“I’m thinking that you’re possibly the dumbest man I’ve ever met, because who on earth would meet you and not fall immediately in love with you? It doesn’t matter whether you were playing guitar on stage in a packed concert or on a cardboard box in an alleyway!”
Shannon didn’t notice Julian’s fierce look of desire, or the way that he was slowly inching over the doorstep towards her. Her eyes were welling with tears of anger mixed with joy.
“And I’m thinking that you owe me a lot more than just one rose if you’re going to come back and ask me to open my heart back up again!”
Julian stepped forward fully, closing the door behind him. Shannon gasped as his arm reached out around her, pulling her close to him. She could smell his cologne, and when he bent his head to her ear she could hear her own heart beating fast against his chest.
“What do I owe you?”
***
About the Author
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Aubrey Rose lives in sunny San Diego, where she likes to lay around in a hammock reading her favorite romances. When she's not writing steamy stories, she can be found dancing naked in front of the mirror to Abba while her cat watches disdainfully.
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Blind Wolf
The sequel to this novella, Perfect Mate, is available now on Amazon! A brand new novella from New York Times Bestseller Aubrey Rose!
Julia has never been on a date in her life. She's a curvy girl with no money, no education, and no way out of the town she works in as a library assistant... until Damien shows up. He's just like the prince charming Julia always imagined would sweep her off of her feet. There are just a few things standing in the way of true happiness: he's blind, he's dating someone, and he's WAY out of her league.
Oh, and he's a werewolf.
Damien lost his eyes two years ago in a wolf battle. Ever since then, the straggler pack of disabled wolves he leads has been searching for a place to call home. One house seems like the perfect choice, but Damien realizes too late that the person who lives there is the girl he met at the library. The human girl. Damien is torn between loyalty to his pack and raw lusting desire for the girl who haunts his dreams day and night.
She's a human. How could she be his true mate?
HOT PRAIRIE PURSUIT
By A.T. Mitchell
I: Discoveries, Light and Dark (Misty)
My calves burned like twisters on fire when I first saw him.
At first, I froze. Fluid movements didn't come easy after a long day of work on the ranch left every molecule inside me utterly exhausted.
But seeing that dark shape just past the back fence sent lightning crackling through my system. I opened my mouth to scream, turning toward the long dusty drive where my men parked their cars and trucks.
Of course, it was an hour past the end of the day, and everybody was gone. Everybody except me.
I ran. I never learned more than basic first aid, but I knew how important speed was in this situation.
“Jesus!” I hissed, all I could manage as I looked in his direction again. “Oh, Misty, this just isn't your day.”
No, it wasn't just a gnarled tree flattened by a prairie storm or a tractor part my inattentive worker Jimmy left in the field. It was a man, a wounded man, laying frighteningly motionless in my field.
And he was out cold. I saw as much as I slowed my brisk run to tentative steps, focusing as much as I could on the purple-orange glow behind the hills.
The setting sun comforted me. I needed its ruddy glow, its energy.
I needed all the calm I could get with this kind of tragedy showing up on my doorstep.
I hopped over the fence, holding my breath. I hadn't prayed since Daddy's funeral, but now I was calling on Jesus, Buddha, Vishnu – anybody up there who'd listen!
Please don't let him be dead!
“Sir,” I said, crashing next to him and planting my knees square in the cooling earth. “Sir!”
My eyes stopped, awestruck to see such a titan laid low. I gazed at his shirtless body, stunned by this magnificent Adonis who'd mysteriously fallen on my land.
It took all my strength to roll him on his back. I clasped my small hands on his cheeks.
Rough stubble lined his chiseled jaw. It went past his ear and connected to the short crop of hair, swirling around the small, dark cut just above his eyebrow.
He was warm. Alive.
Thank you, I breathed, before new anxiety foamed through my blood.
I didn't want him dead, though that would've simplified things by a lot. Instead, I had one hell of a problem on my hands, roughly two hundred muscular pounds of trouble, by the looks of him.
I chewed my lip, eyes wide in horror.
Please wake up. Please!
There's no way I can carry you inside myself. And if I can't get you out of here, your chances aren't great...
I tensed my fingers on his temples, wracking my brain to remember the basic CPR I'd taken in High School.
Little pieces flashed, beacons in a fog, jumbled and confused. Maybe it was heat exhaustion or a stroke, in which case I should've thrown myself back over the fence and sought water, something to cool him down.
My right hand slid to his broad chest and flattened. I followed his warm flesh up to his neck, searching for his deepest veins and arteries.
After several seconds, I felt a pulse. Weak and obvious as his shallow breathing.
I brushed his dark hair, whispering to myself in the encroaching shadows as the last sun rays disappeared on the horizon.
“You can do this. Run inside and get help. Dial 9-11.” I gritted my teeth, annoyed that I'd forgotten my phone on the kitchen table.
Not that it would've done much good. Neither would conventional advice.
This small South Dakota town didn't have anything better than one attentive doctor and a really basic clinic. The nearest hospital was over an hour away.
If I called now, maybe they'd get a chopper out here to lift him away for treatment, but was there really time? What if his injuries needed attention now?
“Wake up, wake up, wake up!” I mumbled, each time a little louder than the last, until I was full on shrieking it.
Frantically, I laid gentle slaps against his cheek. Slapping such a handsome man knocked out cold reminded me what a strange detour an ordinary evening had taken.
I wanted that normalcy back. Especially after the day I'd had, with a broken water pump on the horse troughs and a bunch of knuckleheads who saw me as Richard Sheen's bratty daughter, not their boss.
The angry replays stopped the instant he stirred. I threw myself at the ground, until our faces were only a couple inches apart.
Yep, his head was moving, alright. I slapped his cheek a little harder, a little faster.
His chest swelled and lifted toward me as he sucked in a huge breath. Then the most beautiful hazel eyes opened, appearing like a harvest moon cutting through darkness.
He made a noise. Something between confusion and annoyance.
I laughed, happy that I'd been able to bring him out of it. Or maybe something, somewhere had, granting me one last prayer.
“Come on. Can you walk, sir? You're hurt bad and we have to get you inside!” I threw one arm over his neck as he sat up, his big shoulders shaking.
He looked at me unevenly and groaned again. I grabbed his huge, calloused hand with both of mine and pulled.
As if in a trance, he rose. His knees instantly buckled when he reached full height, and I threw myself around him, killing myself to hold him upright.
“No! Don't fall. You have to come with me. Come on. Come quick. Just hang tight to my arms and follow me.”
I led him several yards to an open spot in the gate. Slow and steady, we got there, one little step at a time.
I'd led my share of stubborn horses around since I was a little girl, but I hadn't actually w
orried about them the way I did with him. My contact with injured animals was mercifully little – and men?
No way.
Just a little bit further. We're on the main path now.
The walk across the open space where my small, beaten up car was parked took a small eternity. About ten steps from the porch, he swayed heavily, arms snaking out like he'd been hit with a powerful wind.
“We're almost there!” I yelled, far louder than I should. If he collapsed now, so close to my front door, I swore I'd...The stranger steadied himself. He hadn't spoken a word and his eyes were bleary, but at some level, he remained in control of his senses.
I clasped his hard bicep tight and pulled him forward. He followed, his heavy boots kicking gravel at every step.
I wanted to holler through the empty house when the screen door slammed behind him. But we weren't at the final destination, just yet.
I led him through the dark hall, the kitchen, the living room, stopping to flick random light switches and lamps in my wake. Last thing he needed was to trip on a table or the crate of canned soup I hadn't put away.
At last, we reached it. I pounded my palm smack in the center of my bedroom door. It flipped back and bounced against the wall.
“Here, here. Let's ease you down, sir. Sorry, but it's the only bed I have.” For a second, I worried that my small antique mattress wouldn't even hold him, but he rolled onto it with room to spare.
His eyelids slipped shut, and then opened, calmer and clearer than before. I watched him for several seconds, making sure his breathing looked regular.
Along his right side, a discolored pocket slowly formed, as if he'd been taken a hard blow at the edge of his ribs. Truly a sad sight on such beautiful skin.
What the hell happened out there?
I wandered into the kitchen and bathroom for supplies. Unease prickled my neck. I knew I should've been calling emergency services to get him the care I needed.
Too bad it hadn't worked so well for Daddy. They showed up too late to jump start his heart after I found him collapsed in the living room.
My hands brushed through the medicine basket angrily. No, the men who came from upstate hadn't done anything for me, even if there wasn't much they really could do.
Well, I'll do all I can. I'm in control here.
I'll nurse him back to health myself if I need to, call Doc McLaren in from town tomorrow.
I won't let another man die in this house so soon.
I immediately relaxed when I came into my bedroom carrying a canteen, rubbing alcohol, and some bandages. The big man had rolled on his side, and he was breathing a little more easily.
Low growls left his lips like a heavily sedated tiger each time I brushed his cuts with swabs. The bigger ones, I dressed up, carefully lining the bandages over the dark red fissures in his skin.
After about an hour, everything glowed pitch black outside my window. It looked out toward the fence where I found him.
I whimpered and almost jumped through the roof when I saw a silhouette moving near the fence. But it was too small and swift to be a man crawling.
Damned coyotes. Thank God I got him inside – just in time.
Clouds wafted across the moon, making it too dark to catch the reflective shine in their canine eyes. I shuddered and crawled onto the bed.
I reached over him, testing the old window to make sure it was firmly shut and locked down.
Satisfied, I spread my arms in the small space next to him. Incredible tiredness filled my bones.
What a day.
All the frustrations and scares I had with running the farm in the two seasons since Daddy died paled in comparison to this wounded stranger. My nervous arm hooked around him, hand outstretched and sweeping his steely muscles.
You can't be from around here. You're built like a pro football player or maybe a former Navy SEAL. None of that gangly, uneven, lean muscle that comes from growing up on the ranches around here.
I looked down at myself, cheeks blotting with shame. I was a country girl through and through.
Pretty enough to interest the local boys, but too plain to ever stand out in the big cities. I learned everything I needed to know about the girls who had hair extensions and boob jobs by the time they hit twenty.
Two disappointing semesters across the border at the U of M threw that other world wide open to me. One look, and I decided I was done.
I shook my head, a different kind of shame brightening my cheeks.
This is hardly the time to be fretting about your looks – even if he's de-licious. You're supposed to be making sure he's safe.
Funny, but it felt like the other way around. I snuggled against him harder, spooning his large bulk with my smaller one as best as I could.
Being so close and cozy with a strong man promised to keep the coyotes at bay. Behind his muscles, the whole world seemed impenetrable, no matter who or what might be out there beyond the window, lurking in the darkness.
Just stay with me through the night, I silently pleaded. Stay with me, and get better in the morning. I'll make sure you keep breathing.
I smiled softly, flesh warming behind my tank top and jeans, all thanks to his body heat. Was he getting warmer, or was it only my imagination?
I didn't know. I didn't care.
Having someone to hold onto – someone amazing? – was all that mattered tonight. Banking on extra karma never hurt either.
If I held him and guided him through the darkness, maybe one day he'd do the same for me. And Lord only knew I needed it.
Not that I admitted it to anyone. I was used to tending animals and people, mining my heart and running on empathy. I did it quietly, without expecting anything, except some good karma.
One day, it'll all come back. Even if I have to wait a whole eternity.
Sleep's hypnotic spell sprinkled my head. I nuzzled closer, tired and a little turned on by this stranger's warmth.
Safe, for now, as long as we just held on.
Let's be safe together, I thought. Next thing I knew, peaceful darkness shrouded my eyes.
II: No Easy Confession (Declan)
“You poor dumb bastard. I should bury you in the sands with just your neck sticking out for the buzzards and coyotes to pick at.” Anderson Dugan stared down at me, chewing that cheap blueberry gum I'd never be able to smell again without retching.
“Heh, you want us to? It would only take an hour to get it done after we break every bone in his body.” A balding man slapped the crowbar in his palm, eyeing me with none of Anderson's charm and all of his cruelty.
“No time for that,” Anderson said. “Just give him a few good cracks and leave him out here. If he survives in this wasteland, he won't be coming after us again. Not for twice as much. Isn't that right, Mister Bounty Hunter?”
I never wanted to beat in a sneering face as much as I did when the smuggler leaned close to my face, breathing that sugary sick blueberry scent in my eyes.
“Go to hell,” I muttered, pushing my hands out once as rage lashed inside me.
They barely moved an inch. The third man in the leather jacket, an obese gorilla almost twice my size, held my wrists like a giant grabbing at twigs.
“Want me to break his hands, boss?”
Anderson smiled. Our eyes were still locked. I knew he wanted to see something – a flash of terror, a plea, a flare of self-doubt – anything that showed him he'd won.
But I didn't, couldn't, give him that satisfaction.
It took all my discipline not to flinch. For once, it paid off, instead of landing me in more trouble.
“We really have to get going,” Anderson said coldly. “This guy we're meeting likes his slaves hot and unconscious. Something about the way they obey when he's the first thing the girls see, or so he says. Whatever. Point is, there'll be hell to pay if we show up and she's awake.”
The bald man nodded vigorously. Without another word, Anderson turned his back and began walking toward their sleek black SUV.
I clenched my teeth as the gorilla's hands tightened painfully on my wrists. Smiling, his partner crept forward, hands flexing as he gripped the crowbar.
“This is what you get for sticking your nose where it don't belong, you sonofabitch.”
The first blow smacked me right in the shoulder. I winced, but it wasn't as bad as I expected. This tough, bald guy was out of shape, and I briefly wondered why the big ape wasn't nailing me instead.
What he lost in strength, he made up in speed. Two more metal cracks clapped against my flesh, each time a little lower. An ocean of white hot pain poured across one side.
Everything spun, turning black, whirling with white hot stars peppering the new void, like staring inside my own skull.
I never knew it he came in for another strike. If he did, I couldn't feel it.
I crumpled flat, wondering if I was about to have my first, and possibly my last, out-of-body experience.
My eyes flicked wide, but I saw nothing but more stars, brightening and growing in the crimson-red field. Vague, distorted footsteps crunched in my ears. Thankfully, they were moving away from me.
At least it's just my eyes, I thought. I can live with being blind.
I listened to a distant engine roar to life. Overhead, the hot summer sun painted my body, as if I were nothing but one rocky cluster strewn across the open plains.
I blacked out.
The young woman sounded pretty. I couldn't see her properly – just a faint outline – gray and blurry as the rest of the world.
Her words came slow, slurred. I tried to make out what she was saying.
Sir? Sir?
Numbness shot through my center. My brain felt like a diver coming up for air. Pressure shifted wildly as I sat up.
Or at least I thought I did. The word was unstable, and it didn't have a center. Everything wagged and wavered around me.
“Come on. Come on. Come on.”
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