by Vaughn, V.
That was the strange part. Arizona had never been her home and it never would be. She’d only visited once before. She went stiff at the memory, as if the old emotions might creep up and carry her away. Emotions like hope and love and unexpected passion, blazing bright. She’d been so young and impressionable back then — only twenty, and that was the problem. Too young to know better than to fall in love with a vague scent in the hills. For a while, she’d even imagined the scent came with a man.
But it had been a siren song at best, and it had ruined her. There was no man, no promise, only a ceaseless whisper that stirred her during the day and haunted her at night. And now she was back again, right in the thick of it: the heat, the dust, the lying air.
“Oh, there he is,” Jean called.
A faded Jeep Wagoneer pulled up to the curb and creaked to a stop. From what Jean had said, Lana had been expecting the driver to be a newly licensed teen — a kid delighted for any excuse to get out on four wheels. The type with narrow shoulders, a pocked complexion, and gangly limbs.
She was not expecting this.
Lana gaped as the “boy” emerged from the car with a smooth, easy step. Evidently the state of Arizona was now issuing driver’s licenses to rugged, six-foot-two slabs of muscle and raw power. Authority bristled off him in waves, as if he were facing an entire platoon and not just a couple of guests. Dark. Sensual. More than a little dangerous. This was their ride?
“Hello, sweetie.” Old Jean gave him a cheery peck on the cheek. The gesture made Lana’s inner wolf hiss so fiercely that she wobbled and took a step back. Since when did a man affect her like that?
Since right now, apparently.
But why? She didn’t want or need a man in her life, especially one who was so…so…alpha.
And yet every molecule in her body was screaming Mine!
* * *
The last thing Ty needed was to play chauffeur to a couple of old women. He had a million things to do, not only in town but home on the ranch.
It always seemed like things came to a head when his father was away and he was on watch — a role he was taking on more and more often in a gradual changing of the guard. This time his father was in Utah for a week, give or take. Not that Ty minded the old man’s absence or his chance to finally take charge. He was born to stand down the dangers threatening his pack: vampires, rogue wolves, and even humans. The latter were weak, but their overwhelming numbers and powerful fears made them an unpredictable risk.
Lately, though, it seemed as though the only problems he was being called upon to solve were petty quarrels that called for people skills, not power. Not his forte. Ty almost wished a real problem would arise to put things back in perspective. Then he could step into action and show them all.
He rejected the thought with a sharp shake of his head. His job wasn’t to prove himself; it was to lead and ignore the rest. So what if it seemed that everyone was waiting — hoping, almost — for the first son of the alpha to show some weakness? It had been that way for as long as he could remember. The fact that he hadn’t screwed up just upped the ante: now they expected perfection. Was he a wolf, or a magician?
Ty forced himself to take a deep breath. He was his father’s son. He would do a good job — even better than his father, if that were possible.
So what the hell was he doing as taxi driver to a couple of old women?
That question, he could answer. Aunt Jean — his great-aunt, actually — had practically raised him. She was the only person other than his father who could give him an order, even though hers came covered in cream and honey and with a tickle of the cheek as if he were still a cub. So ninety minutes ago, he had dropped her off at the airport to await her friend before going off on his own errands, gnashing his teeth the whole time. Now he pulled up outside the arrivals area, tapping his fingers on the wheel. Where were they?
Then he spotted Jean with a heap of luggage, chatting in the shade of a bus stop with another gray-haired woman. He stifled a yawn, picturing the cobwebs of their conversation. Too bad they weren’t with that leggy brunette who was pacing nearby. The one with the chiseled calves and no-nonsense stride. Now that would be his kind of chauffeuring. Or more like his womanizing brother’s kind of chauffeuring, because he wouldn’t allow himself to be affected by any woman again.
Not even this one.
Except that he sniffed as he drove past, trying to tease her scent out of the complex symphony of city smells. Part of him quivered in hope; the other part snorted in disgust. Give it up. It wasn’t as if the woman he’d lost his heart to so long ago would simply walk back into his life.
He killed the engine and unfolded himself from the cab.
“Ty, sweetie, this is my dear friend Ruth,” Aunt Jean said.
“I remember you as a little cub!” Ruth exclaimed. “My, how you’ve grown.”
He squeezed his lips and endured.
“And this is my granddaughter, Lana.” She gestured to somebody standing behind him.
He turned and found himself stuck midway between inhaling and exhaling. It was her — the brunette, wearing light capris and a V-neck T-shirt that offered the barest hint of an athletic figure. She looked to be about thirty, a little younger than him. There was neither a brush of make-up on her face, nor a speck of jewelry in sight. She didn’t need any. She was perfect just the way she was.
Luckily, she was a little slow to react, because his joints seized up along with his breath. When her hand finally reached out to grip his in greeting, all his synapses fired simultaneously.
“Hi,” she said in that clipped East Coast way. Her eyes locked onto his, wide and blue as the desert sky after a welcome rain. He felt dragged in, dropping like a skydiver. The hand she offered was warm and fit his so perfectly, he couldn’t let go.
A voice vaguely registered behind the roaring in his ears. “Get the luggage, sweetie,” Jean called, one foot already in the car.
Luggage? Right. He snatched a bag off the cart and loaded it into the Jeep. Then he turned for the next one, taking it from Lana’s hand. It was a light, sporty duffel, not a girly thing; either she packed ultra-light or she wasn’t planning on staying long. The layers of muscle surrounding his ribs tightened at the thought.
“I can get it.” Her protest came too late. When he spun back to face her, her eyes were swirling like the sky before a summer storm, angry as all hell.
He got caught up in that tempest for a moment before she let out a muffled growl that snapped him back to the moment. Crap. She must be one of those stubborn, independent types capable of opening her own doors and giving herself a hernia carrying heavy things just to prove she could. One of those stubborn women who…who had the most enticing scent. Fresh. Promising, like a west wind. Familiar, almost.
He was still savoring her scent when Lana pushed past him and heaved another bag into the car. Great. He’d managed to antagonize her already.
He pulled his lower lip in tight and clenched his jaw. He was good at that — pissing people off. Keeping them safely at arm’s length. Too bad she was one of the few he might be interested in keeping close. Very close.
He slammed the door a little too hard, cursing the long drive home.
# # #
Within minutes, he was shifting around and wishing for his own truck. But since his open-bed pick-up was hardly the vehicle for chauffeuring old ladies, here he was, stuck in one of the ranch cars.
It wasn’t just the vehicle, though. Lana was driving him crazy, sitting right behind him while the older women crooned on about old times. With the wind whipping through the open window, he couldn’t quite capture her scent. Her posture was stiff, her expression carefully schooled. Everything about this woman spoke of discipline and control. She was pretty, too, in her wildcat kind of way that made him hungry to know more.
He wanted to say something, just to hear more of her voice. But words had never been his thing, so he tightened his hands around the steering wheel and resigned himself to
a long drive.
As they left the heat of the city for the cooler, higher altitudes of the north, Lana sat as taut as an over-tensioned spring. She appeared to be caught between wanting to inhale all of northern Arizona and forcing herself to hold back. He knew that feeling intimately. Keeping passion a slave to self-discipline, never letting too much of yourself show. He knew why he did it, but why did she?
“Maybe when we get to the ranch, you can show Lana around,” Aunt Jean chirped.
I can definitely show her around, his wolf murmured. And I bet she can show me a thing or two, too.
He leashed his inner animal and dragged it kicking and screaming into one of those stupid pet crates proved by his imagination. He could practically hear the scrape of claws across a slippery linoleum floor. Then his eyes strayed to Lana’s in the rear view mirror, and promptly vaulted away. He would definitely not be showing this woman anything.
“Got work,” he grunted — and immediately regretted it. Resisting his pack’s matchmaking efforts was second nature to him by now. Even his father had pulled a little stunt a few years back, trying to stick him with an arranged mate. He bit back a growl just thinking about it. What little private life he had was none of their business. He’d found and lost his destined mate. There could be no other. Case closed.
“Oh, Lana,” her grandmother chirped from the front seat. “Look at the pretty cactus.”
Lana leaned forward to see, and her hair swayed tantalizingly close to his shoulder. He swallowed, hard.
“And oh — what a magnificent falcon!” Ruth went on.
Just as Lana ducked to get a view out the windshield, the truck hit a bump, and her hand gripped the seat at his shoulder, making his blood surge through his veins.
The drive stretched on in the same way, every mile a tease and torture. Lana barely uttered a sound, and he was tempted to start up his own commentary, just to see how she reacted.
Lana, he’d say, see those hills? Behind them is where we’re headed. She’d lean so close he might even feel her sweet breath in his ear. That’s the ranch. A little rough around the edges, but the most beautiful place on earth.
He wanted to hear her coo in wonder and squint for a better view. Wanted her to know what the place meant to him. Why, he didn’t know.
Or maybe he’d say, Lana, you should see it in spring, when the desert’s in bloom. Then maybe she’d turn her head from left to right, glowing in wonder in spite of herself, just like he used to do when he was little.
He wanted to throw an arm across the back of his seat, twist around to glance at her — right at her — and say, Lana, you remind me of someone, only I don’t know who.
He got as far as releasing his death grip on the wheel with one hand and opening his mouth. Lana leaned forward on cue, her eyes following his lips in the rear view mirror, her head tilting to catch his unspoken words. An instant later, she caught her blunder and threw herself back into her seat, crossing her arms over her chest in self-defense.
He sighed. Like he’d even manage a full sentence around her. Not with his pulse spiking just watching her. Not with her studying everything in the desert but him.
Ruth gestured out the windows at the last of Phoenix’s outlying suburbs. “I can’t believe how the city has grown,” she said. “Remember it, Lana?”
He was all ears. What was there for her to remember?
Lana murmured vaguely. Had she been there before? His mind went into a digging spree, throwing dirt everywhere without managing to find any trace of her. Then Ruth shifted to another topic, and his chance to ask was gone. Probably the old woman was simply mixed up. He would have remembered if Lana had been in Arizona before. He would definitely remember.
Every animal instinct in him was stirring, wanting to touch and taste her. To pull her out of this truck and over to some private place where he could study her up close and personal. And not just her body. The rest, too. What was going on in her mind? Her heart? Her soul?
It was a feeling he hadn’t had in…how long? Of course there were other women who’d managed to get him going, but that feeling was pretty much limited to his cock. This woman called to something much deeper. He didn’t so much want to lay her as to…what? What did he want?
To get to know her. To figure her out. That’s what he wanted.
Okay, okay, and to lay her, too.
Who was she? How dare she have such an effect on him? Because no one did this to him. No one! Not since the phantom — and she didn’t exist.
Chapter 2
Twenty miles into the drive, Lana was still trying to reconcile the boy Jean had led her to expect, versus the man in the car. The very real, very grown-up man.
Gangly, my ass.
She had watched him lean over a bag and hoist it up as if it were feather light. Nice, tight buns filled his jeans, and his biceps bulged under the cuffs of his white T-shirt. No tan lines around the edges, either, making it all too easy to picture him shirtless, letting the sun bronze his skin. But then he’d taken the next bag right out of her hand, and her vision had gone red.
Alphas. They had the people skills of Neanderthals. As the daughter of one and sister to three others, she should know. Alpha males were all the same.
Except this one was the finest thing she had ever seen. Deeply tanned with brown-black hair, the man was downright delicious, like dark chocolate ice cream with molten fudge on top. What she wouldn’t give to dip right in. His face wasn’t so much handsome as it was enticing, but his lips were pursed, his brow creased. His thick shoulders were squared as if he was about to challenge an adversary. Was he always so tense?
And did he always smell so good? He’d showered with something very, very masculine. It smelled like the desert: edgy and brutally honest. Or maybe that wasn’t soap, but just him.
A scowl crossed her face, and she couldn’t help but wonder if the local girls had some kind of lottery system for who got to share his bed. Or did he stick with just one? She doubted it. You could tell a mated wolf from a mile away; peace and satisfaction sloughed off him in waves. Ty was too restless, too brooding for that.
She sniffed again. A man like him ought to carry the scent of half a dozen recent conquests, like a magic potion of virility that only served to attract more. His partners would probably make damn sure they rubbed him close and hard to leave their mark for the world to witness. She pictured a wall of graffiti, sprayed all over. Cyndi was here, it would say, and that would overlap with Ty + Lucy, written inside a heart, or maybe Kerri loves Ty, with part of the Kerri gouged out by some jealous soul. She sniffed again and was surprised to find no trace of a recent female scent intertwined with his. If anything, the man smelled like duty and responsibility. An alpha, through and through.
She gave her head an inner shake and tried to pry her senses away. But this man sucked her in like no man ever before. She suddenly understood what birds must feel when they flew south. She was being pulled, like Mother Nature was pointing and uttering urgently: Him! Him!
But whenever she worked up the nerve to throw a covert glance his way, he seemed to retreat further into his invisible armor, curling tighter and tighter until his emotions were as safely guarded as an armadillo in a ball.
She forced herself back in her seat, as far as she could. The guy was way too intense. Too…too everything. Wasn’t her mother always warning her about alphas?
The Wagoneer left city congestion behind, heading north into open desert. She had resolved to resist the call of the landscape, but since it now seemed the lesser of two temptations, she peered out the window. Prickly pears blurred past, and a scattering of saguaro cacti gave way to scrappy bush as the highway climbed. Every plant clung to its patch of scorched earth, struggling to survive. Yet there was something here that whispered to her, as it had on her first visit. The realization both thrilled and frightened her.
As did Ty. Her senses couldn’t resist throwing themselves at him — not just peeking but measuring, studying, imprinting the de
tails in her mind like the last days of summer.
A good thing it was cooler up here at higher altitude than in the city. The Jeep struggled with a steep incline that she vaguely remembered from her first trip. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw an incongruous flash of red in the arid landscape. A sports car was pulling alongside the Jeep, so close and so loud the bass notes of its stereo thumped in her bones. Lana checked Ty’s expression in the rear view mirror, but his mouth remained straight, unrevealing.
With a boastful rev, the sports car sped ahead. Any one of Lana’s brothers would have hurled a comment after it, but Ty’s only reaction, if it was one, was a quick scratch of his ear. Then his hand was back on the wheel, knuckles clenched white.
An hour passed; it seemed an eternity. She wondered how was she going to last a week around him.
“Not far now,” Jean said.
Lana closed her eyes. Already way too close.
Ty turned off the highway and onto an unmarked dirt road. Like all wolf packs, Ty’s kept their presence discrete. No sense in calling human attention to themselves.
It was in the turn that she noticed the flaring of Ty’s nostrils. She could feel it, too. Something was wrong. Ty’s jawline tightened ever so slightly, though he didn’t show a nervous twitch or rub an imaginary beard. The tension was there though: she could see it in the pinch of his shoulders, the tight grip of his fingers on the wheel — and there — another scratch at his right ear.
Incredible. The man was so bottled up that his only outlet was scratching an ear. His eyes slid left, eying a spot high in the hills, and though she followed his gaze, she saw nothing. What was up there that he wanted to escape to?
She glanced around the vehicle. Did no one else pick up on it? The older women seemed oblivious. Was it always like that? Ty hid his feelings so well, it was almost as if they didn’t exist. But she saw. He was a man, not a machine, caged in by the heavy weight of responsibility. A feeling she could relate to all too well.
