“But my car? You think it’s gone?” Her eyes widened and he thought he saw them glisten.
“I can check for you, but it was smoking pretty badly when I left. Although who knows with the ice and rain.”
She sank to the couch, burying her face in her hands. Her shoulders lifted with sobs. “I’m screwed. So screwed.”
Striker felt helpless. He sat next to her as she cried into her palms.
He broke the silence. “How is your face? Do you want something for the pain?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know what I want. They’re going to find me. I have no way to get another car.” She sobbed some more.
He reached out to touch her. As his hand landed on her shoulder, he felt the overwhelming instinct to protect her. To help her.
“Who’s going to find you?” he asked.
She sniffed. “Nobody. I shouldn’t have said anything.” She straightened her back.
“Hold on. Let me get you something to drink.” He left her sitting on the couch while he poured a bottle of water in a glass for her.
He sucked in, when he returned and saw her sitting on the edge of the sofa, tears glistening on her cheeks. Her hair flowing around her shoulders. His bear growled. The need to be with a woman had never felt so strong.
“Here you go.” He handed her the water.
“Do you have anything stronger?” she asked.
He blinked. “Like alcohol?”
“Yeah. I’ve had the shittiest day. I need something more than water.”
“Alcohol we have. Hold on. Don’t move.”
Striker walked back to the kitchen. The fridge was empty so he jogged down the steps to the wine cellar. He searched the labels until he landed on a bottle of red. He took it upstairs. He kept checking, but his guest was exactly where he had left her. He popped the cork and poured two large glasses.
He walked to the living room, extending a brimming glass to her.
“How’s this?” he asked.
She smiled, took the glass, and chugged it until the wine was gone.
He stared at her. “That was an ’87 pinot.”
“I’ll take another.” She held the empty glass in the air.
“Um. All right.” Striker refilled her goblet and returned.
“Thank you.” She grinned. “For an ’87 pinot it’s good.”
He chuckled. “You know much about wine?”
She shook her head. “Not a damn thing, but I feel like it’s the only thing holding me together right now.”
He gripped his glass between his hands. “What’s your name?”
“Presley.” She lowered her eyes. “Shit.”
“What? What’s wrong?”
“I wasn’t going to tell you my name.”
“Maybe less wine next time.” He winked at her. “I’m Striker.”
“Striker? Are you using an alias?” She blinked at him in disbelief.
He liked her. She was feisty. His bear was dying to know just how much. “No, that’s my birth name. Striker Highland.”
“This your place?” She looked at the beams overhead.
“It’s a family home. I share it with my two brothers. Occasionally we let the rest of the family crash here at the holidays.” He grinned.
“Where are we exactly?” Her teeth moved over her bottom lip and he felt the urge to kiss her.
He cleared his throat. “We’re about two hours from Seattle.”
“I almost made it.” She sipped the wine. He was glad she was taking it easy on the second glass.
“Almost? Were you headed to the city?”
She nodded.
“Where are you from, Presley?” He liked how her name sounded on his lips.
“I’m in the middle of a move. I’m not from anywhere.” She shifted in her seat.
He knew she was uncomfortable. The whole damn scenario was insane. The car crash. Finding her. Taking her home. Nothing about this was normal.
He wanted to ask why everything she owned was packed in his car. He wanted to know why she was traveling alone.
“Well, I’m from Seattle. I’m a photographer.” He walked behind the couch and grabbed a handful of magazines. He laid them on the coffee table. “Just so you don’t think I’m a serial killer.” He flipped open to the spread he had done for the Zest feature and pointed at his name.
“That’s you?” She held the picture to her face.
“Yep.”
She turned the pages. “This is impressive.”
He tipped the wine glass up and finished off his wine. “Thank you.”
She moved to the next magazine. “How long have you been a photographer?”
“Professionally? Since college. But always. I’ve always loved the art.”
“Hmm. I guess I’ve never thought about it as an art. But it is, isn’t it?” She hadn’t looked up. Her eyes were glued to the pages.
He had to remind himself to breathe. Being this close to the woman who was his mate was enough to make him lose all control. God, her hips were curvy as hell. And the swells of her breasts made him lick his lips. He needed to lock up his bear.
Striker picked up a log and tossed it on the fire. The wood crackled and popped.
Presley settled on to the couch, her shoulders sinking into the cushions.
There was something in the air. He could feel it. His bear could feel it. He wanted this woman. He had to have her. But how in the hell was that going to happen?
6
Presley
Presley stared at Striker. The man who had rescued her from her car. The man who had brought her to his lodge in the middle of nowhere. The man who had bandaged her face. The man who was hot as sin.
Her body was exhausted. It ached deep in her muscles. But she realized her situation was desperate. She was stranded. It didn’t sound like there was a car worth towing and she didn’t have insurance or money to cover a new car.
Striker was her only option to get to Seattle.
The air between them felt thick. She knew he was going to ask her to stay before he said the words.
“Look, I’m happy to call a car service or something to get your car, but it’s late. There’s nothing close. No hotels. There’s too much ice on the roads, anyway. I doubt they would try. It’s not safe.”
He ran his hands through his hair. He was obviously struggling with how to approach the question. “Why don’t you stay here tonight? I can bring your things in from the car.”
Her skin tingled. Her heart beat faster. She shouldn’t react like that, she thought, but it was involuntary. It was as if some sort of damsel in distress disease had seized her. She was completely willing to let Striker help her. She never accepted help.
She nodded. “I think that might be best.” She stared into his dark brown eyes. Holy hell. She felt a twinge between her legs. None of this should be happening.
“Good. We’ve got plenty of rooms.” He rushed past her. “I’ll just go to the car. Be right back.” He slammed the door behind him and was gone.
Presley started at the fire. This was crazy. Insane. Ludicrous. But she was doing it just the same. Spending the night in the house with a total stranger. A hot, delicious, built-like-a-god, stranger.
* * *
Striker
Striker closed the car doors and placed the luggage on the front porch then drove his SUV into the garage. He didn’t like leaving his car outside. The driveway would be slick as an ice rink in the morning.
He hadn’t thought how this would go. He didn’t know it was going to be like this when his bear would want someone so strongly he could taste her. He had been looking and searching, hoping the woman for him was nearby.
He carried the suitcases and her purse inside. Presley rose from the couch, taking the bag from his arm.
“I put your phone in there too,” he told her.
She rifled through the bag and sighed with relief.
“Everything ok?” he asked.
“Yes,” she answ
ered, clasping the bag together.
“Good.” He didn’t know how to put her at ease.
“Thank you.” She smiled. “Thank you for everything. Pulling me from the car. Bringing me here.” She held up her glass. “The wine.”
He thought he saw a look in her eye. A look that said she was thinking about his lips as much as he was thinking about hers. He dropped the bags next to the staircase.
“You’re welcome. I hope you know you’re safe here.”
She nodded as she walked toward him. His throat tightened. She was standing next to him. All he had to do was reach out and pull her into his arms.
“Thank you for letting me stay.” Her eyes lifted to his and her tongue lightly touched her lip.
He knew his bear didn’t have enough control for this. He was breaking free inside Striker with reckless abandon. He wrapped his arms around Presley, drawing her to his chest.
His mouth swept over hers. As soon as he touched her lips he heard the moan from her throat. He slipped his tongue inside her mouth, tasting the wine, as she parted her lips. He moved over her hungrily, sucking, kissing, dipping his tongue deeper. Her hands wrapped around his neck and he felt the softness of her body align with his.
She clung to him while their mouths moved desperate to taste more.
“Oh, God,” he growled in her ear. His hands tangled in her hair.
Her breath turned to raspy gasps. “This is crazy,” she breathed.
She didn’t know half the crazy. His bear had finally awakened to his mate and all he could think about was taking her. Taking her here and now on the staircase. It would be beautiful and glorious. Everything he had wanted. He would fill her with his cubs. He would make her scream his name. Make her beg for more.
He growled again, his hands snaking under her shirt.
“Wait, wait.” She straightened her shoulders. “Too fast. It’s too much. I don’t know you.”
She stepped backward.
Striker looked at her. The desire to claim her, burning him from the inside out.
“I’m sorry.” He wanted to pull her back in his arms. He wanted to taste more than her tongue. “It’s just…you’re so beautiful…I couldn’t think of anything else but kissing you.”
She blushed. “Really?”
He nodded. “And I doubt I’ll be able to think of anything else tonight.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. It might be the only way not to reach out and grab her. He had to get his bear back under control.
She smiled, placing a hand on his arm. “Thank you. Thank for you everything.”
He watched as she climbed the stairs.
7
Presley
Striker didn’t tell her which room to take, but she opened the first door she could find and closed it behind her. She’d get the luggage later. She pressed her back to the door and let out a breath.
Holy hell. He had kissed her until she didn’t think she could walk. His tongue. His hands. They were fiery and doing all kinds of things to her they shouldn’t.
Sure she could walk again, she crossed the room and looked at her reflection. The cut on her cheek was held together by the bandage he had applied. She inspected his work. Even with this he had said she was beautiful.
She ran her hands over her body. Her full hips, her heaving breasts, the soft flesh on her thighs. This wasn’t possible. She was probably in a coma or still dreaming. Men like Striker Highland didn’t think she was beautiful. No, she attracted crazy wolf shifters.
She shuddered. At least this place was in the middle of nowhere. They wouldn’t find her here. But what if they did? What if Colton’s pack was looking for her? What if they knew she had driven off on her way to Seattle?
She started to shake. How close had she become to being eaten alive or taken as some kind of sex slave? Her fingers rattled.
Her phone rang. Shit. It was Colton. She sat on the bed, dreading the voicemail he would leave.
Trembling, she held the phone to her ear. “Baby, you’ve got me worried. Now I’m looking for you.”
She heard a knock at the door and jumped so hard she almost landed on the floor.
“Presley, your bags are out here. Good night. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Wait,” she called. She crossed the room.
She could blame the wine. She could blame the intense fear running through her body. She could blame a possible concussion. It didn’t matter, the words came out.
“Can I stay in your room tonight?”
* * *
Striker
He stared into her beautiful blue eyes. He heard the words, but he didn’t believe it.
“You want to stay with me?” he asked.
She nodded. “Please. I promise I won’t steal covers or anything.” She lowered her eyes and that’s when he saw the shaking. Her lip trembled and her shoulders shook.
It was instinct. He pulled her against his chest. “Yes. You don’t have to explain.”
He told his bear to back off. She needed warmth. She needed protection. She needed rest.
As her head rested against his heart he felt her relax into his arms. “I know it’s crazy, but I can’t stop shaking.”
“Shh…no, it’s not crazy. You were in an accident. That would rattle anyone.” He brushed her hair from her face. “My room is the next one over. Why don’t you get changed?”
She pushed off his body. For a second he thought maybe she had changed her mind. That all she really needed was a hug.
“I’ll be in in a few minutes.” She pulled the suitcases into her room, then closed the door.
Striker looked at the closed door. His bear grumbled. He didn’t want to cuddle and comfort. He wanted to claim the woman that was meant to be his.
Striker walked down the hall. His room was at the opposite end from his brother Crawford’s suite. Crawford had practically taken one whole end of the upstairs converting one of the adjoining rooms into his design studio.
Hudson’s suite was on the first floor. That left this wing for Striker to convert to his master bedroom. He shoved the door open. It had been awhile since he had been here. The room felt cold.
There was enough wood in the hearth to get a fire going. He stacked the logs and within minutes stood back to admire the blaze. He listened for Presley’s footsteps and then ducked into the bathroom.
He turned the shower on. If he was going to make it through the night without taking her, he needed a cold shower. He opened the glass door to turn the handle.
He imagined what it would be like with Presley as his mate. He knew nothing about her, only that his bear was aching for her. It was more primal than anything he had ever felt.
He stepped into the cool water and waited for it to ease the heat being near her created.
8
Presley
She crept down the hall, looking for Striker’s room. There had to be a hundred rooms in this place. It was silly and desperate, but the only time the fear didn’t rip through her was when he held her. She needed that tonight. Maybe more.
She had slipped into a thin T-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts she liked to sleep in.
She tapped on the door.
“Come in,” he called.
The door squeaked open. Striker sat on the edge of the bed. His pajama pants fastened low on his hips. No shirt. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. Holy hell.
Presley felt the heat from the fireplace. “You built a fire?”
“I didn’t want you to be cold. It looks like we’ve lost power.” He flipped the light switch as if to prove there was no electricity.
If he was trying to quietly seduce her, he was doing it. She felt her heart melt into a puddle.
“Thanks.”
She walked to the bed. It was huge. Plenty of room to sleep on one side.
She pulled back the covers. She had never done anything like this before. She had never slept with a stranger. She had never had a one-night stand. She barely kissed guys on th
e first date. Although, she didn’t know how to categorize any of this.
Striker turned off the lamp and wiggled in next to her. She wasn’t expecting him to pull her against his body. She immediately felt the hard ridges of his shoulders. The strong planks of his chest. She sighed.
“Does this help?” he asked, tucking a hand around her waist. “Is the shaking getting any better?”
She nodded. She felt safe. She felt completely protected. But she also felt something else. Her body was tingling. Firing all over. She tried to quiet the nerves in her core.
She took a deep breath.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He brushed her hair from her neck. His breath gliding over her skin. “I want you to feel safe.”
She closed her eyes. She was reacting just from his words. Her hips lightly scooted back, so she was touching his waist.
He inhaled sharply. The hand Striker had wrapped around her waist began to move. It was slow at first, as if he was trying to soothe her, but within seconds it was sliding below the band on her shorts.
Presley caught her breath. Could she really do this? Let a man she didn’t know touch her? Hell yes she could. She moaned as his fingers dove between her legs. They slid between her, rubbing until she opened her legs for him. It was like a desperate reflex.
“Do you like how I’m touching you?”
“Yes,” she moaned.
Her head thrashed to the side and Striker immediately sat forward, pulling the shorts from her legs. Her eyes flashed to his, but he was staring between her legs. He gripped her panties, yanking them over her hips.
“Ohh,” she groaned as he spread her legs. It was heated and impatient.
His fingers moved, toying over her nub. Her hips rocked into him, wanting his fingers inside her. She clasped the sheets in her hands when he finally slipped a finger inside her, bucking her hips from the bed.
“You’re so wet,” he growled.
Bear Exposure (Highland Brothers 3) Page 2
