck. His fingers were so big,
so strong and I dipped my head back, sinking into him as his mouth
found mine.

He tasted amazing. His
lips, so hot and demanding, his fingers at the back of my head,
winding in my hair. He kissed me like he’d been dying to do it,
like he’d gone days without water and now I was the only thing that
could quench his thirst. I felt exactly the same way.

My hands up in his
hair, down along his powerful shoulders, I kissed him back like I’d never kissed a man in my life. Moaning, sighing, climbing onto
him, shamelessly needing more, I clung to him. I’d never felt
anything so good as this man, his hands up my back, his mouth
devouring me, my lips, my neck.

“Oh!” I cried out
as he licked my throat. My hands pressed flat against his broad,
powerful chest, I felt a deep, satisfied growl from deep inside him.
I couldn’t stand it. I had to feel his skin. Fumbling, I tugged at
the zipper on his jacket. I’d never been more impatient with
anything in my life. Reluctantly, we pulled farther apart so we could
better fight with each other’s coats.

“What the hell is
this parka?” he asked as he tore down the zipper and practically
ripped it off of me.

“I don’t know,” I
panted, finally getting his coat open so I could sink my mouth down
at the top of his Henley shirt. Oh, he felt even better than I’d
imagined, his skin so warm and he smelled so good. I licked him and
kissed him right at the edge of his clothing, my fingers balling his
shirt in my fist along his chest.

He brought his large
hands up again to the small of my back and now I could really feel
him, the heat from his skin, the strong, sure way he held me. I
moaned again and moved against him, wanting more contact, wanting my
hips right up against his, my legs spread on either side of his
powerful thighs. He brought his hands up underneath my shirt and I
just about passed out it felt so fucking good. His hands were rough
and calloused, the hands of a man who worked with them all day.

And man he was right—he
was good with his hands. The way he stroked me, caressed me,
worshipping my curves, circling my waist as I moved against him. I
could feel the length of him through his jeans, so hard and
impossibly long and huge it made me moan with need. I’d never been
with anyone so big.

“Fuck,” he growled,
pulling at some buttons at the back of my blouse. It was a silk one,
light and delicate, and it fastened with several buttons up at the
top. I’d never had a problem with them before. Cool, calm and
collected, I’d always been able to simply unfasten them when the
occasion arose to take off my top. Now I felt so pissed I had to take
my hands off of him for even a second to get those damn buttons
undone. But my need to feel his hands and mouth on my skin won out
and I did quick work at the back of my neck. I might have popped one
or two of those buttons right off. It didn’t matter, what mattered
was getting my shirt off as soon as humanly possible.

The second that last
button came undone, he pulled it up and over my head. I sank down
into him again, his large hands up and around my breasts.

“Uh!” I cried out
at the feel of him gripping me, possessing me. He made none of the
sexy small talk I was used to from L.A. guys, the compliments on my
figure, the exclamations of surprise and pleasure that my breasts
were real. One guy I’d dated had wanted to know about the designer
of my bra and we’d had a nice little talk about the quality of the
detail in La Perla lingerie.

Heath? He didn’t so
much admire the pattern of lace on my sheer demi cup. He dove in, his
mouth right between my breasts, working his way up and over, licking,
kissing, groaning as his hands claimed and stroked.

Moaning, I arched my
back, wanting him to have full access, needing him to devour me whole
it felt so fucking good. The hot trail he left across my skin, the
way he sucked me, he made me so wet I knew if he reached his hand
down he’d find my panties soaking. I really hoped he reached his
hand down. I ground my sex against his rock solid shaft, my eyes
fluttering closed.