by Dee Palmer
Forever Wanted—Part One
Copyright © 2019 Dee Palmer
Published by Dee Palmer
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in an form, including but not limited to electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either products of the authors imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase to, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Warning: ADULT CONTENT 18+ This story is a little on the filthy side and isn’t suitable for those who don’t enjoy graphic descriptions that are erotic in nature, but for those that do, enjoy ;)
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Title Page
Copyright
Other Books by Dee
Dedication
Authors Note
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Preview of Forever Wanted: Part Two
About The Author
The Choices Trilogy
The Disgrace Trilogy
Make sure you never miss a new release and to check out all my titles…
Follow Me
For Autumn, Ash & Tilly
Even if you will never read this,
you are by far my greatest achievement
and
the reason I can no longer enjoy myself on a trampoline.
I got into a good deal of trouble changing the story of Wanted as I did and you know what, tough. So it wasn’t a reverse harem as it may have started out but it’s the story I wanted to tell, and man do some people get out of their trees if you don’t give them exactly what they want, or dare to tell your own story or heaven forbid change your mind…
Anyway, Wanted Too also didn’t follow the story many people assumed in their reviews of Wanted, and I especially love that, when people jump on ahead and are angry at conclusions that don’t actually turn out in any shape or form how they have predicted-bloody know-it-alls….and breathe lol.
And so to Forever Wanted Part One, this story is for the lovely rest of you that really wanted me to finish this series. This is Pink’s Story and although not a cliffhanger you will have some questions which will be answered in Tug & Toxic’s story—Forever Wanted Part Two (I promise).
It’s in two parts because for me, they are two smaller stories which will make up a complete tale…in the end, if that makes sense.
Anyhoo, I just hope you enjoy!
“WHAT THE HELL?” MY HANDS grip the steering wheel, jerking it back to the center and pulling the truck back to the right side of the road after my evasive maneuver. Turning my head sharply to check over my shoulder, I take a long look in the rear-view mirror to be sure I didn’t actually hit her.
“Sorry?” Finn asks, and I shake my head, trying to dislodge the image of what I’ve just swerved to miss. What the hell?
“Damsel in a white dress,” I mutter.
“What did you say?” Even pixelated with the poor reception I can see the concern on Finn’s face. It’s why I called in the first place; I knew she’d be worried. I knew Charge would be pissed. Actually, they all would be pretty fucking mad if I didn’t check in. I thought one call would be enough to reassure her that I’m fine. I’m not fine. I’m a little fucked up, but she doesn’t need that on her conscience; she’ll be beating herself up over Hope as it is.
I need to get my head straight, and a long drive works wonders for focusing the mind on everything and nothing. I just need time to think.
“Nothing, definitely nothing, and absolutely none of my damn business.” My jaw clenches, forcing the words out, when every fiber in my body is fighting my natural instinct. To help.
“Pink, are you all right?”
“Gotta go, darlin’.”
“Wait! Pink!” Finn’s shrill cry makes me wince.
“Still here.” I tilt my head, patting my ear with the palm of my hand trying to clear the ringing.
“I love you and take care, and come back soon.”
“Will do, darlin’.”
“And don’t leave it too long. Call again soon…anytime!” She’s rushing her words, and the call keeps cutting out. “Don’t leave it too long, please.”
I wink at the screen. “Bye, darlin’.” The intermittent reception ends the call before I can. It takes a few long seconds for my brain to realize what my body is doing of its own volition. My foot has eased off the gas and my hands are steering the truck into a wide loop. A U-turn.
Don’t do it, Pink.
“Oh hell no!” I slam my foot on the brake and jolt to an emergency stop.
“Son of a bitch!”
Who does that? What kind of person drives past a woman on the side of the highway, barefoot and in a darn wedding dress? It wasn’t like I wasn’t trying to wave him down. I practically threw myself across the front of his truck, and all he did was swerve out of the way.
I could not be having a worse day.
The first vehicle to venture down this road in the last three hours and the guy behind the wheel is a prize jerk. What’s the flipping emergency? You wouldn’t catch me driving past a critter with a limp, let alone someone who is clearly in need of a little assistance.
“I hope you get a flat tire and hemorrhoids from sitting on your behind, driving on by me like I’m invisible.” I yell out. My throat is parched, and the plumes of dust still settling from the speed at which he drove past make my voice croak.
Wait, I take that back! No, not the hemorrhoids, just the flat tire bit. Please don’t get a flat tire.
In the distance, where the road meets the horizon in hazy, wavering lines of heat rising from the tarmac, I can see the old blue truck pull off the side of the road. It slowly starts to swing a wide curve, and before the truck can fully flip a U-turn and face me, it stops in the middle of the road.
“Yes! Yes, please keep turning back.” If there was any traffic at all, that truck would be holding it up or causing an accident, but there’s not a soul on the road. Which is why I’m so darn desperate for this guy to take his foot off the brake and drive back this way. I hold my breath and do that mind-over-matter trick that never works, willing him to do the right thing. Unless, for him, the right thing is to drive back and still not pick me up. I can’t see that anyone would be that cruel. Still, he did drive past me in the first place.
He must be a real quality gu
y.
The wheels roll forward at a glacial pace, and the truck begins to head back my way.
Yes!
Even from the distance, it’s apparent the old Ford pick-up has seen better days, with dents, a twisted grill on the front and mottled, flaky, pale blue paintwork that reveals more rust than color. Still, with the palm of my hand providing the only source of shade from this scorching heat for the last three hours, this hunk of junk is a golden chariot, and the guy driving has elevated himself from jerk to hero with one turn of his steering wheel.
The truck skids to a stop, sending a fresh cloud of choking dust billowing around me, clogging up my lungs and making me blind with the grit. My eyes start streaming, and I’m coughing up a storm and waving my arms to try and clear the air so I can breathe. I still can’t see, and my throat feels so raw I’m not sure if I am going to be able to speak.
I wince with a stifled cry when I step up to the passenger door. The hard gravel slices the soft skin on the soles of my feet. Just add that to the list, Buttercup. I clasp the handle and brace to take some of the weight from my feet. Pain, humiliation, and hunger have shortened the fragments of my fuse to non-existent. In my head, I am all politeness and gratitude for his somewhat belated display of chivalry. He’s my hero; however, my mouth still thinks he’s a son of a…
“What kind of asshole drives past someone barefoot, in a wedding dress, in the middle of nowhere? What kind of monster are you? ”
“And good day to you, ma’am.”
My vision is blurred as I blink tears and sand from my eyes, but I can clearly see the wide white killer smile and sharp tip of the brim of his cowboy hat. The engine roars, and I have to jump back when the truck lurches forward and away from me.
“Wait!” I scream above the churn of tires on dirt. “Please wait! I’m sorry!” The tail of the truck rolls from side to side as the driver continues to speed away, wrestling the vehicle over the potholes. No! I crumple to my knees and drop my head in my hands.
What’s wrong with you, Buttercup? You don’t cuss, and here you are, cussing out a complete stranger who was going to save your butt. Not completely save—no one can do that—but today, he could’ve saved you today. Way to go, B.
I’m lost in my own hopeless sobbing when I hear the telltale crunch-crunch of footsteps, which fall silent as I look up. His shadow falls over me, blocking the sunlight and ensuring every detail of him is in complete silhouette.
“Do you want my help or not?” The towering dark figure looms, his voice rough and angry. He holds one hand out in front of me, and I shield my eyes from shards of sunlight that hit my face when he moves and reach for him with my free hand. His savage grip crunches the bones in my hand, and he nearly yanks my arm from the socket as he pulls me up from the ground. Fiery rods of pain shoot through me with the fresh weight on the torn flesh of my bleeding feet. I have to bite my lips together and swallow back the howl of agony filling my mouth. Despite the day from hell, the near-death levels of dehydration, and the mess that is my life, twenty-four years of ingrained manners kick in, and I find myself more concerned with upsetting this stranger. I plaster a friendly smile on my dirt-stained face and try not to scare him away.
“I do want your help, sir. I’m sorry.” My hand drops from his when he sharply releases his hold, as if I’ve burned him with my touch. Rubbing the circulation back into my fingers, I try to meet his gaze, pushing my smile just a little wider. It feels like my cheeks are going to burst from the force and tension.
I’m confused.
I pride myself on being a people person, a people pleaser, and I’ve never met a single soul I couldn’t make smile. Even our hermit of a neighbor, old Travis, who’d just as soon shoot you as crack a smile. It’s our secret that he ever flashed me a crooked smile, and I have the image catalogued as one of my most treasured memories. The toothless grin on his weathered, weary face when I brought over a Thanksgiving dinner for him that first time. Granted he did try and shoot me first, but the point is he smiled for me. It’s my thing. I make people smile, I make them happy, and this man is staring right through me.
I’m terribly confused.
A heavy frown pinches deep lines between his brows and at the bridge of his nose. The shade from his Stetson masks the true color of his eyes but not the hostility. Brushing the dust from my backside, I stop on the first sweep, instantly recognizing the lost cause of ever saving the dress. He tips his head to the side and takes his time looking from my bare toes to the bird’s nest of hair on my head. Nothing, not a quirk of his full lips or a curious arch of his blond eyebrow.
I may not be quite ready to go into all the details of my morning from hell, but I do have a burning need to get some of it off my chest. It’s not like there’s anyone else I can talk to about this. I can’t risk Grampa finding out, and the town we live in is small in every sense of the word. Secrets are kept for seconds, carried from lips to ears like an unwelcome winter breeze swinging a screen door wide open. A stranger might be just what I need to make sense of the senseless.
“I’ve just been having a really bad day. I’m sorry I cussed at you. I’m sorry I was so rude. I’m not normally—”
He cuts me off with the harsh clip of his words. “I don’t care.” His big palm is flat and almost touching the tip of my nose. He keeps his hand there, and I have to peek around it when he continues to speak. “Ma’am, I don’t care if you’ve been jilted, you’ve just found a lump on your tit, or your dog just died. This is nothing to do with me.” His hand sweeps away from my face and waves slowly, indicating the full length of my sorry-looking self. “However, unfortunately, because of my training, I couldn’t just leave you here.” He scowls, his demeanor outwardly hostile and intimidating. In the middle of nowhere with an angry stranger, I know I should be terrified, or at the very least aware that this could be a dangerous situation, yet I’m not remotely scared.
I’m intrigued.
“Training?”
“Move.” He jerks his head toward the truck he left running at the side of the road.
“Excuse me?”
“Move your ass and get in the truck.”
“Oh, right.” I nod but can’t bring myself to move my feet. The mind-numbing pain is set at a bearable inferno, and I don’t want to ignite a fresh level of agony. “Thank you. I appreciate this, really. I’m not normally this much of a mess.”
“Don’t care.” Impressively, he manages to sound both bored and impassive, turning his back and walking toward his truck.
“Yes, you said that already. I’m just saying…” He spins and storms back to me. I have to arch right back to create some space because I still don’t want to move my feet. He glares, nostrils flare, and I’m completely distracted by the color of his eyes.
Oh, he’s got blue eyes.
“Excuse me, Miss—”
“Buttercup,” I interrupt and hold my hand at an awkward angle, trying to shake his when there is no room between us just heat and fury.
“What?”
“Buttercup. My name is Buttercup. Yes, my momma was a big fan of the film and—”
“Buttercup?” His lips tighten with the effort of forcing a strange expression. It could be a smile or a grimace. No, it’s a grimace. I’ve seen his smile, and it was breathtaking. This looks like he’s in more pain than I am.
“Yes?”
“Can you listen to me very carefully? This is real important.” He holds the tops of my shoulders, fixing me with the seriousness of his stern expression.
“Of course.”
“I. Don’t. Care.” He punctuates each word with a firm squeeze that I think might actually leave a mark. Gosh, he’s really angry, and I’m even more intrigued. I have enough going on, I know, but seeing such turmoil in possibly the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen has me all kinds of distracted. I want to know his story. I wonder if he wants to hear mine?
“Right, got it.” I mean, he didn’t really mean that did he? He saved me. That has to cou
nt for something.
“Have you? Because, one more word from you and I’m gonna leave that skinny ass of yours out here in the desert for the coyotes to feast on.”
“Coyotes don’t eat people.” I scoff, tutting at the notion. “In fact, attacks on humans are very rare. You’d be better saying you’ll leave me here to fry in the sun or get bitten by a snake or maybe a mountain lion. Yeah, that might work.”
He barks my name, making me jump and smile nervously. “Buttercup!”
“Sorry.”
Rubbing the back of his neck, he steps back and walks away. He takes several strides before stopping. Groaning, he drops his head and, with an exaggerated huff, slowly turns back to face me.
“What now? Please tell me you’ve changed your mind about the help and I’ll gladly get back in Berta and drive outta here.”
“No, I haven’t changed my mind, it’s just you said not to talk.”
“And yet…” He holds up his hand and waves it in my direction. Exhibit A.
“Can you bring the truck back here? My feet are…” I lift my dress, revealing two bloody and swollen feet. When I look back up, he’s right there, bending just enough to scoop me high into his arms. “What are you doing?”
He huffs. “Saving your feet.”
“Think you might be saving more than that.” My head rests on his firm chest. I like the way this feels. Light, secure and safe.
“Think again, princess,” he states, but I can’t hide the genuine smile filling my face.
“This isn’t the action of someone who doesn’t care,” I retort and wait for him to look down and meet my gaze. It doesn’t happen. He roughly hoists me high onto his shoulder; the hard edge of bone digs into my stomach, and I scramble to grab something to support myself. I settle on the belt of his jeans but I can feel the internal damage with every one of his heavy strides. “Ow! Okay, okay, you don’t care! Now, can you carry me the other way please? This is really uncomfortable.”
