Untamed: (Heath & Violet) (Beg For It) (11 page)

Oh, was Heath the mayor
now? I pulled myself up to my full height. Even in heels I only came
up to Heath’s shoulder, but that didn’t matter. I didn’t like
bullies.

“Some people want us
to do a show here,” I informed him.

“Is that right?” He
took a step closer to me, the ferocious set to his jaw making my
heart flutter. In the wrong way.

“That’s right.” I
set my own jaw, refusing to take a step back. Even though he now
stood close enough I could almost reach out and touch him. And I sure
remembered touching him, the rough feel of his cheek, the warm caress
of his lips.

“Look at the time!”
the mayor cried out slightly frantically. “I need to get you two to
the next stop on your tour!”

If a man could growl
like a grizzly bear, Heath would have done it. His whole, huge body
stood tense and ready for a fight, his big paw of a hand clenched
into a fist by his side. All man.

Sam hooked his arm into
mine and pulled me toward the door. Good thing, otherwise some
strange and powerful force would have kept me glued to the spot.

Leaning into me, Sam
murmured, “He’s a storyline!”

Sam had no idea how
right he was.

Heath

Of all the gin joints
in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.

All right, it wasn’t
Casablanca and Violet and I weren’t exactly war-torn lovers
reunited. We’d made out in my truck. Not exactly Bogie and Bacall
caliber romance.

But when Violet had
first walked in, I had no idea what the hell she was doing in my
store. And, OK, it wasn’t exactly my store. It was a jointly owned
collaborative, so Vermont.

Funny thing was,
Harriet had just been talking to me about visitors we were going to
have that afternoon. A couple of TV network executives were going to
swing by as they toured our town as a possible location for a reality
show.

It might be the worst
idea I’d ever heard. A muck-slinging, scandal-hounding reality show
filmed here in our small town? It would pry the lid right off of the
private, secluded life I’d built for myself, all while ruining
everything about the town I loved. I’d seen what money could do to
people, and fame worked the same way. The two went hand in hand.
People got a taste, it went to their heads and before you knew it
they started flying around with undocumented monkeys. Shout out to
the Biebs.

It had to be proof of
how poorly my brain worked around Violet that even when I’d had the
intro, all the background details about who and why and what for,
once she walked into my store I forgot it all. She didn’t see me. I
was in back, lurking where I liked it behind the scenes. She roamed
around admiring and enjoying, and then wouldn’t you know she sat
right down in my rocking chair.

Apparently I’d built
it for her. She looked perfect in it, so delightfully content. With a
smile playing softly on her lips and her eyes closed, her hands
roamed the wooden arms the way she’d roamed mine the night before
last. I’d gotten a nice long look in before Harriett had announced
me.

Then things had tumbled
downhill fast, with the dots connecting and me realizing that she of
the luscious curves and delicious sighs was none other than a reality
show slimeball here scoping out Watson as a possible shooting
location. I knew it. Or I should have known it. Part of me—the
better part of me—had recognized her straight away for what she
was, exactly the type you couldn’t trust. It was the other part of
me that had grabbed her like a Neanderthal.

“Wait, don’t leave
so soon!” Harriet called after them. Violet was heading out the
door with the man who’d tried to give me his card so he could set
me up with head shots. I’d rather take a shot to the head.

“Can we interest you
in seeing some of the artist’s workspaces? We have a lot to offer
here that I think your viewers would like.” Aw man, so Harriet
wanted them to film here. She’d sounded neutral when she’d told
me about the visit, but clearly that had been her way of trying to
ease me into it. She had no idea what she was wishing for. She’d
only had limited exposure to the kinds of people who would descend
like a plague of locusts upon the small, naïve town of Watson.

“That’s a great
idea, Harriet!” Marty the mayor chimed in. Of course he was in on
the deal. I’d never liked that guy. I’d bet my truck he had his
eye on a state senate seat. He’d set up shop in DC and never look
back. “How about Benny?” he asked Harriett. “Could he give them
a tour tomorrow?”

Benny was our resident
glass blower. He also operated a ski lift over at Mad Mountain. But
anyone truly plugged into the town’s goings-on knew his father had
taken a turn for the worse and Benny had gone to visit.

“Out of town.”
Harriet shook her head. “But you liked that rocking chair, didn’t
you? Heath, maybe you can show them your workshop? Are you free
tomorrow afternoon?”

I scowled at the
suggestion. Of course I was free, but I wasn’t going to play along
and be a selling point. Though, come to think of it, if they came out
to my workshop I could be an active deterrent. I could warn them off,
describe all the reasons they shouldn’t film here, tell them about
all the townspeople who’d fight them. Hell, I’d make up a haunted
graveyard if it would get them out of here.

“Wait, I think
tomorrow afternoon I have them at Applewood,” Marty remembered.

Damn it, they’d like
Applewood. The cidery had taken its time creating a cool tasting room
with a 1940s throwback vibe and, most importantly, they made kick-ass
hard ciders. I remembered Violet had ordered one the night she’d
come into the bar. She looked like she hadn’t tasted anything that
good in years. She probably hadn’t. She probably lived on a diet of
green tea and kelp, the L.A. way. Not that she looked too skinny or
scrawny. She looked just right, with perfect curves and enough ass a
man could sink his fingers right in.

“How about that?”
Whoops, Harriet had asked me something.

“What was that?”
I’d been too busy thinking about Violet’s ass to catch the
question.

“Tomorrow afternoon,
a tour of your workshop?”

“I thought they were
going to Applewood?”

“We can split them
up. Sam can go there. Violet can come by your place.”

Sure, she could come.
Maybe twice. I wondered if her mind was heading in the same
direction. A flush stole across her cheeks, and she refused to meet
my eyes. Yup, seemed like the same thoughts were distracting her as
well.

“You should see some
of Heath’s other pieces,” Marty chimed in. “People from all
over are buying his work.”

I grit my teeth. Was I
the only one who saw what a disaster it would be to film a reality
show in Watson? I needed to step up and stop this madness.

“Sure, why don’t
you come by around two?”

“Great!” Harriet
exclaimed.

“Perfect!” Marty
agreed.

Violet squinted at me,
unsure.

“I won’t bite.” I
grinned at her.

This could be fun,
scaring her off. She’d come by my workshop tomorrow, and I’d make
sure to send her running for the hills.

§

I didn’t hear her
come in. I was deep in my work, somehow managing to forget even the
prospect of a damn reality show, the lowest form of human
entertainment, filmed right here in Watson. By the time I looked up,
Violet was standing there watching me.

She’d already gotten
herself comfortable. No parka on, she stood there in a sweater that
looked way too thin and soft for Vermont. In this state, sweaters
functioned as a barrier between skin and the elements. Violet’s
sweater draped and decorated, enhancing her figure, caressing her
swells and curves, tapering in at her narrow waist.

I cleared my throat and
put down my smelting torch. Flipping up the lid on my helmet, I
glared at her.

“Why don’t you make
yourself at home?” Sarcastic and gruff, I launched my campaign: Say
No to the Show!

Her eyes widened in
indignation. “You invited me. So here I am.”

“I didn’t invite
you. They invited you.”

“I think your exact
words were, ‘I won’t bite.’”

“And you believed
me?” I moved a step closer. She took a step back, her defiance
faltering a bit. I’d like to bite her. But I had business to attend
to. Maybe afterward, though.

“You know filming a
show here would be a disaster.” I got right to the point.

“No, I do not know
that.” Her eyes flashed with defiance, such a deep blue they almost
veered into purple. Violet eyes. But that wasn’t the point.

“This is a small,
simple town. People like it that way.” I took off my helmet and
removed my gloves. If I had boxing gloves, I’d put them on instead.
They’d help me win a fight. And keep me from reaching a hand out to
entwine it in her hair, shiny and smooth, and I knew it would be
silky like it had felt Saturday night. I still hadn’t figured out
exactly what smelled so good, her hair, her skin. Maybe it was just
her. Standing there, a few feet away, I could catch a whisper of her
scent.

“Maybe you like it
that way,” Violet protested. “But others are interested. The kind
of show we’d do would put this town on the map.”

“The best thing about
the town is it’s off the map. Why would you want to put it on the
map?”

“Why are you so
difficult?”

“I’m the difficult
one?” She was the one causing trouble, barging into my workshop in
impractical heels and form-fitting jeans. I bet her ass looked
amazing in them. I had half a mind to haul her right up over the
workbench and give her a spanking. First I’d start over the jeans,
my hand coming down hard on her fully clothed bottom. She’d be
startled, of course. But I bet she’d get turned on quick, fast
enough she’d want it when I pushed down her jeans and found her
bare ass with the palm of my hand.

I turned around, facing
away from her for a moment. I needed to think, and not those kinds of
thoughts. She was the enemy. If telling her to leave wasn’t
working, I had to try a new tactic.

“What kind of a show
do you think you could film up here?” I asked, heading over to a
half-completed project. There were a few tools I’d left strewn
around. I could focus on straightening them up while I talked. That
would be safer than standing around looking right at her.

“I’m not sure, but
there’s a lot of appeal to small town USA. We could focus on some
of the local businesses. And the people.”

“Didn’t you say you
work for the Fame! Network?”

“Yes.”

“Then why aren’t
you doing shows about famous people?” They’d love my rockstar
brother, Ash. I bet her network had played a role in hounding him.
Paparazzi leapt out of bushes and rappelled down the sides of
buildings to catch his private moments. Scum of the earth.

“The network wants
something new.”

“Do you know how
boring Watson is?” I turned to face her, folding my arms across my
chest. I wore an old short-sleeved T-shirt, and I saw her gaze flit
over to my biceps. She liked what she saw. Problem was, so did I when
I looked at her.

“You know what big
news is in the town of Watson?” I tried again. Eyes up here, I
wanted to tell her. It didn’t help to see her pink tongue dart out
and lick her bottom lip. “Big news is a blizzard that keeps
everyone indoors.”

“People like
dangerous weather,” she insisted. “
Deadliest
Catch
,
Ice Road
Truckers
.”

“What are those?
Shows?”

“You’ve never seen
them?”

I shook my head no.
“Youth hockey. That’s a big deal here. Everyone watches the
games. That’s boring TV.”

“
Friday
Night Lights
. People love small town sports.”

She wasn’t listening
to reason. I ran a hand through my hair. She followed my movement
like she wanted to run her hand through my hair. Fuck, this was hard.
You know what else was hard?

I needed her out of my
workshop before I did something stupid. “You can’t film a reality
show here.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a terrible
idea.”

“You think it’s a
terrible idea. But that doesn’t mean it’s a terrible idea.”

“Why would you pick
Watson?” I tried.

“I don’t know
exactly, I didn’t do the branding.”

“Branding?”

“Brand research.
Identifying a location that would promote the targeted attributes and
assets.”

Targeted attributes and
assets. What the fuck was she talking about? She had some great
attributes and assets, though. And in the course of our talking she’d
taken a step or two closer, as if she felt it, too, the irresistible
pull. It got stronger the more we tried to push each other away.

She was close enough
now I could reach out and wrap a hand around her waist. Her lips
parted again as she looked up at me, and I could see her breathing
quicken. I balled my fingers into fists so I wouldn’t grab her.

“What are you talking
about, Violet?” My voice had grown husky and quiet. Less combative
now, I asked, “Are you listening to yourself talk?”

She looked up at me and
confessed softly, “I don’t want to talk.”

I grabbed her before I
could think about it, before my brain could stop me from doing it. My
mouth found hers in an instant and she kissed me back, passionately,
hungrily, her hands running up my biceps and along my chest as if
she’d been dying to touch me. Groaning, I sank into her, tipping
her head back, licking her neck, cupping her incredible ass and
pressing her against me.

She wrapped her legs
around my thighs as I lifted her up and she clung to me, panting as
she clawed at my shirt and kissed my throat. I carried her, still
kissing her the whole way, and rested her down on my lathing table.
She lay back on it. The sight of her there, eyes glazed, lips
glistening from my kisses, her hair spread out along the wood. I’d
made some fine art over the years, but nothing near as beautiful as
her.