Fueling His Hunger

by Sparrow Beckett

  Just as she reached the desk, the bed creaked behind her. Blankets stirred then a voice cut through the silence. “Where you going, princess?”

  A thrill of fear stole down her spine. Such a deep, menacing voice. She stifled a scream, and turned to face him.

  The man was sitting up in bed, watching her. Shadows lurked ominously in the heavily curtained room, hiding the details of his face and the nuances of his expression. His dark hair, short, messy, shaved on the sides, made him look edgy and dangerous. The blankets, having fallen to pool around his hips, revealed a hard, chiseled body and a wealth of tattoos.

  Oh my.

  And were those nipple rings?

  Who the hell was this guy?

  “How much do you want? If you want cash, I only have about . . .” She scrambled for her purse, backing away from him, but she felt like a bunny on the run from a big, nasty predator. If he wanted to, he could just grab her, and . . . and . . .

  “I don’t want your money.”

  Crap.

  “Well, what then?” She only had one thing of value left. Self-consciously, she crossed her arms over her chest. If he’d wanted sex, though, he’d had every opportunity last night. She probably wouldn’t even have noticed. That was a disturbing thought. She didn’t feel sore, and she doubted this guy would have been gentle.

  “I don’t want anything. I was worried about you last night. I wasn’t about to ditch you in your . . . state.”

  She frowned. “I was drunk, not dying.”

  “You sounded desperate.”

  Her cheeks heated. Fuck. What had she told him? As he shifted on the bed, the sun peeking through the curtain lit his face, and he was more handsome than she’d anticipated, with strong bones and a lightly stubbled jaw. His dark gaze was . . . intent, and made her stomach do backflips. With looks like his, he could have played the hot bad guy in a Hollywood superhero movie.

  She straightened her shoulders. “Who are you? How did you end up in my car?” At least she remembered that much.

  “We . . . met after you left the party. I didn’t know where you lived and you couldn’t tell me. So I figured the safest place was to come here. I had to make sure you were okay.”

  She searched his face for a lie but he seemed earnest. No traces of conning, or ulterior motives. Weird. Not sure what else to do, she shuffled in place, then said, “Well . . . Thank you. I’ll pay for the room on my way out.”

  “It’s already paid for. Are you sure you don’t want a ride?” His brow creased. “You must have a killer hangover.”

  Bristling, she answered, “I’m fine.”

  He started to climb out of bed. She spun around to face the wall in case he wasn’t decent. “Um . . .” She floundered. “Just . . . can you get dressed in the bathroom, please?”

  His chuckle made her shiver. “Relax, little girl. I kept my pants on.”

  “Oh.” Feeling silly, she turned back around slowly, keeping her gaze on the floor. “So, thanks again.”

  “Come on. I’ll drive you home.” A second later he was close, too close. But at least his shirt was on now and covering the hard muscles on his chest and abs. And the trails of tattoos all over. So fucking hot. Since when did she have such a thing for tattoos?

  Maybe it was the tattoos coupled with the Mohawk and the danger he projected. And the fact they were alone. He had “wrong type” written all over him, which, for some reason, woke her libido like nothing ever had. Or maybe this was all part of the hangover.

  She cleared her throat. “No, thank you. I’m not going home.”

  Last night, in her dreams, a vivid memory had replayed. She’d been sitting in her dad’s lap as a young child as they looked through one of his old photo albums. He pointed out pictures of mountains and rivers and valleys—a beautiful, wild place. He told her about how he’d worked as a bellhop at one of the great lodges in Glacier National Park. That was what had started his career path. He’d begun as a low-level employee, but by the time he’d died, he’d owned more than a dozen high class hotels in some of the best tourist locations. Even one in Glacier National Park.

  In her dream, she’d gone to visit the park. It was only a few days’ drive. Maybe what she needed to clear her thoughts and review her priorities was a road trip.

  “If you’re not going home, where are you going?”

  They were so close she could feel his breath whisper across her forehead. He dwarfed her with his size, making her feel tiny, but still . . . safe. So weird. Men usually made her feel uneasy.

  “To the mountains,” she blurted. Why was she telling him the truth?

  His face twisted in confusion. “What?”

  Hell, he’d already seen her at her worst. Looking a little crazy now was no big deal.

  “Glacier National Park. It’s my dad’s favorite place.” Her gaze dropped to the floor as sorrow struck. “I mean, it was.” She gave her head a shake. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I appreciate you making sure I didn’t die. Now, where are my car keys?”

  “I put them in your purse.”

  Feeling suddenly claustrophobic, she took a few steps away and went to her purse. She shuffled through it until she felt them at the bottom.

  “What are your plans for this trip? Do you know how to get there? Are you going alone?”

  Keys in hand, she looked up at him. What was this guy’s deal? Why was he so fucking nosy?

  He crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at her. Was this an interrogation?

  “I . . . I don’t exactly have a plan. Yet.” Her gaze faltered. Was this a ridiculous idea? Probably. But she just couldn’t stomach going home. The sympathetic looks from the staff, the calls from her nagging mother, her friends who kept telling her it was time to move on . . . But worse than that was being surrounded by memories. The smell of her father’s cigars lingering in the sitting room. His favorite lounge chair in the library, now empty. The last note he’d left her, still sitting on his office desk. Such a random message—just to have a good day. He’d never been big on little gestures like that. Maybe, deep down, he’d known something was wrong. She’d never know for sure.

  Her throat felt thick but she managed to hold back tears. He’d left her everything. His business, his fortune, his house . . . everything. What the fuck did she know about running things alone? Why had he left it all to her? Didn’t he understand the kind of pressure it put her under? If she screwed things up she wouldn’t just lose the company and everything her father had built, but she’d also be responsible for all the employees losing their jobs.

  She wanted to be angry with him, for leaving her to try to fill his shoes, but she was just scared and lonely, and afraid of disappointing him. If only she’d had more time to learn.

  Her mother saw her father’s death in terms of dollar signs. She wanted the money and had been pushing Ophelia to sell the company. But Covington had been his pride and joy—well, after her. She couldn’t just auction it off to the highest bidder. It wasn’t what he would have wanted. Right? But then . . . what had he wanted?

  Not for the first time, she felt like screaming it into the void he’d left.

  “Are you okay?”

  A voice pulled her from her bleak thoughts. She blinked up at the stranger, just realizing now she didn’t even know what to call him.

  “What’s your name?” she asked softly.

  “Luke.” His smile was dazzling, and he had the sexiest dimples. “And you are . . . ?”

  “You don’t know who I am?” Instead of being offended, she found it refreshing not to be recognized.

  “No, sorry. Should I?”

  She shook her head. “No . . . no. I’m . . . nobody.”

  “Nice to meet you, Nobody.” He stuck out his hand.

  With a humorless chuckle, she shook it. “Ophelia.” His hand was so big it swallowed hers. Aga
in, she was struck with the strange feeling of being safe. In her head, she knew she should be wary, but instinct said otherwise.

  Or maybe she was delusional.

  “So, Montana, huh?” He shifted, keeping a steady gaze on her. “You’re just gonna get in your SUV and head north?”

  “Something like that.” Couldn’t she just program her GPS for Montana? It’d be a lonely trip, but maybe time and space were exactly what she needed. And fresh air. Mountains, flowers, a beautiful view. Getting away from the city was sounding better and better.

  “I’ll come with you.”

  Chapter 4

  They stared at each other for a long moment, both startled by his offer. Well, he was, anyway. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking. In the daylight, her eyes were a breathtaking golden brown. How had he not noticed them the night before? And that hair—long, blond, and slightly tousled after her hard night. A smattering of freckles dusted her nose, highlighting her honeyed skin.

  For a moment he was speechless.

  “Come with me?” She arched a perfect brow. “Why on earth would you do that?”

  Just so I can keep looking at you?

  He shrugged, one-shouldered. “I’m on vacation anyway. Sounds like fun.”

  “Fun?” Her laugh was sad and full of self-derision. “If you’re looking for fun, you might want to hang out with someone else. I haven’t been much fun lately.”

  He managed to tear his gaze away, but it was difficult not to stare. It was like being in high school again and not knowing what to say when a pretty girl bumped into him in the hallway. He didn’t usually get so awkward around women, but this one . . . she was something.

  She straightened her clothing, brushing lint off the unforgiving black. He was fond of the shade, but got the impression it was grief rather than aesthetics that had her dressed so starkly.

  “I wouldn’t mind getting away for a while, if you’re looking for company,” he admitted. That much was true, but he was also worried about her. He’d lain awake part of the night wondering if the girl was going to turn up dead in a few days. There was a deep hopelessness hiding behind that lovely face. Last night she’d been completely reckless. He could afford to keep an eye on her for a few days until he was sure she was okay. “Unless you have friends you’d rather bring with you. I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

  She blinked at him in confusion. “Well, Chloe and Priya would probably come with me, but as much as I love them, we’re just not on the same page lately.” She caught a lock of hair between her fingers and rubbed it along her bottom lip, considering him. “Why should I trust you? You stole my car with me in it.”

  Deny it? He probably should, but lying just made it look worse. “I had no idea you were in the backseat. It was just a stupid prank, but I can see your point.” He smiled wryly, and he was surprised to catch a hint of attraction in her gaze.

  Really?

  Although if she was looking for adventure, maybe he was more interesting than the celebrity spawn that had been hanging out at that party.

  “Besides, obviously you can trust me where it counts. You passed out last night and the worst thing I did was take your shoes off for you.”

  The way she was watching his mouth made him wonder what she was thinking.

  “Did I try to kiss you?” she asked.

  He laughed. “Me? No. I’d assume you have better options than someone like me, and even if you’d tried, I would have politely declined.”

  Pale brows drew together and he realized how the statement had sounded.

  “I’m big on consent,” he went on, rubbing a hand over the stubble on his jaw. “Drunk means no.”

  She flushed, her cheeks going bright pink. “I’m not usually a sloppy drunk, but I was feeling a little off last night. Thank you for being a gentleman.”

  “Don’t thank me,” he said, uncomfortable. “No woman should have to feel thankful a man didn’t victimize her.”

  Her lips flattened into a thin, grim line. “True.”

  When he stood and stretched, she walked shyly around him and ducked into the bathroom. A moment after the door closed, he heard the shower running.

  Quickly, he texted his cousins, Fox and Atlas, and explained the situation. They called him an idiot, but that wasn’t unexpected considering they’d been calling him an idiot since he’d told them what was going on the night before.

  Fifteen minutes later, the girl emerged, smelling of soap. Her hair was still damp.

  “Sorry. That couldn’t wait.”

  He nodded. “So am I coming with you or are you going alone?”

  “Well . . . I’m going now.” She grimaced. “I don’t know how that works for your schedule, but I don’t want to go home.”

  He hadn’t done anything this spontaneous in ages. Well, not since accidentally kidnapping her. Before that, though, it had been a long time.

  “Fair enough. Do I have time to grab a shower?”

  “If it’s fast.” She smiled teasingly, and this time it reached her eyes. Smiles—real ones—suited her.

  He was done in record time, half expecting her to leave without him. As he toweled off, he wondered why he cared. Had he lost his damned mind? Maybe. But it would only be a few days.

  Shit. What did she say her name was?

  Something Shakespearean.

  Juliet? No. Portia? Regan? Beatrice?

  He’d been so distracted reading her body language, and trying to plan around the unexpected adventure, that her name had slipped his mind. Idiot.

  The night before he’d paid cash, so they didn’t even have to check out. It was strange leaving a hotel without bags.

  The day was bright, and he’d thought she’d have a headache, but she only grabbed her sunglasses from the visor and slipped them on before she even started the vehicle. Cordelia—he’d think of her as Cordelia for now.

  “No headache?”

  “I’m fine,” she replied, but he could see her wincing behind her shades.

  “Well, I’m willing to take over anytime. How far do you want to go today?”

  She shrugged. “Wherever we get to, I guess.”

  “Do you know how to get there?” he asked, curious to know if she’d thought any of this out.

  A laugh burst from her and she covered her mouth with her hand. “No,” she mumbled. “I know we go north. That’s about it.”

  He pulled out his phone and loaded their destination into the GPS. “All set.”

  They got coffee and bagels at a shop down the street, and without any other detours, they headed for the highway.

  “We should probably shop for clothes and supplies when we get to Salt Lake,” Luke suggested. “We’ll probably have to stop before that, though.”

  “Okay.”

  “So are we camping tonight, or staying in a hotel?”

  Cordelia stared at him for such a long moment, he almost reminded her to watch the road. Brows knitted behind her designer glasses, and she turned her attention back to driving. “Camping?” she asked, as though it wasn’t a word she knew.

  “Yes. Tent. Campfire. ‘Kumbaya.’ Marshmallows.”

  “And we’d sleep in sleeping bags?”

  “Yup.”

  “In . . . one tent?” she asked.

  He paused, wondering if she was flirting. “Or two, if you’d prefer.”

  “I don’t know,” she replied. “What if there’s a bear?”

  “I could set up bear bells around your tent.”

  The corners of her eyes creased, but she didn’t look over at him. She made a sound of amusement. “I’d be kind of useless at camping though. I don’t know how to set a tent up, and we don’t have anything like that with us.”

  “I can buy gear and set it up.”

  She shook her head, like he was crazy, but she didn’t know h
im well enough to say so. “How about we decide when we get to Salt Lake City?”

  “Sure, princess.” A girl like her? She’d probably never gone camping in her life. Even sleeping over at a friend’s place probably meant getting her own bed. It would be like “The Princess and the Pea” story. Probably a bad idea. But if they were going to Glacier, it meant she wanted to get closer to nature, right? Maybe it would help her get past the mess she seemed to be in.

  “Princess?” she scoffed. “Are you going to sit me on your lap and tell me a bedtime story too?”

  You can sit on my lap anytime. He banished the thought as soon as it popped into his head, but the visual lingered. She had a spectacular ass, and the idea of her parking it on his lap . . .

  For the first couple of hours they talked about trivial things like the scenery and weather. He’d admitted to doing a lot of traveling for work but had never visited Montana. The places she’d vacationed were more exotic and outlandish than rustic national parks. Luke hadn’t been out of the country, but they’d both been to Miami and bonded slightly over a love of Cuban food.

  After they stopped to use the bathroom, Luke took over driving. Light conversation fell away, but he couldn’t take the silence for long. “So what’s with the name?” he asked her finally. He had to get the name Cordelia out of his head soon, before he accidentally called her that out loud.

  “Oh, my mom saw a production of Hamlet right before I was born, so she ran with the ball. I’m just glad she called me Ophelia rather than Gertrude. At the same time, sometimes I feel like I live under the shadow of that decision every day.”

  Ah. Ophelia. That was it. “What do you mean?”

  “Have you read it?” Her mouth twisted.

  “Yes. I think I was a junior in high school at the time, though.”

  “So let’s see . . . The man she loves seems to have no respect for her, she kills herself. Yup. Great life to look forward to. Why couldn’t she have named me something badass, or at least hot?” She snorted, and the sound surprised him. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve had guys make the ‘Ophelia, I’ll feel ya’ joke to me? How did she not think of that?”