Authors: Patrice Michelle
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Romance, #Contemporary, #Western, #Westerns, #Bad In Boots
Harm's Hunger (13 page)
Ty unscrewed the cap and nodded, giving him an indulgent smile. He took a long swig and enjoyed the brief relief the cool beverage provided from the fall Texas heat. Letting out a sigh of satisfaction, he twisted the lid back on. “It’s a rental, but it’s my car while I’m visiting.”
The sound of squealing tires screeched through the open door, and the boy smirked. “Looks like it’s someone else’s car now.”
Ty jerked his gaze to the parking lot in time to see the taillights of his rented sports car shoot into traffic. His heart raced and anger quickly slammed to the surface. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
The boy shrugged as he put his candy bar on the counter. “Hey, I just saw him get into the convertible. I didn’t know if the guy was with you or not.”
Ty mentally counted to ten while he jangled his keys in front of the kid. “Seeing him hotwire my car didn’t clue you in?”
The teenager handed his money to the young female cashier, who was listening to their conversation with avid interest. Peeling away the wrapper, he took a bite out of his candy bar. The strong smell of peanuts and chocolate drifted Ty’s way as the boy spoke, “Maybe you shouldn’t have left your top down.”
* * *
Ty drove along the tree-lined dirt road that led to his Great-Aunt Sally’s Double D ranch. Gravel crunched under his tires as he rolled to a halt in the driveway in front of the small one-story house. He climbed out of the cramped, two-seater sports car and grimaced, pressing his palm against his stiff spine.
That’ll teach me to ask for the first available convertible
. Pulling his cell from his pocket, he leaned on the car’s hood and dialed Jena’s number.
“It’s about time, Ty!”
“Heya, Sis. I’m at the Double D. Thanks for sending the key.”
“Where have you been? I tried your cell, but you must’ve left it turned off. I expected you to come by Steele Way and have lunch with us hours ago. We've held off the wedding for a couple of months now while you finished your project…and you take your sweet time getting here? I want you to see Harm’s ranch and spend some time getting to know my fiancé.”
“That ‘project’ was a eight-million-dollar, state-of-the-art building, Jena. It raised Hudson & Shannon’s reputation in the architectural community several notches.” Ty rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the weight of the three-hour police interview and annoying paperwork with the car rental agency starting to take its toll. “I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early. Let’s just say I’ve had a hell of a day. I want to hit the hay early tonight.”
“Is everything all right?”
He ran a hand through his hair and down the five o’clock shadow on his jaw, chuckling. “Yeah. Apparently the Hudsons don’t have the best of luck with rental cars.”
“Oh no! Did your car die on you, too?”
“Worse. It was stolen.”
“You’re kidding me!”
Ty gave a tired sigh. “I wish I were.”
“I’m so sorry. Do you need us to come get you?”
“No, I’ve got another car, but I’ll see you tomorrow as promised.”
“Okay. Get some rest.”
Ty put his phone away and opened the car door to pull out his suitcase. The empty backseat was a jarring reminder his suitcase was still in the stolen car, including his custom made suit. “I hope he’s too short for my clothes,” he grumbled as he headed for the front door.
As soon as he walked inside, Ty noticed two things—Jena kept her promise to have the place ready for him, and he couldn’t get enough of the smell permeating the room. Cinnamon and apples.
Glancing to the left of the entryway to the kitchen, he grinned when he saw a pie sitting on the stove. His sister knew how much he loved apple pie. The kitchen flowed right into the living room, where he and Jena had spent many hours playing card games with their great-aunt and toasting marshmallows in the stone fireplace. A big picture window took up the wall straight ahead of him. The door farthest away opened to the only bedroom. The door next to it led to a two-way bathroom that served as the bedroom and guest bathroom.
When his attention circled back to the small, efficient kitchen, with its wooden table and four mission-style chairs, he smiled in memory of his and Jena’s past summer visits with their great-aunt. He didn’t even mind that he spent his nights sleeping on a foldout cot so Jena could have the sofa bed.
You’d better wash those hands and freshen up before you dare to sit at my table
. His aunt’s stern, but loving voice entered his head as if it were yesterday and not twenty years since he’d last seen her.
“I miss your spunky self, Aunt Sal,” he murmured, regretting he didn’t get a chance to see her before she passed away.
Ty started toward the bathroom, and as he walked past the end table next to the couch, he noticed the paring knife and plate his sister had forgotten to take back to the kitchen. Shaking his head, he chuckled. Some things never changed. Growing up, Jena had always forgotten to put her dishes away.
As soon as he put his hand on the bathroom’s doorknob, the door jerked open. A tall woman, wearing nothing but a fluffy white towel, walked out of the bathroom.
“Aaaaahh!” She took a step back, her mouth a tiny “O” of shock.
Ty raised his hands. “Hey, I—”
Before he had a chance to finish, she ripped off the towel, then threw the cloth over his head, blocking his view.
Heart racing from the unexpected scenario, Ty reached to grab the towel from his face. A jolting blow to the back of his knees caused his legs to buckle. Another hit behind his ankles sent his feet flying. As he landed flat on his back, air whooshed out of his lungs.
What the hell
? Still reeling, he heard a loud crash on the floor. Adrenaline thrummed through him as he started to remove the towel, but instead of finding freedom, his wrists, then his ankles were quickly bound with something thin yet strong.
When the towel flew off his face, Ty rolled over ceramic shards on the wood floor as he struggled against what appeared to be an electrical cord binding.
The woman leaned over him. One hand clutched the towel to her breasts and the other held a paring knife pointed at his throat. “Move another inch and you’ll find out the hard way I’m not afraid to stick you like the trussed-up pig you are.” Straightening, she backed away, her movements slow and cautious.
Water dripped from her hair onto the delicate slope of her shoulders, disappearing in the valley between her breasts. Now that she’d stopped moving, he realized her hair was a light color. Strawberry-blonde maybe?
Obviously he’d scared the shit out of her. Despite the misunderstanding, Ty was impressed by her quick reflexes and instinctive defensive responses.
He met her angry gaze and stared. She had the most unusual, mesmerizing eyes, robin’s-egg blue, flecked with shades of gold and brown. “I believe you’re trespassing,” he said in a calm voice.
“
I’m
trespassing.” She frowned. “You’re the one who’s trespassing. I was invited.”
Ty raised an eyebrow. “So was I.”
Her delicate golden brows drew together. “By whom?”
“By my sister. She owns this place.”
“Jena’s your sister?”
Ty smiled at the squeak in her voice. The pink tinge that colored her cheeks was so sincere.
He nodded. “I’m Ty Hudson.”
"Oh, my God! I'm so sorry." Setting the knife on the plate on the end table, she turned her back to wrap the towel around herself.
Ty grinned at the brief glimpse he got of her perfect ass.
Turning back, she kneeled next to him. As she untied the electrical cord from around his ankles, she said, “Harm invited me to stay here.”
Anger sliced through him. “Harm?” It had only been two months since Harm asked Jena to marry him. The man better not have a woman on the side or he would have to kill the bastard!
His expression must’ve reflected his thoughts, because she quickly explained, “Harm had problems with one of Sally’s horses. With the wedding days away and his attention otherwise occupied, I volunteered to stay here to keep an eye on the mare and make sure she’s healing fine.”
As she leaned over him to undo the knot at his wrists, water dripped onto his dress shirt. Not that he cared. He was too busy enjoying the scent teasing his nostrils—cinnamon and vanilla. Damn, she smelled good. And here he thought cinnamon and apples smelled like heaven.
Her
scent had just blown that theory to smithereens. He inhaled once, twice, three times, drinking in her intoxicating aroma.
She looked at him, concern in her gaze. “Are you okay? Did I tie you too tight?”
When the last of the cord slid off him, she started to pull away. Ty grabbed her wrist. Grinning, he lowered his voice. “You’re welcome to tie me up anytime you want.”
Color bloomed on her cheeks once more, making him realize he hadn’t seen such a genuine reaction in a woman in a very long time. His suspicions kicked in. Full force. She had to be around twenty-five or so. No way she was
that
innocent.
Without responding, she used his hold on her wrist to help pull him to his feet.
Once they stood facing one another, Ty’s grip loosened, yet he still didn’t want to release her. Despite the warning bells clanging in his head, he felt a sudden urge to learn everything about her. “You never told me your name.”
Evan’s heart raced and electricity hummed when he slid his fingers slowly down her wrist, then traced his thumb along her palm.
Concentrating on answering, instead of the intense physical awareness he ignited, helped her regain focus. “I’m Evan Masters.”
“Nice to meet you, Miss. Masters.” Ty lifted her left hand and turned it over, planting a kiss on her open palm.
Whether he meant it or not, his kiss had felt so intimate, her stomach flip-flopped. Evan’s gaze landed on his short, silky dark hair, skimmed the starched blue cotton shirt that stretched across broad shoulders, then moved to his gray dress slacks and Italian leather shoes. The man’s impeccable, expensive clothes were a stark contrast to the worn jeans and casual tank top that awaited her on the bed in the bedroom.
“Um, I hope we can start over. That wasn’t my best first impression.”
His vivid green gaze held a dark, intense look before his eyebrows rose in amusement. “At least I’m now versed in how well you can defend yourself.”
She gave a sheepish smile. “My dad made sure I knew how to take care of myself.”
Ty glanced at the gutted table lamp. Bits of blue ceramic scattered across the floor and the ripped-out electrical cord now lay in an innocent tangle on the floor. “I might’ve gotten knocked off my feet and all tied up, but I think the lamp got the worse of it.”
Evan glanced at the lamp pieces and grimaced. “Looks like I’ll be buying Jena a new lamp.”
When Ty chuckled, she felt inordinately pleased that she had made him smile. For the first time in her life, a man grabbed her rapt attention. Correction…this particular man made her tingle and ache everywhere. And this reaction was triggered by nothing more than a complimentary comment and a blatant sexy gaze.
My God, what would he be like when he really turned on the charm
?
Other works by Patrice Michelle
Bad in Boots series
Harm’s Hunger
Ty’s Temptation
Colt’s Choice
Josh’s Justice
Kendrian Vampires series
A Taste for Passion
A Taste for Revenge
A Taste for Control
Other works by Patrice Michelle writing as P.T. Michelle
Brightest Kind of Darkness series
Ethan (Brightest Kind of Darkness Prequel (Novella 0.5)*
*Written in Ethan’s point-of-view,
Ethan
is best read after Brightest Kind of Darkness
Brightest Kind of Darkness (Book 1)
Lucid (Book 2)
Destiny (Book 3)
Book 4 ~ Coming 2014
To my beta readers, Joey Berube and Magen Chambers, thank you so much for your amazing support of my work and for providing great feedback on HARM’S HUNGER. You’ve helped make it a better story!
Born and raised in the Southeast, author Patrice Michelle gave up her financial calculator for a keyboard and never looked back. Thanks to an open-minded family who taught her that life isn’t as black and white as we’re conditioned to believe, she pens her novels with the belief that various shades of gray are a lot more interesting. She’s a natural with a point-and-shoot camera, likes to fiddle with graphic design, and, to the relief of her family, strums her guitar to an audience of one.
To learn more about Patrice’s fiction, visit her at the following places:
Website
Facebook
www.facebook.com/PTMichelleAuthor
Twitter
https://twitter.com/PT_Michelle
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