Taming Her Beast Read online

  CONTENTS

  Taming Her Beast

  NEWSLETTER

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  Extended Epilogue

  Extended Epilogue

  NEWSLETTER

  A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS

  BRATVA BEAR SHIFTERS

  LAIRDS & LADIES

  RUSSIAN UNDERWORLD

  IRISH WOLF SHIFTERS

  Collaborations

  About the Author

  TAMING HER BEAST

  AN OLDER MAN YOUNGER WOMAN ROMANCE

  _______________________

  A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS, 217

  FLORA FERRARI

  Copyright © 2020 by Flora Ferrari

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The following story contains mature themes, strong language and sexual situations. It is intended for mature readers.

  TAMING HER BEAST

  I’ve been running for a long time, flitting from town to town, always knowing that my past is never far behind.

  Finally, I end up in Stone Harbor, a gorgeous coastal town in Maine, staying with a friend I met online, and her gorgeous Golden Retriever. Jackie and Lava are good to me. They don’t deserve to be saddled with my baggage.

  It’s natural that my first instinct is to run when the car drives up to our isolated house one evening when I’m all alone. But it isn’t my past calling.

  Its Markus McCabe, known all over Stone Harbor as the Navy SEAL with a chip on his shoulder, grumpy as grumpy can be. He’s handsome as handsome can be, too. Seven feet tall with silver-black hair, with eyes that could melt an igloo, this intense alpha has me feeling all kinds of obsessed.

  I tell myself that a forty year old ex-military man like him would never be interested in me, a twenty-one year old virgin. I was always the awkward curvy girl in school, her head stuck in a book.

  But soon I find out that he’s more than interested. He lays claim to me in the most primal way. He dominates me, he owns me, and it feels so freaking good to sink into his embrace.

  But what happens when my demons finally catch up to me? Even if Markus is a SEAL badass, does he have what it takes to fight off an army? Worse than that, once he finds out the truth, will he even want to fight for me, for us?

  *Taming Her Beast is an insta-everything standalone instalove romance with a HEA, no cheating, and no cliffhanger.

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  CHAPTER ONE

  Markus

  I keep to myself in the gym, setting up the bench and the dumbbells in the corner so I don’t have to wander around mid-workout. I put my headphones on and listen to heavy metal, the music blasting in my ears, drowning out my thoughts and the noise from the rest of the room. It’s a small-town gym, the walls dappled with dampness, the only other patrons seeming to be in their own worlds, too, which suits me just fine.

  I pump the weights and focus on that alone, the heat, the burn in my muscles.

  I grit my teeth and breathe quietly with each rep, feeling the strain in my muscles and the welcome soothing feeling flowing through me, through my biceps and my chest, and then down through my whole body.

  I add more weight, pumping, feeling my busy mind grow quieter with each successive rep.

  Then I stand and start the deadlifts, straight after the bench press, glancing at myself briefly in the mirrors that cover many of the walls. That’s the only downside to this place, all these damn mirrors, tugging my attention away from my workout.

  I look in the mirror and see a six foot ten man, his muscles bulging in his – my – SEALs T-shirt, hair graying at the edges and black in the middle. I catch my own eye and wonder if I always look this haunted, this eerie look in my expression, as though I’ve seen more than most men can imagine.

  Well, that’s fitting.

  I have.

  I turn away and keep on with my workout, the sweat pouring now, my clothes sticking to my muscles, outlining them in the drenched fabric.

  Finally, after an hour of nonstop body punishment, I finish my workout and clean everything up. I wipe down all the surfaces and put away all the weights, leaving my little corner looking untouched, like I was never there.

  That suits me, too, because I don’t plan on being in the small town of Stone Harbor for long. It’s been a year since I retired from the military and since then I’ve hopped from town to town, never settling, searching…

  For what? a voice mutters in my mind as I make my way across the gym, toward the exit.

  I don’t know how to answer that question, really.

  I never planned what I was going to do when I left the military with a bunch of medals and glory and memories, not to mention a sizable retirement package. Some of my fellow soldiers did, those with families, mostly, with their five and ten year plans.

  But not me.

  I head toward the exit, the world already turning dark in the late afternoon, the Maine winter sending flurries of snow across the darkened glass of the double doors.

  “Hey, wait a sec,” someone calls out behind me.

  I keep walking, assuming they’re talking to somebody else here. I’ve purposefully avoided making friends in any of the towns I’ve briefly stayed in. It’s easier that way, not letting people in, not getting into any entanglements that might stop me from roaming freely.

  “SEAL,” the voice calls out, a woman’s high pitched tone.

  I sigh and turn to find a woman standing there, stick-thin in ultra tight yoga gear. Her hair dyed, and an insane amount of makeup for a gym visit applied to her face it seems to me since surely she’s just going to sweat it all off.

  She comes sidling over, purposefully swishing her hips from side to side, not that there’s much to see there.

  Curves, that’s what a man like me needs, curves to grab onto, to dominate.

  Not that I’ve been with a woman in a very long time.

  “Yes?” I say tersely.

  “Why you in such a rush, hon?” she smiles, giving me a look I don’t much care for.

  It’s a look that says, I could be yours for the taking if you only just asked.

  I just stare at her, not sure what she thinks is going to happen here. I’m aware that most people in this town must think I’m one cold bastard, but I don’t give a damn.

  Let them think it. I won’t be here for long.

  “I just thought you might’ve forgotten your coat,” she says a moment later, eyeing my bare arms. “It’s pretty cold out there, hon.”

  I really wish she’d stop calling me hon, but I
’m not about to throw a temper tantrum about it.

  “I don’t mind the cold,” I tell her gruffly.

  “Oh, I see,” she says with what I guess is supposed to be a seductive look. “You’re a man who knows how to keep warm in other ways, then? You know, I might be able to help with that.”

  She makes to step forward and place her hand on my chest. I slide back, just out of reach.

  “I’m fine,” I mutter. “Is there anything else?”

  She flinches, as though I just slapped her. It seems like she’s not used to being refused. I don’t care, though, because I’m not interested in her—or any woman.

  Or anybody, for that matter.

  Since leaving the military, I’ve found my own company sufficient enough, the steady routine of waking up, working out, reading, working out some more, and then collapsing exhausted into bed only to do it all again the next day.

  “You’re drifting,” Uncle Johnny told me on Skype a few days ago. “I don’t like to see that, Markus, not from a man who usually has so much purpose. It’s not good for a wolf not to have a goal.”

  “I’m not a wolf,” I’d said. “I’m a sheepdog.”

  That was what we called ourselves in the SEALs, the sheepdogs who kept the wolves of this world at bay, protecting the sheep.

  “You’re not a SEAL anymore, son,” he said.

  “I’ll never stop being a SEAL.”

  “I know.” He’d sighed, running a hand over his bald head. Johnny is still fit for a man of sixty-five years, and he looked it sitting there in his tight shirt, leaning over toward the camera. “I didn’t mean that. But goddamn it, when are you going to settle down and find a woman?”

  “I know you got married when you were still in the Army,” I said. “But family life isn’t for everybody.”

  I looked at the man who’d raised me after my dad left and then my mom ran out, abandoning her kid to her big brother, disappearing into the ether.

  I later found out what happened to both of them, and it stills stings to think about.

  “I know you only want the best for me,” I’d told him, “but I’m fine, really.”

  He knew better than to push it after that.

  The same can’t be said for the woman in the yoga gear, however.

  She flinches for a moment but then quickly plasters a wide smile on her face, smearing it from cheek to cheek.

  “Well aren’t you just a big grump?” she says. “You know, I might be able to relax you—”

  “I doubt it,” I cut her off, turning and striding out of the gym.

  I walk across the parking lot, letting the sea breeze whip coldly against my sweat-soaked skin. I approach my Chevy Impala, night-black, perhaps the closest thing I’ve got to a companion these days. I’ve got brothers in the SEALs – I always will – but I rarely have cause to speak to them anymore.

  They live in a different world to me.

  I bring the engine to life and start guiding the car through the lancing snowfall, along the harbor where the wind whips with a vengeance. The drive takes me away from the sea and through a short stretch of peaceful pine forest, the trees swaying as though trying to catch the snowflakes.

  No part of me wants to go back to the gym and take that woman up on her way-too-forward offer. The truth is it sickens me. The truth is I’m an old fashioned bastard, maybe, and the idea of shacking up with a woman just for the hell of it does nothing to stir me, to awaken me.

  It does nothing, full-stop.

  Then find a woman who means something to you, a voice whispers inside of me. Settle down. Start a family. Forty-one this year. You’re not getting any younger.

  I laugh grimly at the thought.

  The only way I could even consider that is if a woman came into my life who punched me directly in the soul, who I couldn’t ignore, who I couldn’t even think about ignoring.

  I slam on the brakes when the dog darts from the shadowy forest.

  The road is icy, but my wheels are up to the task and I’ve got experience driving in worse conditions than this.

  I bring the car to a shaky stop, taming the beast and quickly shifting down a gear, not panicking like other men might. I don’t mess with the handbrake, knowing that that’d only cause me to jackknife on the ice-slick road.

  I guide the car to the edge of the road, out of the flow of possible traffic, and climb out.

  The dog – a Golden Retriever, dirt smeared all over its golden coat – has stopped a few feet away from the car, whimpering quietly with its head tilted.

  I climb out of the car, muttering a curse.

  “Where’s your owner, little guy?” I call, inching closer, talking in my most soothing tone with my hand extended in a show of peace. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. Come here, boy. It’s okay.”

  I kneel down, not caring when the snow casts a cold haze over my bare knee. I remember kneeling on the sun scorched sand in countless gunfights, ears ringing with the immediacy of what we were doing.

  I turn away from the memory and focus on the dog instead.

  It stands up slowly – he’s definitely a boy, I see – and tilts his head at me. Another gut-punching whimper comes from the back of its throat.

  I see that he’s wearing a collar and a tag, and already I’m thinking about exchanging a few choice words with the owner for letting such a beautiful beast out in the cold like this.

  “That’s it,” I murmur, as he ducks his head and begins to inch shyly toward me. “There’s no need to be afraid. I’ve got you. Good boy.”

  Finally, he stops close enough for me to pet him. I stroke him over the head, behind his ears, muttering without really hearing the words. I’m just trying to calm the poor little guy down.

  “Let’s get you warm, eh?” I say, feeling a tiny nugget of warmth in my chest when I see his tail begin to wag.

  I’ll get him in the car and then read his tag, I decide, though I don’t relish the idea of getting involved with the townsfolk any more than I absolutely have to.

  But what the fuck am I going to do, leave the poor dog out here all by himself?

  That just isn’t in my nature.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Millie

  I return from my shift at the diner ready to collapse into a heap as soon as I step through the door.

  I park inside Jackie’s garage—my garage, I remind myself, since my friend has insisted I start thinking of her house as my own despite me only living here for five months.

  I sit in the car for a few moments, breathing steadily, telling myself that he can’t get me here, not now.

  “You saved my life,” I told Jackie a few nights ago, after a glass or two of wine. We were celebrating my twenty-first birthday with me being able to drink legally, sitting by the fire with Lava curled up at our feet.

  Jackie is a few years older than me at twenty-five. We met on a cooking forum and became close, chatting online. When I finally told her about all the craziness that was going on in my life on the west coast, she insisted that I come stay with her.

  It seemed crazy at first.

  Move to the other side of the country to live with a woman I barely knew?

  But the second we met we both knew that our online friendship would translate beautifully to real life.

  She has a big gorgeous house sitting at the edge of the forest, and since her divorce was finalized she was looking for a lodger anyway.

  “You saved mine,” she’d joked. “It’s spooky living here all by myself.”

  I have to agree with her as I climb from my car and head toward the door to the house. Jackie’s out for the evening – another date – so I’ve got the place to myself. The central heating is timed to come on when I arrive, so it’s nice and toasty when I step through the door.

  At least it should be.

  But as I walk deeper into the house, I feel a chill blow through the house.

  “What the heck?” I murmur to myself, staring at the back door, creaking as it s
wings in the air, wide open.

  Lava.

  I feel my belly lurch when it hits me.

  Nobody enters this house without receiving a barrage of kisses and wagging-tail attention from Jackie’s three year old Golden Retriever, the most loving dog in the world. I run around the house, calling his name, checking all of his usual spots.

  In front of the fire, in the basement next to the laundry basket, at the foot of Jackie’s bed, at the foot of my bed.

  I come up empty, and quickly run back downstairs and out the back door, praying that the gate isn’t open like the door is.

  But the gate is swinging in the wind, too, whining metallically.

  No, no, no.

  I was the last one to leave this morning, starting my shift at ten o’clock whereas Jackie gets into her accountancy job at half-past eight. I search my mind for any sign that I left the back door and the gate open, but I’m sure I didn’t.

  Why the heck would I?

  I went from the breakfast table to the garage and then drove into town for work. I had no reason to come into the back yard. Jackie’s the only one who comes out here, especially in this biting cold, because she’s a smoker and prefers to do it away from the house.

  Is it possible she left it open and I left without noticing it?

  Possible, but unlikely, I decide.

  She’s very protective of Lava. We both are.

  I take out my cellphone, walking back into the house, ready to call Jackie, and hear how she finished work early and took Lava on a walk through the woods. She does that sometimes, despite the brutality of the Maine winter, wrapping Lava in his winter coat and roaming for miles before returning home. It helps her think.

  I bite my nails as I call, a habit I’m constantly telling myself I’m going to quit. My nails show how successful that endeavor has been. The only one I haven’t gnawed down to a stub is my thumb, and I get to work on that now, heart thudding in my chest as the phone rings over and over.

  “Hey, this is Jackie. If I like you, leave a message. If I don’t, then why the heck are you calling me, huh?”

  “Jackie, it’s me,” I say. “Please tell me you’ve got Lava with you right now. I’ll try your office.”