Men of Endurance Limited Edition Collection

by Siera London

  He stared at her. And on a stack of hotel bibles, she would have sworn she saw fire roar in his eyes.

  “At night it can,” he snapped, but a cord of sadness hung on each word.

  A mountain of pain erupted in those telling eyes, but then it vanished. Something much harder and menacing replaced it. Okay, time to put some distance between her and blue-eyed hell boy.

  “Look,” she said, slowly inching back. “I was looking for some food. I saw the sign but—I’m really sorry I disturbed you, sir.”

  As she talked, Ivy inched farther away, putting distance between his body and hers in case she needed to pull a ‘don’t-go-into-the-woods scream’ and run-down Miller Road. Then the oddest thing happened.

  He smiled. “I’m sir now?”

  The smile, the eyes, the body all worked for her. He truly was a handsome grumpy pants.

  “I’ll call you whatever you want,” she swallowed. Psycho alert, she thought.

  Ivy gazed at the darkening street ahead. She could make a break for it. With a hint of luck, she might make it back to the highway. Just then, a child appeared in the doorway, rubbing his eyes with small balled up fists.

  “Daddy, what’s taking you so long? I’m ready for my bedtime story.”

  A little boy with straw-colored hair, lighter than his father’s, pushed a half-hidden torso from behind one of those long legs. He wore an Ironman sleep romper that covered his feet and zipped up to his neck. It looked like there was a cape or something behind him, but in the low light it was hard for Ivy to tell.

  “Go back inside, Cai,” he told the child.

  At least, the kid was interested in books, rather than video games. It was the first indication that the man was human after all.

  “Who are you talking to?” the child demanded.

  She couldn’t hide the shock on her face. Mr. Grumpy Pants had produced a little demanding version of himself.

  “Nobody,” he said in his firm father’s voice.

  Ivy gritted her teeth. Now, why did he have to go say a thing as bone-headed as that? It almost hurt her feelings that he equated her presence to a non-entity. She had been discounted most of her life. No way would she permit this stranger to deem her invisible.

  The same blue eyes as his father’s regarded her, and she thought she heard Mr. Grumpy Pants say the boy’s name was Kyle. The little sleepy head reached for his father’s giant hand.

  The child asked, “Who’s that lady?”

  “Cai, I said—,” the man interjected.

  Ivy interrupted. She could feel his eyes on her, intense and scrutinizing. Looking at Cai, she ignored the father. True, it was beneath her to use a child to save her own hide, but her belly and body had reached their limit.

  “Hello Cai. My name is Ivy Summers.”

  He laughed. “That’s a pretty name.” He shook his daddy’s hand, capturing his attention. “Isn’t her name pretty, Daddy?”

  Grumpy Pants’ frown deepened. “It’s alright.”

  She scowled back. She didn’t know what his problem was and she didn’t care. She needed food. That’s when she felt strong fingers grip her elbow. Ivy squeezed her eyes shut prepared for a crushing pain. Instead, warmth, tingling, and an ‘oh so delicious’ sensation wound its way up her arms. His fingers contracted where they touched, and then relaxed. Had he felt it, too?

  “Come inside, Ivy. I’ll feed you,” he said in that deep sexy tone.

  That voice was already feeding something wicked inside of her. A lingering hunger she’d neglected to feed for long while salivated at his deep timbre. She’d have to make sure to keep quiet over whatever meal he put in front of her. The last thing Ivy needed was his voice distracting her from a full belly.

  “Are you sure your wife will be okay with me grabbing a quick bite before moving on?”

  When he didn’t answer, she looked up to find him watching her again. His eyes were doing that dancing fire thing once more as he took her all in.

  “She’s not here,” he said, his voice dropped low and somehow, vacant.

  Ivy pulled up short. Married men were a hard limit for her. She wasn’t looking for any trouble, yet the way his eyes drank in her features, before settling on her mouth she got the impression that food was the last thing on his mind.

  * * *

  When was the last time she’d eaten? Owen watched from the doorway as Ivy polished off a second bowl of bowtie pasta, before she added a third chicken leg to her plate. At this late hour, a woman in the house signaled an exciting turn of events for Cai. Owen had to carry his son up the stairs to keep him from bombarding their strikingly beautiful houseguest with questions, the first of which focused on her ‘broken’ shoe. Ivy had smiled at Cai’s inquiry, but Owen noticed she tucked her tattered footwear farther under the table, out of sight. The kitchen table, square with four sturdy armless chairs, had been with him since college. He and Jose, a local builder, had designed the kitchen remodel themselves and done most of the work. The picture window above the sink looked big enough to step through and provided an unobstructed view of Tommy’s Park and the surrounding forest.

  Ivy had removed her ratty old UC sweat shirt and gotten comfortable the moment he placed a plate in front of her. The contrast between her sienna brown skin and the bright starburst tie-dye shirt struck him like sunrise after a year-long black out. Curls, rich with colors of cocoa, cinnamon, and ebony hung in thick coils at her shoulders. Her nose was pert and her lips were so lush, he wished he was that fork she kept sliding into her mouth. Delicious for sure. She was a petite woman, but curvy. Her hips, more than a handful, looked like she could give a man the ride of his life. Her waist, though trim, had some womanly fullness. Definitely, not skin and bones. It had been a long time since he’d seen a woman with her type of figure in Endurance.

  The town, known for extreme sports, catered to the lean athletic type with their designer-priced sports bras for chests with less definition than his, and hips so lean they could step through a Cheerio with room to spare. His wife Caitlyn had considered herself plump compared to most women in town. She’d been perfect, even after she held onto a pound or two from giving birth to Cai. Yeah, Owen liked his women soft and shapely, like Ivy Summers. Heck, even her name was soft and feminine. The woman radiated warmth and life. And those whiskey-colored eyes, seductive in their almond shape, missed little. Case in point, he looked up to find her regarding him.

  “You got a name Cai’s father?”

  He shot her a look of warning. “Owen Tate.”

  Owen watched as she reached for the near empty lemonade pitcher, then hesitated, before she seemed to remember she was a guest.

  “Would it be okay if I finished this off, Owen?”

  “Go ahead,” he nodded, “but, slow down. There’s more.”

  Her back stiffened. Slowly, she pulled the napkin from her lap and wiped her mouth.

  “Thank you for the meal.” Without looking at him, she came to her feet. “Where’s the closest hotel?”

  So, he’d wounded the little minx’s pride. Owen knew how it felt to have something you wanted so close, yet not be able to enjoy it. He’d been down and out as a kid. It was one of the things that had led him to the military, and eventually on to college.

  “You running from something?”

  She looked around her feet, and then gave him a twisted grin. “Not at the moment.”

  Did she have a smart comment for every question? There were a lot of reasons a woman would be walking alone at night, and none of them good. And, nobody found Endurance without somehow being bumped and bruised along the way. He wondered at Ivy Summers’ story?

  “Look,” he said, grabbing another carton of lemonade from the freezer. “I got a four year-old who needs his father alive and well. So, is trouble after you?”

  The prettiest shade of crimson flushed her cheeks, before she admitted, “Not tonight, he isn’t.”

  Fear flashed in her eyes, then as if a female warrior had taken hold, a fierc
e scowl covered her features. So, she was in trouble.

  “This trouble got a name?” Growing up in these mountains, Owen learned to track, hunt, wrestle…heck, he could defend himself against just about anybody. A four-year stint serving his country in the United States Navy had perfected his skills, but that didn’t mean he wanted to use them anytime soon.

  “I’m moving on, remember?”

  Placing the frosty container in the sink to thaw, he wiped his damp fingers on a bar cloth. Where was she planning to ‘move on’ to? It was Sunday night and the traffic along Interstate-80 would be at a minimum. Did she plan to hitch another ride out of town? It was none of his business, but that never stopped him in the past.

  “Where are you headed to?”

  “Oh, here and there, everywhere,” she said giving him the biggest fake smile.

  At twenty-nine, he was too old for games. He growled his displeasure.

  “So, you’re wandering the mountains of Northern California at night, without a clue as to where you’re going? How old are you?”

  Though she pretended to be aloof, he knew she noticed because that slim back of hers rounded like a cat about to strike.

  “Legal,” she said, face darkening with ferocity. “It’s getting late. I’ll be going now.”

  He pushed off the doorframe, standing to his full height. “Finish eating, first.”

  “I’m full. The hotel?” she repeated.

  So, she thought it okay to challenge a man in his own house? He had a right mind to bend her over his knee. Trying to get the little minx to eat shouldn’t be a crime.

  “Sit. Eat,” he snapped.

  He knew he’d messed up the moment the words left his fool lips. She crossed shapely arms, lean and toned probably from working over a petite torso. He couldn’t see the size of her breasts, but those hips filled out her jeans. Ivy Summers met his stare.

  “No,” she said, not backing down.

  He stalked towards her. “You about ripped the door off the hinges to get to some food. Now, eat.” He let authority seep into his voice.

  The woman turned towards the table, and a thread of disappointment wormed through him that she’d backed down so quickly. He found he liked sparring with her. It didn’t make sense. Owen ran the bar and focused on raising a son, who would grow into a man that his mother would be proud of. An occasional round of golf with Abel Burney, the golf course owner and beers with the fellas…he didn’t talk with women…ever. Caitlyn had been it for him. Yet here he was, yucking it up with Ivy. Dang, her name was pretty. Owen’s pulse skipped when she folded the napkin he’d given here, gathered up the used dishes, and took them to the sink.

  “What are you doing?” It surprised him because she thought to lighten his load. And, he wasn’t sure why he pulled down the China for her. Caitlyn, his late wife had loved decorating the dinner table, said it made her feel like she was taking care of her family. They hadn’t used this stuff since the Christmas after Cai’s third birthday…since Caitlyn’s death. So, what did it say about him preserving the memory of his wife for Cai’s benefit? “You don’t have to clean up,” he pushed out. Once, again she ignored him.

  Most nights, he fed Cai from some superhero-themed paper plate. His kid lived and breathed Marvel’s Ironman. As for the floral print linen napkin, he and Cai had no use for the fancy cloth he’d placed under her fork and knife. If he didn’t know himself better, he’d think he was trying to impress her. Owen didn’t have an impressive bone in his body. Outside of the bedroom, he wasn’t that good at wooing a woman.

  “I’m ready to leave now,” she said, chin lifted. Owen saw her eyeing the backpack that looked like she swiped it off a trash pile. “I got forty-dollars.” She shook her head as if she’d disclosed a detail that would threaten national security. “How much do I owe you?”

  He couldn’t let her walk out of here. Walking these deserted stretches of highway were dangerous. Besides, there wasn’t a hotel room available for another one hundred miles. Did she know anything about Endurance? It was race season from now till October. The hotels were booked out for months.

  He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t want your money.”

  Without thinking he took another look at that body of hers. Ivy knowing exactly what he was doing, took a step back. But, it was her fear that pricked at his protective instinct. Owen didn’t like that she was afraid. She was too pretty to be afraid.

  Well, the scowl darkened the image, but Owen had that effect on others.

  “You can stay here,” he offered.

  “I’m not going to wake up to find you butt naked in my room with a cup of vanilla pudding and a bottle of Viagra, am I?”

  Owen stared at the tiny slip of a woman asking him if he was a pervert. When he didn’t answer, the area between her brows slipped into fierce ‘v’. She was serious.

  He gave her an answer.

  “Chocolate’s my favorite. Don’t need Viagra,” he stated, voice flat.

  The scowl deepened. “I can defend myself, so you’d better be joking.”

  Now, she was ready to take him out if necessary? Who was this spitfire he’d invited into his home?

  “You got thirty seconds to decide.” Baring his teeth, Owen looked his late night caller in those beautiful brown eyes. “What’s it going to be, sweetheart.”

  “I’ll take the room, minus the pudding and the sweetheart comments.”

  “Ivy,” he tried to add a reassuring tone to his voice. “I’m not asking for anything.”

  “Oh yeah,” she challenged, “those pretty baby blues of yours are doing a whole lot of window shopping. You think you were getting some of my chocolate kisses because you fed me?”

  She was right, but he was in no mood to apologize for noticing a beautiful woman. He braced his legs apart and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “You’re pretty,” he growled. “And if I did take you to bed, I’d want a helluva lot more than a kiss.”

  She growled back at him. “You’re pretty too, but you don’t see me stripping you butt naked with my eyes.”

  Had she just admitted she found him tempting? The little vixen was as bold as her tie-dye shirt.

  She reached for the backpack, and he was on her in seconds.

  God, she smelled sweet. A combination of wild flowers, cool breeze, and warm woman. What the heck was Ivy Summers doing to him? Literally, he’d been dead inside his jeans until she fell on that luscious ass at his feet. One look at her and he knew he shouldn’t touch her. But something in those beautiful brown doe eyes called to his protective instinct. An instinct that he no longer ignored. Ivy Summers definitely needed a man’s protection and there was no way he’d let her leave. Not tonight.

  “Let go,” she hissed.

  He looked down to find his hand locked over hers. They both held the strap of the backpack, a standoff.

  “You’re not walking anywhere in the middle of the night.” He tightened his jaw. Maybe, he should try another approach. Using the whole more flies with honey, though he for sure didn’t want any flies from Ivy Summers. “Ivy, I have a room upstairs.”

  Those eyes he liked gazing in widened, and then her pink tongue glided across her lips. Owen, the simpleton that he was, leaned in closer. What would she taste like?

  “I’m not a whore.” He noticed she balled her hands into fists.

  “Glad to hear it,” he drawled, tone relaxed, “seeing as I can’t have you plying your wares in front of my four-year old.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Plying what?” she huffed. “I’m not trading any flesh for food, that’s the point I was making.”

  “And here I was falling prey to all your simpering purrs and seductive banter,” he scoffed. “Shut up, woman, and finish your food. And, what happened to your shoe?”

  She stared at him, as if she were seeing him for the first time. “Are you gay?”

  Her hickory eyes called to him, but her sharp tongue…the things they could do.

  “Why? Feeling reject
ed?”

  “Of course not. Well, you could pretend a little interest.”

  He burst out laughing. There was no pleasing this woman.

  “Whatever,” she snapped.

  “Precisely. You staying or going?”

  She hesitated, then asked. “Where’s your wife?”

  Now it was Owen’s turn to hesitate. “My wife, Caitlyn died almost two years ago.”

  It shocked and awed him when sadness filled her eyes.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, Owen,” she whispered. “I’ll stay,” she paused, “as long as we’re clear my pudding is not for sampling.”

  What was it with the food references? And why the heck was his mouth watering?

  “Thanks,” he muttered, not wanting her pity. He could smell the food he’d prepared clinging to her. A little sweet, and a whole lot of spice. Shoot, if that wasn’t the woman in front of him. “It’s just an extra bed,” and then he added, “the door has a lock.”

  She swallowed. Her eyes darted away from his. He found he missed her eyes on him.

  “How much?” she asked.

  Did everything come down to dollars and cents with this woman? He thought about that avalanche that sounded in her stomach and the few belongings in that threadbare backpack. Actually, she didn’t have on much clothing for the cool that settled over the desert this time of year. If he told her the room was free of charge, she would wrestle with him for the next thirty minutes over the charitable act. Though he welcomed the company, Cai was upstairs alone. With Owen talking away downstairs, he was sure his inquisitive four-year-old was still awake.

  “Tonight is free. Tomorrow you pay.”

  He knew she’d refuse if she thought he offered an open-ended invitation. Life had dealt Ivy Summers a near death blow, yet she stood, poised for the next strike. The walk hadn’t broken her, and the night hadn’t frightened her. Ivy Summers was a trained soldier in the war of hard knocks, a true survivor.

  “Who said I’ll be here tomorrow?” she mumbled, but he heard her. Owen almost smiled at her cry of courage.