“Did they see you?” he asked, letting her hair fall from his grip for a last time.
“Does it matter if they did?” she murmured, curious about the tinge of concern she deciphered in his tone.
When he tipped his chin a fraction higher, her mouth was tempted to ease closer. “If they did, I’ll need to alter my strategy.”
Still trying to maintain the thread of conversation, while not being distracted by their fascination for each other, she made herself look into his eyes. “Your strategy?”
“You’ll be in danger,” he said, moving his hand onto her face.
Moving her head, she stroked her cheek against his palm, encouraging him to widen his fingers. “And your strategy is to keep me safe?”
“Part of it.”
Dazed by his considerate words, her eyes closed as she smiled. “That’s very sweet,” she whispered.
“Sweet’s got nothing to fucking do with it,” he said.
Seizing the back of her head, he tugged her forward to close his mouth over hers.
Also by Scarlett Finn
THE EXPLICIT SERIES
EXPLICIT INSTRUCTION
EXPLICIT DETAIL
EXPLICIT MEMORY
RISQUE SERIES
TAKE A RISK
RISK IT ALL
GAME OF RISK
HARROW DUET
FIGHTING FATE
FIGHTING BACK
MISTAKE DUET
MISTAKE ME NOT
SLEIGHT MISTAKE
Scarlett
Finn
RAVEN
~
Kindred, Book One
Copyright © 2016 Scarlett Finn
The right of Scarlett Finn to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
First published in 2016
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover art: www.okaycreations.com
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1532835930
ISBN-13: 978-1532835933
For J
Contents
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
ONE
For as long as she could remember, Zara Bandini had been enthralled by the idea of adventure. While other kids wanted to be rock stars and actors, all of her childhood games featured Indiana Jones or James Bond. Imagining herself as a Lara Croft type kick-ass hero fighting battles and saving the world took up most of her time.
Those fantasies all came before puberty when innocence was her constant companion. After hitting her teens, her life changed dramatically. At the age of fourteen, she lost her mother to cancer and found herself thrust into the role of ‘woman of the house’, looking after her father and brother.
Her childish dreams were replaced by a determination to escape her hometown and make it in the big city. Against her father’s wishes, she blew out of his farm in a beat up truck and headed northeast to get herself a college education.
Now, a decade beyond that dramatic day, she had cultivated a routine to remind herself of how far she’d come. Every Friday night Zara went to Purdy’s, a corner bar on the same block as her place of employment, Cormack Industries, CI. She sat alone, sipped a glass of dry white wine, and reflected on her achievements.
At first, she’d just been grateful to be free of oppressive small town life. College had been an eye-opening experience that made her proud of her independence. After college, she had almost fallen victim to the suck of the shallow corporate world. It would have been so easy to fall into the role of trophy wife or to get haughty about her achievements. Setting this routine of coming to Purdy’s was Zara’s way of ensuring she didn’t take the privilege of her life for granted.
It was after ten PM by the time she got to Purdy’s on that particular Friday night. Zara was exhausted and needed sleep, but she would never flout tradition and miss an appointment with herself. In the warm interior of Purdy’s, she enjoyed the solid mahogany of the stocked bar and the gold pinstripe of the wallpaper that glowed under muted lighting.
Catering to an affluent clientele, Purdy’s held single malts and champagne to fulfill the expensive tastes of those who frequented it. It was a far cry from her father’s smoke filled kitchen where a layer of grease covered everything.
After seating herself on a brown leather stool, the bartender brought over her usual drink. She sipped the cool liquid and exhaled.
“That’s some glass of wine.”
Turning to her left, Zara saw a striking blond man come up beside her. One of the reasons she loved this bar was its patrons. In the center of the city’s business district, this classy joint was overflowing with rich, influential people and the wannabes who listed “networking” as a hobby on their resumes.
Designer suits and smiling faces charmed each other until hands were shaken and deals made. This was a place for the elite to gather and praise each other for being so filthy rich and successful. Given where she’d come from, there were often times she fazed out of the moment, edges became blurred, until everything seemed dream-like.
For her, the meaning of success had morphed through the years and frivolous adventure was long forgotten. The most effective way she could make a positive difference in the world was through careful use of her position as Premium Personnel Coordinator to Grant McCormack, CEO of Cormack Industries.
The clean-shaven man beside her flashed a row of straight white teeth that gleamed almost as much as his shirt under his tailored grey blazer that matched his slacks. All of the men she interacted with on a daily basis were assured and this guy’s arrogance was proven when he took up occupancy on the stool next to hers and leaned in close.
“Can I get you another glass?” he asked.
“I just started this one,” she said, taking another sip of wine while not allowing herself to smile. When dealing with intelligent men who usually enjoyed a puzzle, she’d learned it was best not to give too much away about her own mood. “Did I ask you to sit down?”
“No need,” he said, undeterred, his smirk remained in situ. “It’s a public bar, anyone can sit anywhere.”
Leaving him guessing, she didn’t give any physical hint of her interest. “And you chose the stool right next to mine?” she asked. The establishment was busy, but there were a half a dozen free stools at the bar, so he didn’t have to choose the seat right next to hers. “Didn’t your mother teach you manners? It’s polite to be invited to join a person.”
His confidence remained in place and he twisted his body to face hers, trapping her crossed legs between him and the bar. The flirtation in his countenance matched his positioning and his gaze danced over her figure. “Women like a man to take charge.”
“Do they?” she asked, keeping her expression loose as she examined the bottles
displayed behind the bar. Remaining aloof didn’t mean she didn’t notice how impeccable he was and how good his expensive cologne smelled. It wasn’t too overpowering and merged with the scent of the hair gel that kept his locks in check. But she had to portray herself as a challenge, to match his confidence with sass if she wanted to intrigue him.
“Yes,” he said. “Women want an alpha, a guy who is strong enough to look out for her.”
This conversation was going to happen whether she coveted it or not, so she rotated to accept him into her company. “To look out for her?” she asked, dragging her fingertips over the bulge of her glass to settle them on the rim. “Why is that? In case of wolf attacks?”
Observing her body, her expression, and her glass, he was taking in all the details and his interest wasn’t platonic or professional. “Forward of you to ask me to go camping with you, but I’m game if you are.”
Dreams of travel and adventure had been put on the back burner so many times that she had given up all realistic hope of achieving either in deference to living a responsible life, but she could play along.
Tensing her cheeks, she teased a vague smile and relaxed into wry indifference to test his acuity. “A guy who can pick up and leave at a moment’s notice,” she said. “I sense a red flag.”
He wasn’t discouraged, being quick-witted was definitely a point in his favor as far as she was concerned. “Do you now?”
Raising her hand higher until only the very tip of her finger remained on the top edge of her glass, she drew a short crescent around it. “That tells me you have no responsibilities.”
“None that would override a weekend away with a beautiful woman like you.”
His grin came closer and his upper arm brushed hers. Mischief lit his eyes, tapering them, yet they remained aware. A guy like this with charm and looks could take his pick. It could be perceived as an insult or a compliment that he’d chosen her and that he thought such cheesy lines might work to woo her.
Maybe he thought she looked easy or maybe he thought she was the top prize in the room, though that was unlikely given she was still wearing the black suit dress she’d had on at the office all day. Her makeup was faded and her hair was beginning to escape the confines of her chignon, and being only five feet seven inches tall, she wasn’t as leggy as some of the other trophies surrounding them.
Betraying that he was a physical guy by his need to get close, she chose not to relent to his advances just yet. “And where would we go on this impulsive getaway?” she asked.
With a short shrug, he watched her lips move as she spoke. “Anywhere you wanted. Manaus?”
Taken aback by such an unusual response, Zara tried to maintain her poise, but didn’t like to reveal how untraveled she was. Exuding sophistication and eloquence were her ways of hiding the truth of her origins. A direct question like this could compromise her camouflage. “I don’t even know where that is.”
“A city on the Amazon.”
Insecurities retreated to be replaced by a smile because there was little chance of that location being the first on her list of travel destinations. “Bugs and snakes? You know how to sweep a girl off her feet. Are you just hoping to get the chance to suck the poison from a snake bite?”
“If there was a chance of sucking, I know where I’d like to get bit.”
That sort of brazenness was very uncharacteristic of his type and she had to work to stop herself from releasing a reflexive laugh. The smart suit and dashing smirk was an excellent disguise. She drew back. There was more to this guy than there was to the usual conservative yuppies who would hit on her at Purdy’s. That type didn’t tempt her, she preferred her men to be more casual, more raw. It was possible this guy fit that bill.
“Your mother would be ashamed of that mouth,” she said, feeling the first curl of instinctive attraction in her diaphragm.
As though he’d sensed her budding intrigue, he pushed the boundary of what was proper and leaned in until he was almost against her. “A man needs to know that his woman is strong too,” he said.
She needed a minute to get herself together. Taking a mouthful of her wine, Zara hid her smile. A man who was this bold and authentic touched her primitive desires. Being on the periphery of luxury, the men who usually made a move on her were polished to the point of garish. Finding a guy who had any sort of a rough edge was unheard of, even guys who came from modest roots tried to hide any natural coarseness.
Returning her glass to the bar, she turned into his semi-embrace and translated for him. “You want a woman who isn’t easily offended?”
“A woman who isn’t too squeamish.”
“Or too hard to please?”
Slowing their banter, his shrewd expression tantalized her. “Oh, I’m happy to take the time to please my woman,” he said, reducing his voice to a purr and again watching her lips as she talked.
“Are you?” she asked. Knowing how a man liked the chase, she returned to her wine and after finishing it, she rested a hand on his forearm.
“You’re a man who knows what he wants.”
“Yes, I am,” he said, taking his time over each word.
“I wish you luck in finding it.”
Twisting on her stool, she had to brush her legs across his to get onto her feet. Testing the strength of his interest in her, she reached back to snag her purse from the bar, locking her gaze onto his. He might stop her. He might let her go. The answer came when his hand landed on the padded backrest of her stool, blocking her exit.
“Why do you come in here every week?” he murmured.
Zara had expected him to provoke her with a joke, in an attempt to keep her here and fire her curiosity. The revelation that he knew her habits made her frown and the excitement of this encounter faded. She couldn’t remember seeing this man ever before and he was attractive enough that she would have remembered if Grant had dealings with him in CI.
Conscious of what his question could imply, her mouth dried, and the prospect of being stalked flitted into her mind. “How do you—”
His broad smile indicated that he wasn’t concerned with the possibility of scaring her. But Zara wasn’t going to let his easy manner mollify her. Any future partner would have to be strong and assured, but she wouldn’t be taken advantage of or marginalized. Standing up to her father and brother had taught her a lot about fighting to maintain her identity.
Zara cleared her expression and held herself rigid until she got an explanation for his disturbing comment. “I asked the bartender about you after I noticed you a couple of weeks ago.”
Caught off-guard by this reply, her façade of indifference slipped. “You noticed me two weeks ago?” she asked, and his humble shrug endeared her.
His confidence had gotten him over here and had piqued her interest, now she sensed a depth beneath it. That he had spotted her was flattering and it amazed her how a man who epitomized everything she would ask for in a fantasy partner had picked her out of a crowd.
“I’ve been psyching myself up,” he said. “And I wanted to check if I had competition. No boyfriend, right?”
The boyish hope gleaming through his features made her smile. “No boyfriend,” she confirmed, relaxing, though her purse remained in both hands against her chest.
His brows came up and she read swagger in his teasing. “Fuck buddies?”
Squinting, she returned to their previous game. “Is that your way of asking if I’m a slut?”
“Let me lay it out for you. I travel a lot for business and don’t have time for your usual sort of prolonged courtship. So when I see a girl that I want I like to get the contracts signed up front.”
Backing up into her stool, she put her purse back on the bar and awaited an explanation. “I’m not even sure what that means.”
His hand left the bar and he spread his fingers around her knee. “It means I don’t mess around with games. I make my intentions clear.”
“What are your intentions?”
Beckoning
over the bartender, he ordered drinks for both of them. “This is where I’m starting,” he said, pushing her wine glass toward her. “I’m Timothy Sutcliffe, and if you want me to leave you alone say so now or forever hold your peace.”
Zara didn’t usually pick up guys in bars after work, but there was just enough intrigue around this one to keep her in her stool. Wrapping her fingers around the stem of the glass, she brought it up to her lips in a signal of acceptance.
Three glasses of wine later, they left the bar at closing time, which was later than she’d been out for anything other than work in a long time. Although she’d been at Cormack Industries before seven AM that morning, her conversation with Timothy had been worth forgoing sleep.
Caught in the crush of Purdy’s patrons who were all trying to get through the same narrow door, Tim snagged her hand so they wouldn’t lose each other and she was surprised to feel how rough his palm was. The last few men she’d dated were metrosexual types who had no qualms about admitting their dependence on the mani-pedi.
Their discussion featured her as the central focus. Tim listened and asked questions, he made jokes and flirted with her. Nothing after he admitted having noticed her a couple of weeks ago was strange or awkward. Talk flowed and he made her laugh. Until she actually relaxed into the current of their conversation and let it sweep her along, she hadn’t realized how much she had missed social, romantic contact.
Tim guided her away from the crowd outside the bar, most of whom were waiting for cabs at the taxi stand opposite the door. If they waited their turn for a ride behind the other Purdy’s customers, they could be there all night. Her date must have been of a similar mind because he led her down the block to the next street and stopped on the corner.
“I can get you a car,” he said. Most of the men who’d picked up women at Purdy’s were probably making similar declarations.
Raven (Kindred #1) Page 1
