by Christa Wick
The Irresistible Curves Collection
Christa Wick
Contents
Collection Description
CHASING HER CURVES
1. Ginny
2. Ginny
3. Hawk
4. Ginny
5. Ginny
6. Hawk
7. Ginny
8. Ginny
9. Hawk
10. Ginny
11. Ginny
12. Hawk
13. Ginny
14. Ginny
15. Ginny
16. Ginny
17. Hawk
18. Ginny
19. Ginny
20. Ginny
Epilogue
CLAIMING HER CURVES
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
Epilogue
CAPTURING HER CURVES
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
Epilogue
Also by Christa Wick
Thank You For Reading & Reviewing!
About the Author
Copyright © 2020 by Christa Wick
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All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, this book and any portion thereof may not be reproduced, scanned, reverse-engineered, decompiled, transferred, or distributed in any print or electronic form without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Participation in any aspect of piracy of copyrighted materials, inclusive of the downloading and obtainment of this book through non-retail or other unauthorized means, is in actionable violation of the author’s rights.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, media, brands, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and registered trademark owners of all branded names referenced without TM, SM, or (R) symbols due to formatting constraints, and is not claiming ownership of or collaboration with said trademark brands. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is purely coincidental.
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This collection includes the following separately published stories:
Chasing Her Curves, previously Texas Curves (c) 2012
Claiming Her Curves, previously Curve Contract (c) 2012
Capturing Her Curves, previously The Billionaire’s Big Regret (c) 2019
Collection Description
This anthology of steamy & sweet standalones contains hot alpha billionaires just wanting to give their sweet curvy girls the HEAs they deserve.
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1. Chasing Her Curves
(Hawk & Ginny)
* * *
Tough Texas girl meets determined New York billionaire... May the most stubborn one win.
* * *
Ginny: I swear, the man has got some kind of professional billionaire player handbook he's operating out of. Not to mention a truckload of tenacious swooniness going for him. But I've got my reasons for keeping my guard up. He's good. Too good. And if I don’t watch myself, I'm going to end up tripping and falling right on his...
* * *
Hawk: I swear, the woman doesn't just have her defenses up, she's got a fully armed artillery pointed straight at my balls. She's sweet though, underneath all the cactus-like prickliness. Smart, too. Convincing her to come work for me was step one. And step two? Hell, let me just focus on surviving step one with all my favorite body parts intact first...
2. Claiming Her Curves
(Blake & Pippa)
* * *
What’s a guy to do when the one woman he can’t stop thinking about doesn’t believe he’s got real feelings for her? Get downright stubborn and sweep her off her feet, that’s what.
* * *
Pippa: The idea that my richest and most gorgeous client just proposed to me feels like a crazy joke, or a pitch for some weird reality show. But the thing is, my situation is dire enough that taking Blake up on his offer is a given. I’ll have to keep my wits about me though. Otherwise, the man who’s willing to go through all this to rescue me (because that’s just the kind of guy he is) will be the man I’ll end up falling for harder than I already have.
* * *
Blake: So, that just happened. I just proposed and saved Pippa's business in one fell swoop. Of course I did. I’ve been protective of her from the very start of our friendship. And now that she’s wearing my ring, protective doesn’t even begin to cover the way I feel. That I stepped up to help her out of the mess she’s in was always a given. But the fact that I had to take such drastic measures to begin with? That’ll all make sense soon enough.
* * *
All I have to do first is convince the most stubborn woman alive that I really am in love with her.
3. Capturing Her Curves
(Shane & Velda)
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Velda Pace never cared that Shane had struggled to make ends meet back then, and the billionaire he's become since is practically a stranger now. The last thing she wants is for him see her as a charity case, but for the victims who're counting on her for help, she'll beg and borrow--even barter her heart if she has to.
* * *
Shane Wehr had thought he needed to have it all to hold onto Velda back then, but he ended up losing far more than he gained. And now that she needs him for the one thing that drove them apart, he gets a do-over. This time, he knows money doesn't mean happiness. So he's not going to try and buy a second chance.
* * *
He's going to rent it. One day at a time.
CHASING HER CURVES
Hawk & Ginny’s Story
Tough Texas girl meets determined New York billionaire... May the most stubborn one win.
* * *
Ginny: I swear, the man has got some kind of professional billionaire player handbook he's operating out of. Not to mention a truckload of tenacious swooniness going for him. But I've got my reasons for keeping my guard up. He's good. Too good. And if I don’t watch myself, I'm going to end up tripping and falling right on his...
* * *
Hawk: I swear, the woman doesn't just have her defenses up, she's got a fully armed artillery pointed straight at my balls. She's sweet though, underneath all the cactus-like prickliness. Smart, too. Convincing her to come work for me was step one. And step two? Hell, let me just focus on surviving step one with all my favorite body parts intact first...
* * *
Previously published as Texas Curves (c) 2012 with revisions throughout, newly added content, and an extended ending.
1
Ginny
I wanted to ignore the car on the side of the road and just go about my business. Normally, I could’ve without
too much extra thought.
It was a black vintage Mustang with steam billowing from its engine--not a remotely common sight around these parts--and it was about two-hundred feet past my turn.
Just keep driving, Virginia.
I looked in my rearview mirror and saw nothing but open road, which wasn’t surprising since there was never a lot of traffic on this road between noon and six.
Don’t you stop.
I really couldn’t. Pressed for time, I had half an hour to drive the five miles from Roy's Steakhouse back home to check in on my father, make him a quick lunch, and give him his medicine before I had to hustle to get my butt back to work.
With Dad recovering from major back surgery and basically immobile, we’d all been chipping in to help. For me, that meant dad duty during my lunch breaks for at least another four weeks. But if I returned late even one more time this week, Roy was going to have my head and some other girl was going to have my apron at the restaurant.
I couldn’t lose my job, but then again, neither could anyone else in my family. Momma worked an hour away, and my brother Beau wasn't allowed to leave his worksite, whichever one he was at for the day. So, that left me. The bleeding heart of the family.
And empty roads, too, apparently.
I eyed the stranded car again as I closed in on my exit.
Glancing at the dashboard clock one more time, I released a string of words that would’ve gotten my butt tanned if Momma had been riding with me.
The last thing I needed was some out-of-towner with an expensive, restored antique vehicle screwing with my tight schedule. But the heat index was already pushing one-hundred-ten degrees, which meant the stranded driver was in for a long, sweltering afternoon wait if I didn’t go over to help him. And all the driver was doing was circling his car with his cell phone in the air like that was going to help his zero bars of reception. Hell, he wasn’t going to get a signal out here no matter how long he did that.
Letting loose another stream of curses, I drove past my turn and pulled to a stop behind the Mustang. Since mine was a beat-up Chevy truck from the early 80s, I always carried a gallon jug filled with water on the passenger floor and a small toolset next to it. I grabbed both and climbed down from the truck's cab, getting over to him in a few quick strides.
"Hey, I appreciate you stopping. You're the first person I’ve seen in—"
I charged right past him, not bothering to hear him tell me what I already knew as I surveyed what we were working with here.
The damn fool hadn't even taken the radiator cap off!
I placed the toolset and jug on the ground before pulling out a bandana from the pocket of my jeans so I’d have something to protect my hand as I began poking around under his hood.
All the while, I was still swearing, but only in my head now that I had an audience.
"I was trying to call for a tow,” the stranger said then. “Walked a couple of minutes in both directions to try and catch a signal, but it didn’t help.”
"Welcome to West Texas."
Up until two months ago, Tupperville's population had been less than fifteen hundred souls, too little and remote to warrant enough nearby cell towers. Then the wells hit and the town swelled to twenty-five hundred people in less than two weeks. With two new fields opened up since then, the number would probably double by the end of the month.
He gave me a slow grin. “That’s the best welcome I’ve had yet.”
Releasing the cap, one final plume of steam hissed from the radiator while I flapped the bandana over the engine to clear away the steam. Right away, part of the problem was obvious. From the looks of it, a hose had been recently replaced and whatever genius installed it hadn't trimmed the length right. The hose needed trimmed and the clamp re-fastened. Then he’d just need a water fill and he’d be able to get back to the station in town without a tow.
The driver, who’d been watching me with silent interest the entire time, moved in close when I reached into his engine again. “Careful. I don’t want you to burn yourself—”
That was sweet of him, but I still elbowed him out of the way.
A little noise erupted from him, something halfway between a grunt and a growl. Only, softer. Sexier. A little closer to a low, feral purr that was having an immediate effect on my body. The hairs stood up along the back of my neck first, and then I was hit with the start of a slow pout at my nipples that tightened even more when he crowded me from behind this time.
Swiping at the back of my neck with the bandana, I funneled all my focus on the radiator.
There weren’t a lot of options. Finding and filling an empty jug would cost me at least another couple of minutes I didn’t have, but I couldn't risk driving the Chevy back to work and home again without any water. I had my own radiator problems.
For now, I just concentrated on his hose issue, grabbing my tools and getting to work.
“You’re good with cars.”
Not really in the mood for small talk, I simply wiped more sweat away and returned to trimming the hose. “You’ll need water after I’m done,” I informed him.
“I’ve got a bottle of water in the car. Will that be enough to at least get me back to town?”
“No.”
"You're a terse little thing." His voice dropped lower and I could hear the smile behind the words.
I didn't know whether to be pissed off or turned on. Lucky for him, I didn't have time to decide. I probably would have rolled around to being pissed and unleashed on him for calling me a “little thing.” If I were little, I wouldn't have been sweating buckets trying to fix his car just so his clean, citified hands wouldn't get all greased up.
Yeah, I noticed the Mustang carried New York plates and his accent sure wasn't local. Good thing, too. If God had thought to blend a slow southern twang into this man’s deep, smoky voice, the radiator hose wouldn't be the only thing popping a clamp.
"Don't have any use for chit chat. Doesn’t make me terse."
Tightening the clamp on the hose, I glanced left to where his hands curled around the Mustang's metal body. Surprisingly, they were more calloused than I expected. He had the kind of hands a girl would recognize when he touched her—big, strong and carrying more than a few nicks on them, old scars and new.
My appreciation stopped cold at his wrists though. The watch wrapped around one of them easily cost ten times as much as my old truck.
Exasperation rose up over yet another example of the rich having more money than I’d ever smell, and not a clue how to keep their privileged lives from inconveniencing us poor folk. But somehow, I pressed it back down. I didn't have time to get all hot under the collar and lose track of what I was doing. Stopping to help Mr. Moneybags had already put me a good five minutes in the hole.
Gathering up my tools and knife, I pushed the jug toward him with my foot then reached into his driver’s side window to grab the bottle of water he mentioned for my own radiator. Just in case. "You’re all set. Just fill it up all the way with that jug of water and wait about five minutes. It should turn over then but you need to head straight to the station."
"You're going?" Again, the sound was all wild animal rumbles with the hint of a smile behind his words.
"If your dumb ass is still stuck when I come through again in ten minutes, I'll give you a ride back to town. But you better be ready to jump straight in. I won't have time to even slow down enough for you to grab your things."
Stuffing the bandana in my pocket, I stepped away from the vehicle, a little embarrassed that I'd been short with him when the only thing I could fault him for was being too rich to know how to fix his own car, but I wasn't about to apologize.
He took a step forward to close the distance I’d just put between us, the raised hood no longer blocking his face as he stared down at me. A pair of classy sunglasses hid his eyes, but I could tell from the straight line of his nose, sculpted jaw and the firm, generous bottom lip, that his face could work a woman to a state every bit
as wet as his voice did.
Feeling my cheeks heat up, I turned away and headed back to my truck.
The driver followed after me. "Mind telling my dumb ass your name?"
I blew out a little puff of air, trying to shake the feelings rolling through me. Beyond sexy, he had a rumbling baritone, rough like his calloused hands.
