Captured Boxed Set: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys Who Will Capture Your Heart

by Opal Carew, Cathryn Fox, Eve Langlais, T. J. Michaels, Teresa Morgan, Sharon Page, Mandy Rosko, S. E. Smith, Pepper Winters

  Buy No Sleep for the Sheikh from your favorite eBookstore today!

  More Hot Sheikh Romances from Teresa Morgan

  Sheikh with Benefits

  Valentine Vegas Gigolo Sheikh

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  Fast and Mine

  Sharon Page

  College student Claire gets lessons in seduction from sexy, hot street bike racer, Sawyer. But when she’s kidnapped by his psychotic sponsor to force him to race, can Sawyer save her and win her heart?

  Copyright 2014 Sharon Page

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  About The Author

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  Chapter One

  Frat parties.

  I’ve always dreamed of going to one but I never thought I would. In high school, I never got invited to the cool parties. I was known as ‘Claire Thomas: math whiz, brain, complete geek.’ I was the female version of the Big Bang guys.

  At the start of high school, I was flat-chested, which had not helped my popularity in junior high. By the end of tenth grade, I had much bigger breasts. Awkwardly bigger breasts. And while I’d dreamed about having boobs since I was twelve, I was then too shy to do anything but hide them. I grew into my nose, got contacts, and looked much prettier, but strangely that didn’t help my confidence. I’d learned to be quiet and reserved and I stayed that way.

  But now I’m in college—Yardley College in New Hampshire. And I am actually at a frat party. My dorm roommate, Abby Potter brought me, as she was invited and allowed to bring a guest. She also chose my wardrobe for the night, so I’m wearing skinny jeans and one of her T-shirts, which has a low, scooped neck. If I look down I can see inside the neckline to my bra.

  I brought a zip-up hoodie, which is now covering the T-shirt and is zipped up to my neck. I stand in a corner, holding a beer that I have no intention of drinking.

  I thought this would be thrilling.

  I feel completely out of place.

  The fraternity, Alpha Delta Phi, has an enormous, century-old brick house just outside the Yardley campus. A huge wooden porch wraps around the house, filled with people dancing and laughing. And couples kissing. In the kitchen, guys chug beer. Tequila shots are going around the living room.

  I have the beer that someone handed me even though I protested that I don’t drink. But since I put the first one down earlier and got a second one shoved at me, I just keep carrying it.

  I have to find Abby, so I can tell her I’m going back to the Yardley campus. I feel like I don’t belong here. I also have to call a cab.

  I walk into the living room. A guy dances like a wild man, throwing himself crazily around on the cleared floor space. He crashes into me, his arms flailing. I stumble back and splash the beer on my jeans.

  I try to find my way to a bathroom for a towel.

  I find a door I’m sure leads to a bathroom and open it.

  Oh God. There’s a girl sitting on the toilet lid with her skirt pushed up and a guy is on his knees in front of her. Her high-heeled shoes rest on his shoulders. Her eyes are closed, she’s moaning in pure pleasure, and his face is under her skirt.

  I’m completely embarrassed, and I stumble back, pulling the door shut. My heart races and I’m breathing fast enough to hyperventilate. I don’t think they noticed me, so I don’t know why I feel so tense and awkward.

  Potentially because I never dated in high school, I am still a virgin, and since I turned eighteen I’ve been feeling more frustrated about that—

  Then I see him.

  There are some guys you never get over and you never forget. That’s what Trey Madison is to me. He’s the crush I had since I was in Grade Seven. Total and complete desire for him has burned in my heart ever since. However, I was invisible to him.

  It should be different now that I’m no longer in high school. I should be able to go up to him. Say hi. Talk to him.

  But I can’t. My tongue actually feels numb. There’s a huge pain in my chest. My heart feels as if nerves and fear are smacking it like a stick against a piñata.

  Trey staggers to the side and slams into the wall. Then laughs and sucks back his beer.

  He’s drunk.

  Now I’m worried about Trey. As he walks into the living room, I follow him. Just to watch out for him. He could pass out.

  He stops, leaning against the wall, turns around and looks right at me. I should say something. Act surprised, as if I just happened to be there and recognized him. But I just stare at his beautiful grey-blue eyes helplessly.

  "Hi," he says.

  "Uh," is what comes out of my mouth.

  He walks away from me. Because who wouldn’t after my scintillating attempt at conversation?

  Trey heads for the stairs and I stand by the wall, cursing myself.

  What was I doing? I was so hopeless. I could have had what I’d dreamed of since I first hit puberty. I could have talked to him. Maybe, maybe I could have even ended up kissing him.

  If I were still the same person I was in high school, I would retreat right now since I was super awkward and shy.

  But I’m eighteen, too old to be a coward anymore. To be stymied by what people think or what they might say.

  I set my beer down on the floor by the wall and take off the hoodie. Gazing in the mirror in the downstairs hall, I try fluffing my hair. I can’t manage a transformation like Jamie Curtis in True Lies, where she rips the ruffles off her dress, slicks back her hair with water from a vase, and is suddenly sexy. But I look better. Sort of hot. Abby’s T-shirt clings to my breasts and makes me look very curvy.

  I want to kiss Trey. I want to know what it would be like. If I don’t go for it, I’ll never know. He goes up the stairs but he stops on the landing halfway up. I catch up to him since I’m almost running up the steps. He looks at me with surprise.

  I start to give him an abbreviated wave, then put my hand down at my side. I brush my hair back. "Hi Trey, I remember you from high school. We went to the same one."

  "Yeah? Don’t remember you."

  "I’m Claire." I swallow hard. Once I give him the full name, he will remember who I am and how much I was teased. "Claire Thomas."

  He still stares blankly. He has no memory of me at all.

  Yes, I was invisible. But that gives me a clean slate.

  I step close to him, look up at him through my lashes. I have no idea how to flirt. "Uh—do you want to dance? Downstairs?"

  He looks at me like I asked him to shave his head. "No."

  Okay. So what do I do now? I have no idea what to say to Trey. "Do you remember when you won the last football game of the season?"

  "Yeah."

  I need more than a one word answer. "What’s your major?"

  "Economics."

  He takes a step away.

  "Wait." It comes out before I think.

  He stops.

  I had nothing prepared to say. Summoning all my courage, I lick my lips. I step forward and clasp his hand. "Uh…do you want to kiss?"

  I can’t believe I did that.

  He grins. Then he backs me against the wall on the stair landing. He’s still holding the beer. But with his other hand he braces his hand on the wallpaper and leans close to me. My legs are turning to jello. Trey Madison’s mouth is almost touching mine. This is my fantasy position from seventh and eighth grades. I would close my eyes in math class and imagine I had the desk beside Trey’s, and he would lean over to ask me a question and our mouths would be almost touching. By the end of grade eight, I began to fantasize about an actual kiss. I would dream that we got overwhelmed with desire in the middle of math and he gave me this long, sensual, open-mouthed kiss in front of everyone.

  Almost every night for six years, I dreamed
of kissing Trey.

  It could happen now.

  All I have to do is go for it.

  I tip my face up and go to kiss him. Except he sways on his feet just as I lift on my toes. He moves a couple of inches to the left and I hit my teeth against his. I purse my lips and try to find his mouth. He’s moving unsteadily, which makes it hard to keep our mouths connected. I try to put my arm around his neck and accidently hit him.

  Desperate, I put my hands to his jaw so I can keep him steady. Now I can kiss him. I soften my lips, open my mouth, and try to use my tongue to tease his.

  Trey tastes of alcohol and smoke and I thought that combination would prove to be a lot sexier than it is. Actually, it’s fairly disgusting.

  I keep trying, hoping it’s going to get better.

  But he pulls back and straightens. "Thanks, Kelly. See you around."

  He’s goes up the steps, moving away from me.

  "It’s Claire," I call after him.

  "Yeah. See you later, Claire."

  Gripping the banister, he hauls upstairs. I don’t follow him.

  My kiss has scared him away. He’s drunk. But even blotto, he is not interested. I screwed up the kiss I always dreamed of having.

  He’s gone and my whole fantasy has evaporated like smoke. Why couldn’t I do it? He didn’t know anything about me—didn’t remember I was geeky in high school.

  Maybe I could have seduced him if I knew what to do.

  He did say, "See you later." He didn’t say that he never wanted to set eyes on me again. Maybe, if I could learn how to be seductive and enticing—learn how to kiss properly—I could have Trey.

  Just like I dreamed.

  * * *

  At lunch on Monday, in the residence cafeteria, I am brooding over my vegetarian pizza slice.

  Logic tells me that if a guy likes me, he’s going to enjoy how I kiss. And he should be patient enough to teach me if he wants something different.

  After all, would I kick a guy I liked to the curb if he didn’t please me in bed? I assume—if I were ever in the situation—I would see sex as something to work on together. If I like him, I’m going to want to make love to him over and over, until we get it right.

  I’m so frustrated that when my roommate, Abby, asks me what’s wrong, I actually say, "Do you think it’s possible to pay someone to teach you how to kiss and please a guy?"

  There’s silence and she looks at me over the rim of her coffee mug. "Excuse me?"

  "Sorry. It’s nothing." At least she and I are eating alone, and I haven’t embarrassed myself in front of more people.

  Abby looks sympathetic. "Did someone dump you?"

  "No, no one dumped me because I’m not dating anyone." I sigh. I suppose I’ve dug enough of a hole that I have to deal with it. I have to explain what I meant. "At the frat party last night, I saw the guy of my dreams from high school. The guy I’ve adored from afar since Grade Seven. He was drunk and I kissed him on the stairs." I put my hand over my mouth. "It sounds terrible when I say it that way. He was consenting. It wasn’t like he was passed out and I took advantage and planted one on him."

  Abby smiled. "I didn’t think so. So who is this guy?"

  "Just a guy." I don’t want to admit who, in case Abby knows Trey and laughs at me. I admitted to a crush once in my life, in high school, and the amount of teasing I received was mortifying.

  "Claire, why would you want to pay someone to kiss you?"

  I blush. "I don’t have a lot of kissing experience, and he didn’t seem too impressed."

  "He was drunk. Probably his main worry was staying conscious. Sadly, given how drunk most of the guys are at frat parties, he probably doesn’t even remember you kissing him," Abby points out.

  That actually cheers me up. I would love it if he didn’t remember. "I just wish I could learn how to be good at things like that."

  "You know, I really doubt you’d have to pay a guy here to get him to kiss you."

  I sip my coffee. "A business arrangement would be easier."

  Abby laughs at that and coffee spurts onto the table. She mops it up quickly with a napkin. Abby is incredibly pretty. Her hair is straight and fans over her shoulders in blue-black perfection. She is half-Japanese and half-British, though she moved to the States at age three.

  Then Abby stops, holding a dripping napkin over the table. She stares straight ahead, over my shoulder. Curious, I turn around.

  And see six-feet-four inches of black leather.

  No, that’s not accurate. The guy is six-four, and the leather stops at the collar of his jacket. He’s wearing the kind of leather pants you wear on a motorcycle, along with a black jacket with heavy silver buckles. He carries his tray in his right hand and a helmet under his left arm.

  "How about Sawyer?" Abby asks.

  "Sawyer?" I don’t know anyone by that name.

  "Him." She nods toward the tall, broad-shouldered guy in leather. "That’s Sawyer Tremaine."

  I can’t help but stare. His legs are the longest I’ve ever seen. His hair is golden blond. His eyes are violet—I can see that even from our table, that’s how brilliant they are. Stubble covers his sexy jaw and cheeks, below the well-defined cheekbones.

  I thought Trey was gorgeous. This guy cannot be real.

  I swallow hard. "You mean, go up to him and ask him to kiss me for money?" I know I’m pure red with embarrassment. "I was thinking hypothetically. Like if there was an app and I could upload my credit card number and have a guy delivered for kissing lessons. I am not going to go up to him and offer payment, Abby."

  She keeps her voice low. "You know, I don’t think Sawyer would require payment. I’ve known a few girls who’ve had one night stands with him. He’s supposed to be really, really great in bed."

  "He’s into one night stands?"

  "I guess. The females involved wanted sex without any strings attached."

  "How could you do it with him just once?"

  Abby giggles and I blush again.

  Since it’s the beginning of October, and Sawyer is apparently in his sophomore year at Yardley, I assume I must have seen him on campus before. I can’t believe I never noticed him. But I guess I didn’t, because now that Abby pointed him out to me, I see him everywhere.

  For the rest of the week, I run into him at the res cafeteria, in the campus store, in hallways, out on the grassy quads. I even discover he is in two classes with me: first year Statics and first year Calculus, two of the required courses for engineering students. Since he is a sophomore, I assume he’s repeating the courses.

  One thing I’ve always been good at is research. Not that I intend to approach Sawyer, but I’m intrigued to find out about him. On Friday afternoon, I’m in the campus coffee shop Beans with Abby and four other girls. I’m the only one in engineering, the others are in arts. I try to casually bring Sawyer up in a conversation.

  It works well until Abby says bluntly, "She wants to know about him. Claire is considering a one night stand with him to get a little experience."

  "Abby!" I gasp.

  No one else at the table looks shocked.

  Shanelle, who has long black braids and dark caramel skin, smiles. A dreamy smile. "Sawyer. Yummm."

  Two other girls—Stevie and Kylie—join in, adding to the volume of the ‘mmmm’.

  Beside me, Jenna, who is a history major with short, honey blond hair, adjusts her glasses. "You guys are crazy. Sawyer is trouble."

  "He’s sexy," Kylie says. "Soooo sexy."

  "I heard he rides in illegal street bike races," Jenna continues. "He does it for the money. I heard he makes tens of thousands of dollars from bets and that’s how he pays for school. But it’s totally stupid. People get killed. They race on regular roads at over 150 mph."

  "That sounds highly irresponsible," I point out.

  Abby rolls her eyes. "I don’t think that’s true. Anyway, you’re not looking to raise children with him."

  "Street racing is why he won’t get seriously involved
with a woman. That’s what he told me. He doesn’t want to draw anyone into his world of danger." Shanelle sighs. "But he’s gorgeous. And he really is a good lay. Most one night stands suck. I mean the guy is so fixated on actually getting sex that he expects a lot of wild thrusting will make you feel good. But Sawyer was never like that." She makes another ‘mmm’ sound. "I have his number on my cell if you want it, Claire."

  I shake my head. But Shanelle texts my phone to send me Sawyer’s number, even though I keep protesting that I don’t want it.

  I won’t use it. I don’t want to have a one night stand to get experience. I’ve crushed on Trey since seventh grade and I don’t want anyone else.

  Shanelle looks me over. She taps her glossy red nails on the table. "If you want Sawyer, I have two words for you." She grins, flashing perfect teeth. "Makeover Intervention. Tonight."

  * * *

  After my makeover, I go to another party off campus with Abby and Shanelle.

  This one is not a frat party. It’s at a house shared by five guys. Just like at the frat party, the living room is being used as a dance floor. Dozens of people fill the living room and there are even more crammed into the kitchen. There must be a few hundred people here.

  "You look stunning," Shanelle assures me.

  "Thanks to your makeover skills," I say. Shanelle applied face primer on me—who knew there was such a thing? Eyeliner and mascara have made my eyes stunning. She flat-ironed my normally wild red hair and it hangs halfway down my back, straight and shimmering. I put in daily wear contacts for tonight. Other than the fact that I keep blinking my right eye because it feels scratchy, I look good.

  I bite my lip and wince at Shanelle. "I think I look too good. I look like someone I’m not."

  "Confidence on the outside leads to confidence on the inside," she says.

  I realize its true—I feel like I could leap tall buildings. Outrun freight trains.

  Then Shanelle gasps, "Abby, look."

  My friends drool over a group of tall guys standing in the living room. It’s Yardley’s basketball team, where the shortest guy is six-three. At once, the guys grin, wave the girls over, and integrate Shanelle and Abby into their circle.