Table of Contents
WANTED
A Bad Boy Crime Romance
‘Wanted’ Copyright Samantha Cade 2017
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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 16
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
The End
A note from the author
Hostage
A Dark Mafia Romance
Samantha Cade
Stay in touch!
Chapter One
Mia
Chapter Two
Leo
WANTED
A Bad Boy Crime Romance
Samantha Cade
‘Wanted’ Copyright Samantha Cade 2017
All Rights Reserved
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It is a frightening thought that man also has a shadow side to him, consisting not just of little weaknesses and foibles, but of a positively demonic dynamism. -Carl Jung
Chapter One
For Amber, it’s fun flirting with a killer. Not just simple fun like being tossed around on an amusement park ride, or going out for ice cream. No, it’s deeper, and darker than that. It’s a delicious fun, it’s the flavors of full bodied port and rich dark chocolate dissolving in her mouth, it’s the thrill of driving too fast down the winding backwood roads, the shoulders of which are littered with flowers and tributes to those who smashed their cars into trees doing the very same thing. It’s the intellectual mind telling the body this is wrong, dangerous, and the sensual body telling the mind to fuck off.
There are two fronts of fear and desire converging at the base of Amber’s spine, forcing her thighs to clench together of their own accord. And it’s making her shift at the diner a hell of a lot more exciting.
Jack Larsen doesn’t know Amber knows who he is, or at least, she doesn’t think he does. That only heightens the risk, and Amber’s enjoyment of the whole process. Jack’s obviously on the run, hiding out in the forgotten town of White Oak. He’s grown his hair and beard out, and has a bad, patchy dye job that’s turned his jet black hair a burnt orange. To Amber, he’s still every bit as hot as his WANTED poster, though.
Jack watches Amber linger behind the counter, chatting idly with the grill cook who’s cleaning the kitchen. It’s late, almost closing time. Jack’s the last customer left. The pie Amber served him has a filling of mushy cherries submerged in a cloyingly sweet, red, gelatin like substance. It isn’t any good, but he doesn’t care about that.
Amber caught Jack’s eye as soon as she walked in the diner. She’s just the type of woman he goes for, working class, with actual, real life, soft curves. The women in Jack’s social circle stick to a steady diet of cocaine, supplemented with champagne and caviar, that leaves them stick thin and bony. Well, that was his social circle, until everything went to shit. He’s traded his Manhattan penthouse apartment for a rustic (to put it nicely) cabin in bumfuck upstate New York, where he’s been carrying out a solitary existence for the past few weeks.
Jack takes a bite of crumbling crust in the middle of sneaking glances at Amber’s full chest. The vertical red stripes of her uniform are stretched wider over her tits. Two buttons are puckered and strained. It was Jack’s need for social interaction that rustled him out of hiding, and into this very diner. Now, he knows burying his face in Amber’s curves would do wonders for his mood.
“Still working on that?” Amber asks.
Jack shakes his head, and hands her his plate of half eaten pie. Amber smiles as she takes it from him. She looks him right in the eyes, which makes Jack a little uneasy. He doesn’t want anyone looking at him for too long.
Amber holds her hand to one side of her mouth, and whispers conspiratorially. “Sorry the pie’s not any good. They get them shipped in, frozen. I told them, I can make way better for cheaper.”
“You bake?”
“Uh-huh,” Amber says, smiling with parted lips. An image of Amber, her neck and chest dusted with flour, her breasts bouncing as she rolls out dough, flashes in Jack’s mind.
Jack leans towards her. Amber, instinctively, draws closer to him. In his old life, Jack was a master of seducing women. He could charm any woman he wanted into bed with his skills, and his good looks didn’t hurt either. Amber stands so close to him, her leg is nearly touching his under the booth. Neither have to speak very loud to be heard.
“What’s your specialty?” Jack asks.
“Cupcakes with buttercream icing. I like to put a raspberry on top of each one.”
Jack licks his lips, imagining a tray of Amber’s tits, the raspberry a stiff, red nipple set atop creamy, luscious skin.
“I’d like to try that,” Jack says.
Amber’s complexion turns momentarily ashen. She blinks quickly, regaining her smile.
Jack’s paranoia flares up. Does she recognize him?
She’s calm. She hasn’t called the cops, Jack reminds himself.
But still, he’d have to be careful. It could dawn on her. They could flash his picture on the television overhead, or she could notice his WANTED poster taped up by the door. He runs his fingertips over the knife in his pocket for reassurance.
Amber balances the pie plate against her chest, her hand on her hip. “Anything else?”
“Are you closing soon? I don’t want to hold you up.” This is a test to gauge Amber’s interest.
“It’s no problem,” Amber says, passing with flying colors. “Stay as long as you like. More coffee?”
A devilish smile carves into Jack’s face. “Please.”
When Amber turns from Jack’s view, she allows the panic to dissolve her smile. She’s painfully aware of how reckless she’s being, but she can’t stop herself. She wants him. She wants anything that would distract her from the mundanity of her small town life, and a quick, dirty one night stand with an achingly hot, wanted fugitive would do just that.
In the kitchen, Amber washes Jack’s pie plate herself. She’s so lost in thought, she barely notices Victor standing near her, arms crossed, keys in his hand.
“I’d like to get home before the sun comes up,” Victor says. “Bring that guy the bill.”
“I’m bringing him more coffee,” Amber says.
Victor huffs, throwing up his hands in annoyance. Amber softly pats his arm.
“Go home, Victor. It’s okay. I can finish up here,” Amber says.
Victor lowers his head with conflicted emotion. “I don’t feel right leaving you here alone. I don’t know that guy.”
Amber rolls her eyes up to the ceiling. “I’ve been chatting with him a bit. He’s harmless. Just some tourist that found himself up here in the off season.” She leans in and speaks in a lower tone. “From down south, I think. Doesn’t have a clue about our winters.”
Victor laughs, shaking his head. Like other White Oak men of his generation, Victor loved to boast about the severity of the winters here, and how in the past, they made it through with holes in their shoes and nothing but a stove to heat their homes.
“Figures,” Victor huffs. He raises his gaze to hers. “You sure?” He’s already leaning in the direction of the exit.
“I’m sure. It’s fine. I don’t have to work tomorrow, so it’s no big deal. Go home and get some rest.”
Amber doesn’t have to argue any further. Victor’s halfway to the door by the time she gets finished talking.
“You call me if you have any problem,” he tosses over his shoulder.
Amber watches the back door close behind him. She fills her lungs with air and holds it. You just convinced your boss to leave you alone with a murderer. She covers her face, laughing softly at the absurdity of this.
But Amber can’t let this pass her by. She glances sideways at Jack, taking in the chiseled profile of his face. Even dressed the way he is, and covered with hair, he carries himself like a rich person. And Amber knows he’s extremely rich.
She’s been following the case from the beginning, since Jack’s face was first splashed over every local newspaper, and on every television broadcast. The handsome billionaire playboy, heir to Larsen International, goes on the run after murdering his own father and staging it to look like a suicide. It’s more compelling than any true crime novel she’s ever read, and she’s read about a million. The cheap paperbacks litter the room she rents above her friend Meg’s garage.
The other townspeople gossiped about the news for a few days. It gave them a sense of superiority, and cemented their belief that a wholesome, simple life was the most honorable, and chasing fortune was for those who were broken in heart and soul. All that money, and he’d go kill his own father, they tsked.
Even though it’s only a three hour drive south, Manhattan is a world away from the streets of White Oak. The townspeople eventually forgot about Jack Larsen and his fratricide. But Amber didn’t. She devoured every article she could get her hands on. She searched the internet for pictures of Jack and drooled over what she found. So the man sitting in the booth just a few yards from her is more of a celebrity than murderer.
Steam rises and curls around itself as Amber fills Jack’s mug.
“Made you a fresh pot,” Amber says.
The side of Jack’s mouth turns up. The gleam in his dark eyes sends a shiver up Amber’s spine. She turns and walks towards the front door, moving slowly, enjoying the feeling of Jack’s gaze burning into her ass. She flips the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed.’ When she turns around, Jack’s staring at her openly, his eyes tracing up and down her body.
“Have a seat,” Jack offers.
Working against the urge to flee out of the door, Amber grabs a clean mug from the kitchen and joins Jack.
“What did you say your name was?” Ambers says, pouring herself another cup.
Jack grunts out the single syllable. “Pete.”
“Pete,” Amber repeats, memorizing it, letting it burn into her brain. Make sure you always call him Pete. She runs through a list of questions to ask him; Where are you from? What are you doing up here? But it feels too risky. If Jack doesn’t have his story straight, he could feel cornered. And then what? Would he lash out like an animal? Is that what a murderer is, a wild animal that acts on savage impulse? The potential depth of the darkness inside of this man leaves Amber temporarily breathless.
She’s just nervous, Jack thinks. That’s why she’s so quiet.
Jack’s already fit body is obscenely muscular now, thanks to having to chop his own wood for heat, and with his Grizzly Adams look, he realizes he could be intimidating. Amber’s not looking at him now. Her gaze darts around the empty diner. Maybe she’s realizing how vulnerable she is, all alone with a huge, strong stranger. Jacks knows he should make her feel more comfortable, but he feeds off her fear. It makes him feel powerful. He puffs his chest, holding his arms out from his sides to show her how large he is. Amber cowers back as he slides his hand across the table.
“Do you normally have coffee with strange men in empty diners?” Jack asks.
Amber blinks, and a light pink blush flushes her face and neck. “No,” she says, biting her lip.
“Didn’t your mother warn you about that type of thing?” Jack says.
My mother’s dead, Amber thinks, but doesn’t say it. That’s not flirting. That’s not sexy.
“I’ve been warned about a lot of things.” Amber shrugs, twirling her hair.
Jack cocks his head to the side, studying her. “You like to take chances? A kindred spirit.”
Not the kind of chances you take, Amber thinks. It makes her laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Jack says bluntly. His tone takes Amber off guard.
“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m just nervous.”
Jack’s face melts into a smile. “No need to be nervous. I’m a trustworthy guy.”
Jack slides out of the booth, standing to his full height. At six foot three, he towers over most everyone. Amber moves over to make room for him, and Jack sits next to her. He hasn’t been this close to a woman in weeks. He breathes in her scent, soft and flowery, with a hint of grease from the grill. It takes every ounce of control he has not to rip the buttons off of her uniform, exposing the soft breasts beneath.
Amber picks up on the primal attraction Jack exudes. She feels like a trapped animal. She’s cornered in the booth behind his large frame. But she’s never felt so wanted in her life. Jack leans his head closer to her, and makes no secret of the fact he’s staring down her dress.
“I’m just a stranger, passing through,” he says through his teeth. His warm breath falls on the nape of Amber’s neck. “Once I leave, it’ll be like I was never here.”
The excitement traveling up Amber’s spine gives her a surge of confidence. She glances around the empty diner. “No witnesses.”
Jack smiles in a way that makes Amber clench her thighs tightly together. “Just you.” Tentatively, Jack reaches for her knee. Amber doesn’t swat his hand away as his fingers slide across her flesh. Goosebumps run up her thighs.
Amber’s having trouble focusing. Suddenly, the lights are too bright, the red of the vinyl booths, too loud. This is what she wanted, to be at the mercy of the billionaire fugitive. Now that the moment’s arrived, Amber’s not sure if it’s really what she wanted after all. Her legs tense, telling her to run. Jack’s broad chest stretches in front of her face. There’s nowhere to go. She hears his heart thumping, furiously pumping blood.
I know where that blood’s going, Amber thinks, and the desire begins to outweigh the fear once again. Jack brushes his cheek against hers. Amber strokes his rust colored beard, making Jack growl. He doesn’t seem like a killer. She rakes her fingers through his thick hair. Don’t fool yourself, Amber. He’s being nice because he wants to fuck you.
Jack’s demeanor has changed. He’s no longer light and flirtatious. There’s a seriousness to him, like he’s ready to close the deal. He takes Amber’s wrist, and pulls her hand to his lap.
“I’ve been watching you flit around in that short uniform all night. This is what you’ve done to me.” Jack presses her hand against his erection. It grows stiffer under her touch. He clenches his teeth together, determined to keep control of himself. It’s been so long since he’s fucked, he wants to take his time and enjoy it. Amber finds the shaft and tightens her fingers around it. It flinches in her hand, causing her to suck in air through her teeth. Jack feels her body heat rise. She begins to stroke him. Jack gently removes her hand.
“Unbutton your dress,” Jack says, his voice thick and gruff. He slides back in the booth to get a better look at her. This girl is fucking beautiful, he thinks. Everything about her is soft, her tits, of course, and also the soft slope of her waist, her full lips, her light brown hair that falls in gentle waves down her back. As Amber frees the top button of her dress, exposing her creamy cleavage, Jack regrets the fact that he’ll only have one night with her. Any more than that would be dangerous. “The next one,” Jack says.
Amber lets the next button go. The dress pops open, revealing her light pi
nk lacy bra. Jack can see the darker shading of her nipple through the sheer fabric. He hooks his thumb into one of the cups and pulls it down. Her stiff nipple pokes over the top. Jack pinches it lightly and quickly, but it’s enough to elicit a moan from Amber’s lips.
What if I really was Pete Shepherd? I could settle here, buy a house, buy this diner. Marry Amber. She’d bake cupcakes and moan like that for me every night.
Jack shakes his head furiously. Amber wonders if it’s something to do with her. Maybe he’s fighting with the demons inside of him. He turns back to her with laser like focus. Ambers breath is shallow as she waits for him to tell her what to do next. She’s growing impatiently horny. She’s dying to feel Jack’s hands all over her body. She’s had a little of his touch, but she needs more. Jack is still staring her down, absorbing her image. She makes a move towards him. Jack snaps, grabbing both of her shoulders and pinning her against the booth. His face is no more than an inch away from hers.
“You’re mine tonight,” he growls.
Amber melts into the booth. This should scare her, and if she wasn’t so full of dark desires, it would have. Instead, it’s an incredible turn on, being in the possession of this powerful man. Jack’s the kind of man she dreams about, fantasizes about, handsome, strong, and dominant. Amber leans her head back, showing her submission. Jack smiles, and rewards her with a wet kiss on the neck. She has to clench all of her muscles to keep from coming right there.
Jack pulls away from, and stands from the booth. He pulls Amber out, then easily lifts her and lays her back on the table. With his hands on both of her knees, he coaxes her legs open, and peers beneath her dress. She’s wearing plain white panties. Jack almost has to laugh. This working class, milk fed woman is something right out of his fantasy, a soft, pliable innocence that can be so easily corrupted. He watches those panties as he presses his thumb against her clit. Soon enough, a wet spot forms and spreads across the fabric. Amber is writhing on the table, holding both of her tits. He takes out his cock, shoves her panties to one side, and prepares to plunge inside of her.
WANTED: A Bad Boy Crime Romance Page 1
