“Not bad,” he said. “I think you got me pretty good.” Niall leaned forward in his chair.
“Are you saying you like it?” he said, incredulous.
“Abso-fucking-lutely. Hell, I’d even date myself if I was, you know, a lady.”
“You’ve got Frankie to thank for that.”
“Thanks, bro,” Ryzard said, flashing Frankie the first pleasant expression he’d had on his face all day.
“You can change anything you don’t like,” Frankie ventured.
“No, it’s good. If I have to do this shit, this is as good as it’s gunna get.”
“I’ll just take a photo of you. Go stand by that tree and try to look sexy.” Ryzard pulled his pants on, walked over with surprisingly good grace, and posed.
“And are there any photos of you as a bear on there?”
“Yup.” Ryzard picked out a few, and Frankie selected one.
“Okay, so just hit that button there, where it says ‘activate profile’, and you’re good to go.” Ryzard jabbed at it and the egg-timer icon started.
“Thanks, guys. I’m sorry I was a little, uh, passionate before. And sorry for challenging you, Niall. I’ll be on my way now, and I’ll get to looking at the app as soon as I’m home,” Ryzard said.
“Not so fast. I know you’ll go home, put the phone down and forget all about it. I want you to sit down and try to find some matches right now,” Niall said. Ryzard snarled at him, the good-natured expression he’d been wearing since he left the shower dropping like a stone. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. Niall had dominated him. He wasn’t in a position to argue any more today.
Frankie took his phone back in his huge paw and tapped and scrolled again.
“These are your matches, in order of compatibility,” he said, showing Ryzard a long line of thumbnails. Ryzard’s heavy black eyebrows went up as he scanned it.
“95%. I’ll be damned,” he muttered. Dalton whistled.
“I haven’t ever had a 95% match. Despite a lot of looking. Violent Bear goes on and he meets his mate right away. What’s up with that?” Ryzard squinted at the thumbnail.
“She’s not my mate. This app just thinks we’ve got stuff in common.”
“Tap here to enlarge the picture,” Frankie said impatiently.
“I was just getting to that,” Ryzard said. As the photo of the girl blew up to full size, his bear let off a purr.
“Wooh!” the guys chorused.
“Somebody’s happy,” Niall said.
“Shit,” Ryzard muttered, as a brown-haired girl filled the screen. She had a mischievous smile, eyes the color of maple syrup, set wide apart, a cute little snub nose, and cheeks like ripe apples. Frankie stretched out a finger and swiped left. The screen filled with a photo of her wearing a long black dress, showing off her full cleavage and curvy hips.
“Sexy mama,” Ryzard muttered, while his bear gave a drawn-out rumble of approval.
“Message her, quick, before someone in your clan gets the same idea,” Niall said. His words had the intended effect. Ryzard started typing immediately.
“Need some help?” Frankie offered.
“No. I got it,” Ryzard muttered.
He hit ‘send’, then stared at the screen.
“What do I do now?” he said. Frankie craned his neck.
“She’s not online. So you wait till she comes on and sees your message, and hopefully messages you back.”
“Ah, ok. I’ll go home while I’m waiting then.”
“Stay, have another beer,” Dalton said. “Shoot the breeze. Enjoy the sunset.” With a grunt, Ryzard plunked himself back in his seat.
“Alright,” he said with a shrug.
It was an exceptionally beautiful sunset, the sky turning delicate shades of salmon pink, the rays showing as red where they were cast along the forest floor. Ryzard swigged his beer and ground his jaws together, his thoughts flying in all directions like sparks off an angle grinder. The last thing he wanted was a mate. And that was just fine, because he knew there wasn’t anyone out there for him anyway. He wasn’t too freaked about the guys creating a profile for him, because he knew nothing would come of it, but now this damned app had thrown up a match. And as much as he wanted to hurl his phone into the nearest lake and get rid of it forever, his bear had started up purring and insisting that this good-looking broad was his mate.
“95%. I’ll be damned,” he muttered to himself. She must be some kind of freak to get herself matched with me, he thought with a chuckle. But at the same time, he couldn’t help wondering what was behind that ripe body with those full curves that looked good enough to eat. She’d have to be a ballbreaker. Or as mean-tempered and hostile as he was.
There was the sound of a car far in the distance. Ten ears pricked up at the unfamiliar rumble of the engine.
“Somebody got a new car?” Niall said.
“Somebody coming to say we’re having too much of a party out here?” Olsen quipped. A red SUV appeared in the distance, moving fast along the winding track that led to Niall’s place. The bears shaded their eyes to see it better, but it wasn’t long before it came to an abrupt stop 50 feet away. The door opened and a woman got out. The door slammed shut again and she strode toward them at a fast clip. She was wearing oversized shades, a deep maroon dress that clung to her generous curves, and skyscraper heels which didn’t seem to slow her down one bit on the dirt track. Her long brown hair bounced around her shoulders and her arms pumped back and forth. As the bears watched open-mouthed, she charged right up to Ryzard and snatched her sunglasses from her face.
“Hi, beautiful?” she bawled. “Hi, beautiful? After all this time, is that all you’ve got to say to me?” And before he had time to react, she swung her hand back and slapped him, right across the face.
2
Two years earlier
Marilyn looked around the dimly lit bar in dismay. She could scarcely remember how she got here. Her car was parked outside and she was almost certain that she was only on her second drink of the night, but she felt alcohol-dizzy and like there wasn’t enough air in her lungs. The neon beer ads fizzed in the periphery of her vision like acid, and the stink of stale beer and staler perspiration made her stomach lurch. Her elbow was in a pool of something damp and sticky on the edge of the bar. The elbow of her $600 suit. Shit. Another trip to the drycleaners. How long have I been here? Five minutes? Half an hour? It was as if she’d been unconscious and just come to. But she wasn’t lying on the floor, strangers staring at her in concern. She was glaring moodily around a grubby bar filled with the kind of people who normally scared the crap out of her. Meanwhile, her husband was back at their sprawling $2 million ranch house with a bloody nose and all of his clothes in shreds. Her husband who’d been having an affair with her best friend for the past five years. She’d just found out. She’d come home from work unexpectedly early, and he was in the shower. His cell phone was ringing, with the incoming number showing as ‘pool guys’. They needed some maintenance doing on the pool, so she’d answered it. But it wasn’t the pool guys, it was Viola, her closest friend, who had completely freaked out when she heard Marilyn’s voice. Viola had no idea why her number would be showing up on Eric’s phone as ‘pool guys’ but she didn’t have an explanation for why she was calling him either. Marilyn cut the call and went through her husband’s phone records, finding hundreds of text messages from ‘pool guys’ full of filthy promises and covert plans. After that, she went through his emails and found messages from Viola dating from five years earlier, discussing how they’d meet for their weekly ‘intermission’ as they called it. She’d rushed outside the house and thrown up until she was empty. And then she went back inside and waited for Eric to get out of the bathroom. He emerged smelling of cologne, with his hair immaculately styled. The expression on his face when he saw that his wife was home early was a mixture of disappointment and horror. She confronted him immediately, and let him deny it, until she read out some of t
he earlier emails, about how they could never let their respective spouses find out. It was only when he tried to convince her that it was meaningless and had nothing to do with their marriage that she punched him, square in the face.
Marilyn flexed her bruised fingers gingerly. She wasn’t proud of what she’d done; she’d never even slapped anyone before. But she’d got him a good one, his nose instantly gushing blood. He rushed into the bathroom to see to it, and she locked him in, putting a chair up against the door, while she took a pair of gardening shears and cut all his clothes up. Then she left. She was so mad, crazy with pain at the double betrayal that she didn’t trust herself around him with those shears. She’d been on her way to confront Viola too, but had spotted the bar perched at the side of the highway, and possibly wisely decided to stop there instead. Thoughts flooded her brain one after another. She’d believed that she and Eric had a good relationship. Sure, the passion wasn’t always there, but it was a good partnership. They’d been trying for a baby for years. She loved him, and she’d stayed faithful, never erring once. And the whole time, he’d been conducting this secret affair with her best friend. Probably laughing at the fact that their spouses had no idea what was going on. The thought made her retch again, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. God. The last thing this bar needed was some vomit to add to the heady mix of off odors.
“You look like you’re fixing to kill somebody,” a deep voice rumbled right behind her. She turned her head automatically, with no interest in finding out who was bothering her.
“Yeah, I might be –” she snarled. But when she saw him, she broke off in mid-sentence. He was huge. Practically a giant. She was 5’10, but he towered over her by almost a foot. He had big, powerful shoulders and a broad chest. His blue lumberjack shirt clung to his bunched biceps, and a wisp of dark chest hair emerged from his top button. He cocked a smile at her, his pale blue eyes crinkling at the edges. He set another scotch on the bar next to her.
“What’s he done?” he said.
“They,” she replied. “My husband and my best friend. And they’ve been doing it for the past five years at least.” His eyes widened fleetingly, and then his brow furrowed.
“Woah. That’s some damn dirty shit,” he said, shaking his big, strong-boned head from side to side. “And you just caught them at it?”
“Pretty much.”
“And you socked him one in the mouth?”
“How did you know?”
“I might’ve seen you nursing that hand of yours.”
“Oh,” she cradled it against her chest. It was getting sorer by the minute.
“Let me see it.” Without waiting for her approval, he encircled her wrist with his huge, callused hand and straightened out her fingers with surprising gentleness. He turned it over and examined it back and front. “It’s not broken. But it’s probably going to be good and purple for a few days. I hope you’re driving an automatic?” She nodded, temporarily stunned by the physical contact between them. He was very attractive. He had such a strong jaw and firm, masculine lips, and the kind of eyes that burned into your soul. And his size. From time to time, she’d fantasized about being with a big man. A guy huge enough to make her feel small. Being a big, tall girl, she’d never thought it was possible. But he was it.
If he was stunned too, he didn’t show it. He ran his hand through his messy brown hair and looked at her curiously.
“What kind of a man would go cheating on a beautiful thing like you?” he said. Marilyn opened her mouth and closed it again. There was a flash of heat in her chest and she fought to prevent it from reaching her cheeks. It was tragic, getting all flustered by the first guy who tried to pick her up in a sleazy dive bar.
“A fucking idiot,” she said, her voice sounding harsh to her own ears. She picked up the scotch from the bar and knocked it back in one go.
“Damn straight,” he said. And to her surprise, he lifted a lock of her long brown hair and curled it around his finger. “You’re about the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in my entire life. And just my luck to find you when you’re all cut up about your douche of a husband.” Marilyn didn’t even try to hide the shock on her face as she looked up at him. She hadn’t expected words like that to come out of such a rough-seeming man’s mouth. She held his gaze, although it was hard to keep looking at those smoldering blue eyes, and she licked her lips. He was like a god. A rough, rugged lumberjack god.
“Maybe it’s more fortunate than you think,” she said. She waved to the bar tender and indicated that she wanted two more whiskies. “Let’s get drunk.” His eyes lit up and he picked up his glass.
“Cheers to that, beautiful,” he said. “I’m Ryzard.”
“Marilyn.”
“Beautiful name.” He touched her cheek with his fingertips, stroked the edge of her jaw, her chin. “And you have the face of an angel.” Usually, she’d have a sarcastic remark ready to send his cheesy compliment spinning right back into his face, but all her sass dissolved. She felt like a prey animal, calmed into stillness by a much more powerful force. As if in a trance, she watched his face coming down to hers, those well-shaped lips pursing, and, oh my god, he’s kissing me. His lips were so unexpectedly soft, and his tongue immediately flickered between her lips. Instinct told her to pull back, but instead, she opened her mouth to him. She had a wild urge to give him everything, to let him take her as he wanted. One of his hands cradled the back of her head, tangling in her hair, while the other supported the small of her back as he tipped her backward a little. She laid her palms on his chest and gave a little moan as she felt the swell of his pecs beneath the well-worn fabric. He smelled great. Outdoorsy, and masculine, like woods and leather and smoke and gasoline all mixed together. The kiss went on and on, and she never wanted it to stop. She tasted the scotch mingled in their mouths, and sucked lightly on his velvety tongue. She became aware that his denim-clad leg had slipped between hers, and was edging the skirt of her business suit up high on her thigh. They were probably making a spectacle, but she didn’t care. Her clit was throbbing in a way that it hadn’t for far too long.
At last, Ryzard broke off from the kiss. His eyes were softer somehow, the pupils dilated.
“You’re some woman, Marilyn,” he said his voice thick with desire. He wrapped both arms around her waist and she had the sense that he would be able to lift her off the floor like she weighed nothing. He gazed down at her cleavage, which barely emerged from the top of the button-down shirt, but the shirt couldn’t hide the full swell of her breasts.
“What do you say we get out of here soon?” he said. She bit her lip.
“I say let’s have another drink while I think about it,” she replied.
Two more scotches appeared, twice the size of the previous ones. She sipped hers eagerly, enjoying the way that it lit a fire all the way down to her stomach, making her feel wild and dangerous. He kissed her again, and the combination of his mouth and the alcohol made her numb and tingling all over, all at the same time. His hand slid underneath the waistband of her skirt and beneath her shirt, greedy for contact with her skin, and a kind of low rumbling purr escaped his lips. She wriggled under his hands, impatient for him to touch her too. She was burning to feel those big, rough hands all over her body, possessing her. Making her feel wanted. When she paused to finish her scotch, she snuck a glance around the bar to see if they’d attracted any attention. People were staring at them, but casually, as if things like that happened all the time and were no more than a passing distraction. Feeling a little tipsy now, she stretched up and seized the collar of his shirt and tugged him down to her level for another kiss. She felt his teeth sinking into the corners of her lips, but she didn’t care. She wanted to hurt. To feel something apart from shock and betrayal.
“Feisty,” he muttered. “I like that. It’s almost as if you have an animal inside you.”
“Let’s go,” she said, her voice throaty with hunger. With a brilliant smile, he slung an arm around her shoulder
and led her out of the bar.
“I’ll drive,” she said, unaware that she was weaving a little as she walked over to her car.
“Nuh-uh. I’ll call us a taxi. I want us both to get home in one piece.”
“Where we going?” she said, as the taxi arrived and she flung herself into the back.
“I passed a motel on the way to the bar.”
“Perfect.” As the taxi took off, she launched herself at him, knowing that they wouldn’t be together long, and wanting to make the most of every minute. He tasted sweet and salty, and his mouth and hands were becoming increasingly forceful. If they didn’t arrive at the motel soon, they’d probably be doing it in the car.
“Where do you usually sleep?” she asked, breaking off from the kiss abruptly.
“In my truck. I’m a long-distance trucker.”
“We could’ve gone there.” He laughed.
“It’s kind of cozy. Not enough space for what I have in mind for you.” She shivered at his words. She was happy for him to have all the plans, and for her to be no more than the object of his desires.
“Cold?” he whispered in her ear, in a taunting tone. She shook her head.
“No.” Then she caught sight of her nipples, straining against the fabric of her shirt, begging to be taken into his mouth.
Before long they were in the motel. It was decorated in log-cabin style and it was warm, and the bed was big and clean. Ryzard stood her in front of the bed and stripped off her jacket, her blouse, her skirt, and left her standing in her lingerie while he stripped off his own shirt. She gasped at the sight of his torso. His body was incredible. It looked like he spent hours at the gym. But no, it wasn’t that – it was a more natural kind of muscle. And his skin had scars and abrasions here and there, as if he performed some kind of hard, physical labor. He walked over to his jacket and took a hip flask out of his pocket, swigged from it and passed it to her. She took a swig too. She pulled a face; it was bourbon. Never mind. She watched the way his muscles flexed as he moved, reminding her of a powerful, predatory animal. He stood in front of her again and stripped his jeans off. He wasn’t wearing any underwear, and his cock was big and swollen. She reached for him, but he batted her hand away.
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