Her Alpha Male
Page 1
HER ALPHA MALE
Lillith Payne
EROTIC ROMANCE
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Erotic Romance
ABOUT THE E-BOOK VERSION: Your non-refundable purchase of this e-book allows you to one LEGAL copy for your own personal use. It is ILLEGAL to send your copy to someone who did not pay for it. Distribution of this e-book, in whole or in part, online, offline, in print or in any way or any other method currently known or yet to be invented, is forbidden without the prior written permission of both the publisher and the copyright owner of this book.
HER ALPHA MALE
Copyright © 2009 by Lillith Payne
E-book ISBN: 1-60601-059-X
First E-book Publication: January 2009
Cover design by Jinger Heaston
All cover art and logo copyright © 2009 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
DEDICATION
For my husband, my alpha male.
HER ALPHA MALE
LILLITH PAYNE
Copyright © 2008
Chapter One
Woodstock, New York, 1962
Standing naked before the full-length mirror in her dressing area, Angela wondered what Royce would see. It had been three years since they’d seen each other, her grandmother’s funeral not conducive to allowing them a stolen intimate moment. She’d come to terms with her attraction years ago, deciding on her birthday after he’d kissed her with a raw passion she never knew could exist, she’d accept whatever interest he showed in her and wouldn’t push for anything more. The cliché was bad enough. She had the hots for her older brother’s best friend. Now, as an adult, she wanted him to see her as she was, not the chubby eight-year-old he had met the first time Tony brought him home on leave and not the gawky sixteen-year-old with braces.
She brushed out her brunette curls to a soft bounce and left them loose as she often did now instead of the tight bun or braid she’d always reverted to. Her makeup was understated at best-a little powder, mascara, and lip gloss. Still more makeup than she’d ever worn while living at home, she was still in her personal comfort zone. Her jeans smoothed up long, toned legs and fit to perfection with the help of a tailor who knew how alter clothing. Her once-baggy dungarees and her brother’s cast-off work shirts were things of the past.
When she had left the family home in Brooklyn, she had allowed herself to let go of their low expectations and to experiment. Now, she stood proud and tall, content with the woman who blossomed in the tiny house in the woods. She smoothed her hand over the front of her vest and let it drop to her crotch.
Her lips pulsed at the thought of Royce, at the memory of how he’d pulled her inside Nonnie’s pantry during the party, of how he kissed her, and of how it had opened a doorway to heaven and hell. She could still remember how his touch warmed her, excited her and made her want more. Even after turning twenty-one, her minimal dating was heavily regulated by her overbearing father, and his choice of suitable companions left a lot to be desired. Not one of her dates had sexually excited her. Not one of them, fearful of the mighty Vito and his wrath, had dared to try to touch her. Royce hadn’t cared or hadn’t thought about it.
He had been watching her most of the night, making her feel a static in her belly like never before. He had deep brown eyes that drilled through her and brown hair when his military cut let it show. He’d grabbed her wrist, pulled her into the darkened space, and pushed her back against the door to keep it closed. He hadn’t spoken. He had simply dropped his mouth over hers and started to explore her.
Angela could remember the exact moment when she had relaxed against his chest, had tentatively moved her hands to his wide shoulders, had tested his firmness with the tips of her fingers. She had opened to his insistent tongue and had groaned deeply when he ignited something inside her she’d only read about. The heat started with his lips, moved through his tongue and shot directly to her crotch. One large hand held her head angled while his other explored her back and buttocks. He’d stroked her with his hand as he stroked her with his kiss, Angela shifted against the rapidly growing hardness pulsing at her belly. His hand found her breast, and he sighed into her mouth while he teased her nipple to fullness. When it budded in his grasp, he moaned a second time.
“Oh, Angela,” was the only thing he’d said during their time in the pantry.
The rest of the time, he silently taught her to spar against his tongue, to suck him into her mouth, to taste him, all of which triggered a response pressed against her. Only when she dropped her hand to touch him did he
pull back, his one hand still locked around her breast, his other still threaded through her hair. His eyes were wide and he pulled away, turning his back on her momentarily. He’d cleared his throat and turned back, his finger running along her bruised lip. Royce had leaned down and kissed her lightly before taking her shoulders and moving her gently from the door.
His index finger ran along her bottom lip one last time, and Angela remembered the power she felt when sucking it between her lips while her other hand found him throbbing against her palm. The startled look on his face was ingrained in her memory. Noise in the dining room made him pull away quickly, and she silently cursed the intrusion. He slowly opened the door and slid out.
It was two years before she saw him again. Now, he was due for the weekend, her houseguest. Angela had been thinking of delicious ways to make him welcome for the two weeks she’d know he was coming. In a few hours, she’d know what time and distance had done to them both.
She was no longer the shy girl in baggy clothes under her father’s thumb. She had blossomed into an independent woman who knew her mind and body. She’d come a long way since that day in the pantry, and she wondered if Royce would appreciate it. Foremost in her mind was being able to share it with Royce. A chill ran through her, budded her nipples, and she didn’t resist the instinct to use her own fingers to tug at them several times and reluctantly stopping before she got herself all worked up.
———
Turning into the driveway, he took one last deep breath, a smile forming on his lips as he read her name on the mailbox. It had been a mistake to come. He’d known it all along but hadn’t stopped the process. Wanting to see for himself that she was settled and on track was a good excuse. All he had to do was get through the next forty-eight hours, and he’d be on his way, far away. He didn’t know where yet, but he knew it wouldn’t be here.
The property he’d driven up to see was in worse shape than he’d imagined. While within his power to rejuvenate the old farm, he knew now that it wasn’t a place he could settle. This afternoon, after leaving the agent’s office, he thought he’d caught a glimpse of her. His stomach had become unsettled, and his hands had gone clammy until the woman across
the street turned toward the man she was walking with and he saw it wasn’t Angela. That was when he’d made up his mind not to buy the place. He’d always considered himself a strong and competent man, but the idea of seeing her with another man hadn’t entered into his mind, ever. He’d been wrong to omit that line of thinking.
He also knew that if she ever found out about Ram McCloud and Agnes White, he’d never be able to face her or Tony again. At the time he was drafting the cha
racters, they seemed safe enough, the distance buying him anonymity. Beyond embarrassed if she realized, he’d have shown his hand and wouldn’t be able to handle the consequences. It would be best to just get the visit over with and move to the West Coast where temptation wasn’t at his fingertips.
Her house wasn’t what he was expecting. The dirt road wound through a wooded tract, and in the distance, he could see a small A-frame home built on pilings. Glancing around, he saw the view of the mountains the height accommodated. He’d had mixed reports of how Angela was actually living and, knowing how her family could arrange perspectives to fit their needs, had tried to give her the benefit of the doubt. Apparently, their needs were to assume that she couldn’t take care of herself when he knew she’d been taking care of all of them for years.
It had been automatic, she and her grandmother running the big old house in Brooklyn. He still wasn’t sure how she had actually managed to get out, but he’d find out now. This visit, facilitated by his friend Tony, who just happened to be Angela’s oldest brother, was supposed to be a quick hello to reinforce to Tony and himself that she was indeed managing on her own. The home looked intact, its cedar siding and roof weathered to a pale grey. It sat across from a newer-looking building, smaller with a second story. A garage, he assumed, from the large sliding door. Following the road to the front of the house, he estimated there had to be two acres of lawn surrounding the structures that faded into wooded land.
In the distance, from the tree line, a figure came toward him, a large brown pony romping beside her. Her! It couldn’t be. Not his Angela. The tips of his fingers tingled with anticipation of touching her again, and his mind forced the idea back. Her brown hair was flying loose in the light wind, and dark glasses covered her eyes. She had a bulky jacket over
extremely tight jeans and boots. He managed to extricate himself from the rented car with several oaths muttered.
As she neared, he saw the brown animal start toward him at a flat-out run. Bracing himself for the animal’s impact, it came to an unsteady halt several yards away from him when it heard the ear-piercing whistle. The animal was torn between obeying its master’s command and investigating their visitor. The large tail thumped against the dirt, which sent a small cloud of dust into the air.
He didn’t attempt to pet the Great Dane. Instead, he tried to steady his nerves as she approached. His erection grew as she neared, and he willed it away and, pulling his jacket close around him, was thankful it was cold enough to still be wearing it. It happened every time he’d seen her in the last years. That was part of the reason he’d stayed away when he’d had opportunities to visit the family with Tony.
A passing image of her reaching hesitantly toward him with her unsteady hands, of her turning his face toward her as she boldly kissed him that New Year’s Eve passed through him.
She’d been just eighteen and slightly tipsy on Vito’s homemade wine. He’d accepted her untutored kiss and refrained from holding her against him as instinct dictated. Knowing her whole family was in the house, just a room away, had kept him in check. She’d wanted more from him that night, and he’d rejected her. The sad look in her eyes haunted him for years. The next morning, over late coffee with her brothers, he’d waited for one of them to say something, but nobody did. Angela hadn’t come down that day until much later, her eyes definitely averted from his for the rest of his visit. That was ten years ago. He’d just turned thirty-eight, and she was now twenty-eight. Deep inside, he wondered who had finally taught her to kiss, and the question annoyed him.
“Hi, welcome,” she said as she neared, pausing to hook her fingers under the collar of the large dog still beating its tail on the ground.
From several feet away, he saw Angela for the first time in two years. She’d aged he decided but the direction was incredible. As she’d told him once before, she’d decide when her time came to blossom. She had other priorities.
“This is Prima,” she continued, struggling to hold back the dog from jumping on him.
Her voice lowered, and he realized she was commanding the dog in a foreign language. The animal, torn between its master’s instruction and its need to investigate, pleaded for release with her sad brown eyes. Angela won the battle after several rounds, and she finally looked up.
“I’m so glad you’re here. It’s been ages since I’ve seen you.”
Their gazes met and held, too many unanswered questions hanging in the air between them, her glasses shielding her secrets. He bent to acknowledge the dog and only after several moments of intense investigation did the animal, obviously bored with him, wander away.
“It is a dog, right?” He tried to gain control of his cock and his emotions. He wanted to swallow her up against him but didn’t dare move. Only after the dog deserted them did she approach him and pull him into her warmth without hesitation.
“Royce,” she whispered as he lost all restraint and held her tighter.
His name had been whispered in the same tone as the day he’d crossed the line with her. At the moment, he hadn’t cared, had only wanted to touch her and now, again, felt the same way. He knew he should release her and didn’t. He’d dreamt about her spicy scent and didn’t refrain from taking several deep breaths to reinforce the memory.
With her face buried against his chest, he heard her say, “I’ve missed you.”
A small groan worked its way up his throat, and he resisted the urge to pull her lips to his. He waited until she’d released him and tugged off her sunglasses. Her face was bright. Her eyes were still a clear chocolate brown. Her hair was shorter then he remembered, and the severe braid she’d always worn gone. Red and gold highlights bounced around her head as the late-day sun died around them. She didn’t turn from his open appraisal. She seemed to be studying him, too.
“Let’s get you inside,” she finally said, breaking their reunion.
Royce moved to the small trunk and easily lifted out his travel bag, while unable to resist the urge to watch her walk a few steps ahead of him. She’d been talking, but her words weren’t registering. All that did was her tightly clad bottom several steps ahead. With each movement, the denim pulled and hugged her long legs. He’d known that she was built, had found out for himself that fateful afternoon, yet he had never seen her display herself when she was around the family. She had always worn boxy
sweaters and loose pants or skirts with clunky shoes. He’d never considered her feminine until the layers had been stripped away, and he had no choice but to accept she was female.
The first thing that struck him as he entered her new home were the smells, tomato sauce with basil and oregano simmered on the stove, instantly bringing him back to the Brooklyn house. His stomach rumbled, but she didn’t seem to notice. The living room was small but well appointed, a large, river-stone fireplace centered on the side wall with kindling and small logs waiting for a match. Beside it, wood was stacked four foot high on both sides, which would ensure many hours of burning without going outside onto the second-story deck to replenish it.
The space was two stories high, light spilling in through the two-story glass wall he’d seen from the road. Two sofas and a comfortable chair anchored the right side of the room while a large dining table sat across from it. Behind was an open galley kitchen, and a small bar added extra counter space. Gold colored appliances complemented the sun washed walls. He noted the hallway and assumed her bedroom and bath was behind it. In the far corner, a narrow, circular, wrought iron staircase led up to a loft area.
“It’s great, Angela,” he said and meant it. She’d taken the time to light the fire and was unwinding a long scarf from her throat as he took a second look around. The walls were a subdued orange with bright white trim. Mostly left natural, the outside view was more artwork than anything she could have hung on the walls.
“I’m comfortable here,” she started, turned, and laughed. “Did you expect I’d bought a hovel?” Her laugh struck him on too many levels. “Your room’s
through here,” she said as she headed toward the small hallway, while unbuttoning her heavy coat with graceful fingers.
Following, he glanced into the open doorway she told him was his bath and to the rear, into a small but functional bedroom. A double bed with a pale blue down comforter was accented by stacks of pillows. Nightstands stood guard on either side of it, and a lamp was placed on each. Across the room was a small bureau with an oval mirror above it. On that bureau was a dark blue glass vase, with wild flowers overflowing from it.
“Let me know if there’s anything you need,” she began from the doorway and stopped when he looked. Automatically, she bundled the jacket over her arms and blocked his view of her ample chest.
How Royce managed to keep her eye he’d never know, only that this was Angela and she deserved his respect.
“Where do you sleep, isn’t this your room?” His look drilled through her and she just smiled, shaking her head. She relaxed as she spoke and went back to folding the bulky wool. His breath caught as she turned and saw her profile. Her outfit was completely respectable, only he wasn’t used to seeing Angela dressed this way. A simple man tailored shirt under a downy colored suede vest did nothing to hide her shapely figure. Her waist narrowed and smoothed into wider hips. Her belly was still flat, which added to the illusion of larger breasts swaying above. The denim covering her legs moved with each breath she took.
“No, I use the loft. The view is incredible.”
He wondered if she’d invite him up to see it but decided that would be dangerous territory.
“Get settled while I get us a snack. What would you like to drink? I have wine, beer and a few assorted bottles of hard liquor.”
“Is it Vito’s wine?” he teased, and she smiled.
“I have a bottle of his, if you’d like, but I also have a dry white.”
Neither of them acknowledged his crack about Vito’s wine. That was the excuse he’d used for taking advantage of her.
“I’ll try the white,” he said and didn’t stop watching her until she disappeared down the hallway.