Taming Her Beast Page 2

  I hang up, finding that I’m standing in the living room next to the dead fire, the lights turned down low so that when the car pulls into the driveway, the beams dart across the room and then come to settle on me like twin spotlights.

  I swallow as fear jabs at me, telling myself this isn’t the west coast returning to me. This isn’t that hell. I need to get a grip and stop assuming that every car that pulls up is him, that the terror I ran away from is going to return any moment.

  Then I hear Lava’s barking, a noise I’d be able to pick out of any number of barks. It’s his excited, happy-to-see-you bark, high pitched and happy.

  I run out onto the front porch, cellphone still gripped in my hand like a weapon.

  I still can’t shake the feeling that disaster is coming to Stone Harbor, that the door wasn’t left open by mistake, that the wind didn’t simply blow it open.

  Which has happened before, I remind myself forcibly. Stop living in fear.

  The car comes to a stop on the gravel driveway, it’s jet-black color stark against the swirling white snowfall all around it. The door opens and immediately Lava comes springing out, his golden fur caked in mud as he bounds over to me, tail wagging as though it’s connected to an overcharged motor.

  “Lava,” I sing, leaning down and letting him jump up on me, all excitement, as he licks and wheezes in his pure joy to see me. “Oh, God, I was so worried about you. I’m so glad you’re home.”

  He quickly darts into the house, sniffing around, perhaps to check that nobody has intruded on his territory while he was away.

  I look up at the car. I’m not good with makes and models but it reminds me of the car in Supernatural, sleek, and black with a wide hood.

  The man who steps from the car sets my heart racing all over again as soon as I lay eyes on him.

  He’s tall, almost seven foot if I had to guess, dressed in a T-shirt and gym shorts despite the weather. His black hair tinged with silver and his muscles bulge as though he’s recently worked out, and as he walks over to the porch I see that his jaw is squared and powerful and his eyes a perceptive, glinting green. He walks upright, hands hanging casually – as though ready – at his sides.

  A tingle moves through me as I drink in the sight of this muscular silver fox. I can’t tell how old he is exactly, but I’d guess mid-thirties to early forties, his expression holding a glimmer of sophistication and experience.

  His T-shirt has the words Seal Team emblazoned over his heaving chest, I note when he stops just shy of the porch, looking up at me.

  “Are you Jackie Fitzgerald?” he says. “The dog’s owner?”

  “N-no,” I say, hating the stutter.

  My tongue suddenly feels clumsy, as though it’s too busy wondering how those impressive muscles must taste to form words.

  Get it together. Like he’d ever be interested in you.

  “I’m her roommate,” I say, finally finding some sort of balance.

  “Hmm, okay,” he says, his jaw tight as he stares at me, his voice deep and as gravelly as the driveway. “Well, tell her to keep an eye on her dog. I found him on the forest road. If I was a worse driver, I could’ve hit him.”

  “Thank you,” I say quickly. “For rescuing him, I mean.”

  “Anybody would have done the same, ma’am.”

  “Ma’am?” I can’t help but laugh.

  But he’s having none of it, his lips remaining in that seemingly angry flat line. His eyes flit over me.

  I feel a tingle of electricity for every inch his gaze touches.

  “What would you prefer I call you?” he murmurs a moment later.

  “Um, how about Millie?” I say. “And what should I call you?”

  At first, I don’t think he’s going to tell me. He just keeps staring. But then with a heavy sigh, he says, “Markus. Markus McCabe.”

  “Okay then, Markus McCabe, would you like to come in for some hot cocoa? You know, as a way to say thank you for rescuing Lava?”

  A stunned feeling punches into me when I make the offer. After everything that’s happened, you’d think I wouldn’t be in the habit of inviting people I don’t know into my home … and yet here I am, doing it anyway.

  There’s something in the way he looks at me, something that tells me the last thing this man would do is hurt anybody.

  Unless they deserved it. Then he’d be feral, I bet.

  I try to slow the racing pace of my thoughts.

  I’ve just met this man.

  He could be anything and anyone.

  “Are you in the habit of inviting strange men into your house?” Markus asks a moment later as if reading my thoughts.

  “No,” I say at once. “But you saved Lava. I guess that means you’re one of the good guys, right?”

  He watches me a moment longer. I think I see his lips twitch into a half-smile or a smirk, but then it’s gone and he’s just staring flatly again.

  “You were in the SEALs?” I ask.

  He nods shortly. “For twenty-one years.”

  “Well, do you like cocoa?”

  I’m vaguely aware that I sound like a complete overexcited idiot, but the sight of this tall giant handsome alpha standing right there has got me all kinds of messed up. I’m using my waitress’s voice, artificially high and bouncy, as though that will hide my nerves.

  He glances around at the darkness with a sigh. “You really shouldn’t invite people you don’t know into your house, ma’am,” he says gruffly. “As long as the dog’s safe, I think I’ll be on my way. You have a nice evening now.”

  I swallow a lump of embarrassment – and something else – as he turns and strides toward his car. Just as when he approached the house, he moves with a calm military authority, as though nothing could faze him.

  Jerk, I try to tell myself as he casually waves to me and climbs back into his car.

  But it’s a lie.

  I don’t think he’s a jerk at all.

  I just wish he’d leap out of that car and run up to the house, wrap me up in his arms, and growl into my ear with that gruff-as-hell voice.

  He drives away and then it’s just me and the wind.

  And Lava, who is sitting at the door waiting for me, head tilted as though he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

  “I know, boy,” I mutter, tickling him under the chin. “Never gonna happen.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Markus

  I pace up and down the motel room, which looks like it’s ready for someone else to move right in apart from a sparse few belongings dotted here and there.

  There’s Blood Meridian on the bedside table and my boots sitting neatly beside the door. My bag with all my clothes inside is under the bed. The bathroom has a few of my toiletries but that’s it.

  I could be up and out of here in two minutes flat, and that’s giving myself an extra ninety seconds.

  Leave, then, I try to tell myself, pacing like a caged beast.

  I try to tell myself that she’s not having this effect on me, that it’s impossible a short conversation with her has awoken this crazy sparking something inside of me.

  The sensation is so new I don’t even know how to label it.

  It just is.

  Looking up at her on the porch, standing there in a waitress’s uniform with a heavy jacket over the top, I felt as though the world had stopped spinning because of us. Her beauty hammering me over the head with a primordial fist.

  Take her, some deep part of me rumbled. Far away, a private place, a savage place, take her and kiss every inch of her curvy skin until she’s tingling and shivering and begging for a release, and then take her, take her hard and long, and blow your hot load deep inside her so that it kisses her womb and makes a life there.

  I can’t help but close my eyes and picture her, her body achingly curvaceous despite the heaviness of her winter jacket. I could see the lines of her thighs and then her hips, those fucking childbearing hips, and the shape of her breasts beneath the fabric.


  Her long dark hair, falling down to her shoulders in waves, as though she’d just freed it after a long day at work. Tights clinging to her legs and shoes with a slight heel, shaping those meaty calves, the sort of legs I could spend hours kissing and biting and teasing.

  No, not the sort of legs.

  Those were the legs.

  The only legs.

  “She’s mine,” I whisper now, into the semidarkness of the motel room. “Jesus fucking Christ, she’s mine. If another man touches her…”

  I’m almost glad when my cellphone buzzes, pulling me from my reverie.

  As usual, it’s Uncle Johnny.

  “Yep?” I say, picking up.

  “Hello to you, too, motherfucker,” Johnny laughs.

  I smirk, sitting on the edge of the bed, unable to stop the image of Millie – Millie, what a beautiful name – from rising in my mind … or taking shape in the shadows of the room, or dancing in the moonlight that seeps in through the half-pulled curtains.

  Got to get her out of my head.

  But I can’t.

  “Markus?” Johnny says.

  “Yeah?”

  “I said you moved outta what’s-it-called, Pebble Dock yet?”

  “Stone Harbor,” I murmur. “And no. Why do you ask?”

  He laughs grimly. “Because it’s been about a month. By my count, you’re late.”

  “I might stick around a while,” I mutter.

  “Oh?” Johnny says.

  I hear the way his voice is pitched, not too eager. I guess he thinks I’m wary of talking about anything emotional, or anything that veers close to that territory. And he’s right.

  “Any particular reason?” he goes on.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I’m still looking into it.”

  “Care to be more vague?” he chuckles.

  “How’s Auntie Eva?” I ask, changing the subject.

  He pauses for a moment and I know he wants to press further, but then he sighs, quietly agreeing to let it pass. “Baking like a madwoman,” he says. “I’ve put on ten pounds since spring, I’m telling you. That woman will be the death of me.”

  “Tell her I hope she’s doing well,” I say. “Did you need to talk about anything specific or was this just a social call?”

  “You don’t do social calls,” Johnny banters. “But yeah, it was whatever your version of a social call would be. Take care of yourself, Markus. And aye? If you’ve met a girl down there, try not to scare her off, alright?”

  This is just a usual part of our back and forth, but as I laugh I hear how strangled my voice sounds.

  Millie, Millie, fucking Millie.

  We say our goodbyes and I walk to the window, standing there, peering out at the night and my Chevy Impala.

  I could climb in now and drive away.

  Nobody would stop me.

  There’s nothing tying me to this town.

  NO.

  Something roars inside of me, some deep part of me I’ve never felt before.

  An instinct to make her mine, to make it so no other man gets to explore those luscious curves.

  My eyes refocus and I see my reflection now instead, and just for a second I see her standing there beside me, her head resting on my chest, her belly bulging with our offspring, a gorgeous smile on her lips.

  I turn away.

  This is crazy.

  But that doesn’t make it any less real.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Millie

  “I don’t know what happened,” Jackie says the next morning, as the three of us drive into town for breakfast at the diner.

  The last place I want to spend my Saturday morning is at my workplace, but Jackie has been going there every Saturday morning for almost a decade now, and I try to spend as little time alone in the house as possible.

  Is that me being paranoid? Or is something bad really coming?

  I guide the car steadily through the forest, Lava sitting up happily in the back seat, turning between us with his tongue hanging out as we talk, as though following the flow of the conversation.

  “I was sure I didn’t leave the door or the gate open. But there was no sign of a break-in, was there? I mean, if somebody wanted to steal him, surely they’d just take him.”

  “Maybe they tried to but he put up too much of a fight and he ran away?”

  “Maybe,” she murmurs. “But then why not close the door so it looked less suspicious?”

  Jackie wrings her hands, frowning so that her high cheekbones look even more pronounced. She looks even thinner than she normally does in the baggy sweater, the sleeves pulled up around her wrists. Her black hair tied in a ponytail, which she touches every few moments, something she does when she’s anxious.

  “I don’t know,” I say, thinking about the west coast, the horror there.

  She knows some of it. But not all.

  But I’m not about to ventilate my life story on what’s supposed to be a pleasant Saturday morning.

  “Anyway, I don’t know why you’re changing the subject from your mega crush on Markus McCabe.”

  I roll my eyes, feeling heat blossom in my cheeks despite my best efforts to keep my face calm.

  “Yeah, right,” I murmur.

  “I think he likes you,” Jackie goes on with a giggle.

  “What on earth would make you say that?” I murmur, rounding a corner and driving down the final stretch to the town, the road becoming less of a country lane, widening out as the Stone Harbor sign comes into view.

  “Because he actually spoke to you,” Jackie laughs. “Word around town is that he doesn’t talk to anyone, ever. The fact that you had a conversation is proof enough.”

  “Well, it wasn’t much of one,” I say.

  “I can’t believe he called you ma’am,” she giggles. “He must be twice your age.”

  “Who cares?” I say, with more passion than I intended. “I love the gray in his hair. I love how experienced and … Oh, you little sneak.”

  Jackie giggles delighted, proving my instincts right.

  She only made a comment about his age to draw out my real feelings toward him.

  Blistering attraction.

  “That was way too sneaky,” I say.

  “At least I know how you really feel now,” she replies, a thrilled note in her voice. “So are you going to go for it?”

  I sigh. “Let’s not get carried away.”

  “What do you mean?” Jackie demands. “Why shouldn’t you go for it if you like him?”

  I glance at her briefly as I drive slowly down Main Street, the townsfolk going about their Saturday morning business, several sailors striding up the street with their wooly sweaters and knit caps pulled low, a few of them smoking cigarettes as they make their way toward the dock.

  “Millie?” Jackie prompts, as I round the corner to the diner.

  “Have you seen him?” I snap, way harsher than I intended.

  Jackie flinches. “Well, yeah, just around town. Why?”

  “Jackie, please,” I say, bringing the car to a stop outside the diner, the red-painted façade faded a little in the blistering sea winds, the windows glistening with snow and moisture.

  “Please what?”

  I turn to find her staring plaintively at me.

  “Are you really going to make me say it?”

  She frowns. “What?”

  “For God’s sake,” I explode. “Fine—I’m way too unattractive for Markus McCabe, okay. There, that’s the truth.”

  “Millie, you don’t really believe that, do you?” Jackie mutters.

  “Yes,” I huff. “I do.”

  “Well, you’re wrong,” Jackie says fiercely. “You’re an incredibly attractive woman.”

  “Can we just drop it?” I ask. “I don’t want to ruin breakfast.”

  Jackie opens her mouth as though to press the issue, but then sighs and nods.

  “Okay,” she says. “Let’s go eat.”

  My heart pounds in my chest as we climb
from the car and head into the diner. I nod to my manager, Maxine, and head to the corner booth, Lava walking obediently behind us. One of the benefits of Stone Harbor being such a small town is that most people know Lava and that he’s well-behaved, so they don’t mind him being in here.

  My hands worry at each other as we take our seats.

  “I didn’t mean to snap back there,” I say quietly.

  Jackie turns to me with a smile. “Don’t be silly,” she says. “You did nothing wrong.”

  I find my hand coming to my mouth, intending to bite my nail, but then I realize what I’m doing and forcibly remove it.

  When it’s time to order breakfast, a small voice in the back of my head whispers that I should get a fruit cocktail or something. But I worked hard yesterday and my belly is rumbling, and the blunt truth is I don’t want a fruit cocktail.

  I order pancakes with syrup, the same as Jackie, and then we sit there sipping our coffee with Lava draped over our knees.

  “Thinking about making me another wonderful dinner?” Jackie teases when she sees me looking wistfully out the window, at the town.

  Is he out there?

  I return her smile. “I have been toying with an English roast dinner,” I tell her. “There’s been about a million posts on the forum about it recently. Who knows, maybe we’ll invite some food critic here and he’ll declare me the best chef in the universe.”

  “And hire you immediately to be head chef at his restaurant,” Jackie exclaims. “You know because he’s a food critic and a restaurateur.”

  “Then I’ll go and open my own restaurant and it will be the most popular place in the State—”

  “Nah, the country.”

  “Yeah?” I grin, the banter infusing me with warmth … but it’s nothing compared to the warmth Markus infused me with last night, just by looking at me. “How about the world?”

  “The galaxy—”

  “The universe—”

  We’re interrupted when the diner door suddenly swings open and around thirty people come barreling in, some of them with children, their voices raised in happy chatter.

  “Oh, it’s today?” I mutter.

  “Yeah, I forgot, too.”

  Once a month a nearby archeological society meets and then comes to town afterward for breakfast and to unwind. Somehow Jackie and I are always forgetting the date, constantly surprised when the floodgates open and the place becomes packed. I feel a stab of worry when I realize that Maxine might try to rope me into working.