Wild for Him (2 page)

On this particular day, they’d all gone swimming. The waves were strong enough to wreak havoc on bikinis. Helena and Gwen had been laughing about almost losing their tops. Even Mitch had smiled at this, proving he was a flesh-and-blood man. The next instant, Gwen got stung by a jellyfish. She wasn’t a wimp about pain—she was a tattoo artist, after all—but it burned like hell. She’d hobbled back to her towel with Helena, whimpering.

“I’ll help you,” Mitch had said.

“Are you going to pee on me?”

He frowned in disapproval. “No, I’m going to carry you to the lifeguard station.”

Although Gwen was a curvy woman and no lightweight, Mitch had lifted her easily. He’d delivered her to the lifeguard station without breaking a sweat. It was awkward, but sweet. She’d appreciated the gesture.

Bolstered by the pleasant memory, she rose to her feet and tucked the phone into her pocket. Then she squared her shoulders and walked towards the stadium, rolling up her sleeves. Ready to work.

CHAPTER TWO

M
ITCH STARTED DRIVING
as soon as he heard.

He watched the news in the office for a couple of minutes, gathering information. Major earthquake, 8.5 on the Richter scale. Widespread destruction. Huge chemical spill and massive fires at the coast. That was all he needed to know.

His boss had granted him permission to leave, but Mitch would’ve gone regardless. He got behind the wheel and drove for eighteen hours straight.

The only person from San Diego he’d been able to communicate with was Gwen Tagaloa, Helena’s best friend. He’d tried to call and text Helena repeatedly, to no avail. He’d spoken to Helena’s mother, who lived in Oregon, around noon. Helena had texted her mom with the news that she was okay. Although Mitch was glad to hear it, his tension wouldn’t ease until he saw her in person. He knew how dedicated she was to her job as an elephant keeper. She’d risk her life to protect those animals.

He’d spent most of the drive with his hands clenched around the wheel in a tight grip.

He shouldn’t have left her.

It was obvious now. He’d made a mistake in coming to Denver. He’d been brought so low by the long months of unemployment, the seemingly endless stretch of feeling like a failure. He’d jumped at the chance for a new start, even if that meant testing the bonds of their already-strained relationship.

He wasn’t sure what else he could’ve done. They hadn’t been happy together before he left San Diego, either. Since he’d been gone, she’d become increasingly distant. He’d been working around the clock to impress his new boss. Their phone conversations had been stilted. He could feel her slipping away.

“Fuck,” he muttered, slamming his palm against the steering wheel. He’d been with Helena for six years. She was the only woman he’d ever lived with, the only one he’d ever loved. He didn’t want to lose her.

He didn’t like losing.

He reached the outskirts of the city in the wee hours of the morning. There was a roadblock with National Guard troops denying access to vehicles. He turned around and tried another route, but he couldn’t get through anywhere. The troops were letting in emergency service personnel only.

Luckily, Mitch was familiar with the area. He parked at Mission Trails Park, home to his favorite jogging path. He had a pair of worn-out tennis shoes in his workout bag in the trunk. Putting them on, he locked up and took off running.

He ran eight miles straight. When he arrived at the football stadium, he was winded, muscles burning, soaked in sweat. He’d sent a text to Gwen earlier. He took his phone out of his pocket to check for her response.

I’m at station 12

The stadium was packed with people of all ages and ethnicities. Dirty-faced children and stark-eyed adults. Families huddled together, praying for lost souls. Critically injured patients stretched out in bloody rows.

Christ.

Mitch wasn’t a religious man, but this looked like the second coming.

Gwen wasn’t at station 12. He tried to text her again, but his cell phone had lost service. The entire city was a dead zone. After wandering around for a few minutes, he climbed into the stands and searched the chaos from above. He spotted a curvy young woman at station 14 with a sleek black ponytail and tattooed arms.

Gwen Tagaloa always stood out from the crowd.

She was beautiful in an unusual way, and friendly with everyone. She chatted with strangers and had a face like “ask me anything.”

He didn’t get it.

Helena and Gwen, though best friends, were polar opposites. Helena was quiet and contained, with a cool reserve that Mitch had always admired. Gwen was more social. She had a confident attitude and a bold, sexy style. Today she was wearing black jeans with a red tank top. The clothes fit her body well, and she had the kind of curves that attracted male attention. He forced his gaze above her shoulders.

She was talking to an older woman on a stretcher, holding her hand. A male nurse or EMT was tending the woman’s wounds. Her expression was tense with pain. Gwen leaned forward and said something to the injured woman that eased the lines in her forehead. Then the EMT finished his work, and Gwen released her hand, smiling.

Mitch climbed down the concrete steps, working his way toward her. Gwen’s eyes brightened with recognition as he approached. She was a hugger, so he steeled himself for the inevitable. As she wrapped her arms around him, her breasts touched his chest and he felt something stir inside him.

Okay, it wasn’t exactly
inside
him. It was outside.

It was his penis.

He’d had a similar reaction to her a year or two ago. She’d gotten stung by a jellyfish at the beach and he’d carried her to the lifeguard station for first aid. Her wet, sandy body had been plastered against his bare chest. She was almost as heavy as Helena, which had surprised him. He’d looked down at her petite form, wondering where she kept the weight. Then he’d readjusted his grip, and her bikini top had shifted, exposing the edge of one brown nipple. He’d gotten an eyeful and almost dropped her.

Mitch pushed that mental image back into the spank bank where it belonged and released her in a hurry, feeling guilty. Gwen was Helena’s best friend. They were in an evacuation center, surrounded by suffering. This was no time for an inappropriate erection.

On the other hand, his body’s natural response to her was sort of life-affirming. He’d struggled to find work last year, and his libido had flagged. He’d hated being on unemployment, doing nothing. One night in the middle of sex with Helena, he’d lost his erection. Just lost it. Worse, Helena had been unable to rouse him.

The experience had been humiliating.

He’d shied away from her for months after that. He’d been afraid to fail again. When he got the job offer in Denver, however, his spirits had risen. So had his dick. He’d rallied good and hard before he left, his manhood revived.

It occurred to Mitch that Helena might have told Gwen about his performance issues. They were best friends, after all. He grimaced at the thought.

“You got here fast,” Gwen said.

“I drove all night.”

“I meant from Mission Trails.”

He wiped his sweaty forehead, self-conscious. “I ran.”

“You must run six minute miles.”

“More like seven or eight.”

She studied him for a moment, as if she couldn’t quite believe he was real. Her gaze wandered over his damp work shirt and khakis, incongruent with his running shoes. Then she glanced away, her chin quivering. “Sorry,” she said in a choked voice. “It’s just really good to see a familiar face.”

Mitch nodded tersely. It was good to see her, too, but he didn’t know how to deal with female tears.

Helena
never
cried. He liked that about her.

He glanced around for a solution, or an escape route. There was a table set up with a chow line about a hundred feet away. Relief workers were ladling out some kind of food into plastic bowls. “Have you eaten?”

She took a deep breath and shook her head. “I haven’t even sat down.”

He could use a break, too. The long drive and hard trail miles had sapped his energy. He’d just turned thirty-five and he felt every year. His calves burned and his knees ached. “Let’s get you taken care of.”

Fresh tears welled in her eyes and he felt a funny little twist in his chest. Ignoring it, he guided her toward the food line, where they accepted bottled water from an aid worker. They were given a choice between raisin oatmeal and scrambled eggs with red pepper. Gwen chose oatmeal. Mitch had eggs. Although he didn’t want to take food that was meant for survivors, there appeared to be plenty.

They sat down in the bleachers and ate. The meal was lukewarm and bland, but filling. He shoveled eggs into his mouth with a quickness. Gwen finished her oatmeal and drank all of her water, uncharacteristically silent.

“Where were you when it hit?” he asked.

“At home, in bed.”

He tried not to picture that. “Good thing you weren’t at the shop.”

“Yes.”

Her tattoo parlor, Native Ink, was closer to the epicenter. So was the wildlife park where Helena worked. “Do you have any family here?”

“Just some cousins in the LA area,” she said. “My parents are both in Hawaii and my brother’s in Seattle.”

Her brother, Manu Tagaloa, played professional football for the Seattle Thunder. Now this was a topic Mitch could get excited about. He loved football, and her brother was an amazing athlete. “He had a great season.”

She smiled with pride. “I think so.”

“He should have been MVP.”

“Maybe next year.”

“I still can’t believe you two are related.”

A crease formed between her brows. “Why not?”

He gestured to her figure. “Because you’re so…”

“What?”

He wasn’t sure which descriptor to use. Pretty, soft, hot… “Small.”

“I’m not small.”

“Compared to him you are.”

She narrowed her eyes as if he’d given her a backhanded compliment. He hadn’t meant any offense. Her brother was a tight end, muscular and broad-shouldered. Mitch was a big man himself at 6’3 and 200 pounds. Helena was tall and strong for a woman. Gwen was medium-sized, he supposed. Her breasts certainly weren’t small.

Damn. He shouldn’t have said anything.

“How about you?” she asked. “Do you have any family here?”

“No. Not in San Diego.”

She gave him an expectant look, waiting for more.

“I’m from Burbank.”

“Your parents are there?”

“My mom is.”

She didn’t ask where his dad was, and Mitch didn’t offer more information. It was kind of a sore subject. “Are you an only child?”

“I am.”

“I didn’t figure you for a volunteer.”

“I’m not volunteering.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

Breaking the rules, that’s what. The stadium was supposed to be off-limits to everyone but emergency service workers and survivors waiting to be transported. “I’m worried about Helena.”

“You said she was okay.”

“I don’t think she’ll evacuate.”

Gwen knew as well as he did how dedicated Helena was to the animals at the park. She wouldn’t leave them by choice. “They’ll make her leave,” Gwen said. “She’s not in charge. If it’s not safe, she’ll have to evacuate.”

Mitch wasn’t convinced. “I’m going to check on her.”

“You’ll get arrested. There’s a barricade.”

“I’ll wait until nightfall.”

She stared at him like he was crazy. “What will you do when you get there, toss her over your shoulder?”

It was a fair question. Helena wouldn’t take kindly to caveman tactics. He could overpower her, but not easily, and she’d never forgive him for it. “I don’t know what I’ll do. Maybe I can stay and help.”

“You’re not a zookeeper. If you want to help, help here.”

Mitch had already made up his mind; he was going. He had a bad feeling about Helena. Not that she was in danger, necessarily, though she might be. What he knew without a doubt was that their
relationship
was in danger, and he had to do something to fix it. He had to take drastic action to win her back.

Failure was not an option.

In the meantime, there were many hours before sundown. “You need help?”

“Of course.”

“I’m not good with people.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, not arguing this point. “Your strong back will more than make up for your lack of warmth.”

She made him sound like a service ox. “Do I have to hold hands with anyone?”

“Not if you can do the heavy lifting, tough guy.”

“Okay,” he said, amiable. “It’s a deal.”

CHAPTER THREE

M
ITCH
S
TONE SURPRISED
her.

Gwen had known him for six years but she’d never really seen past the rock-hard surface. He didn’t make any attempt to be funny or cool, like most guys. He was the strong, silent type to an extreme. He reminded her of a military man, though he worked as a structural engineer. He was rigid and unyielding.

He was also kind of hot.

Although she’d noticed that before, his level of attractiveness hadn’t made much of an impression on her. His broad shoulders and sculpted biceps were pleasant to look at, but he was Helena’s boyfriend, not a sex symbol. He also had a bland personality. She didn’t like him or dislike him. He was just…there.

Mitch treated Helena well enough, and that was all that mattered to Gwen. She didn’t interfere in her friends’ relationships. If Helena wanted to date a brick wall of a man, that was her business. Gwen knew they were having problems, however. Helena hadn’t been happy with Mitch before he left San Diego. Since then, she’d grown even more dissatisfied. Gwen didn’t think they’d last as a couple.

She wasn’t going to tell Mitch that, of course. But she’d sensed the separation, and her feelings toward him had changed.

Suddenly he seemed a lot less boring.

He’d been carrying medical equipment and lifting injured people all day. There was something about a sweaty, hardworking man that pushed her yes-buttons. He was brisk and efficient. Volunteering agreed with him. Although he didn’t have the best bedside manner, he wasn’t rude or unkind. She got the impression that he enjoyed strenuous activity and was glad to offer his assistance. He liked staying busy.