Wanted Too: A Scorching Valentine Royal Romance (Wanted Trilogy Book 2)

by Dee Palmer

  “What are you doing here?” She leaps into my arms, melding her body to mine like a second skin. Her legs dangle, hindered by the swaths of lace and chiffon that ceased to be pure white some time ago. I scoop her fully into my arms, not really caring about her answer. It doesn’t matter. She’s here, now, and that means… What does that mean?

  “Hoping you’ll save me a second time.” Her sweet breath washes over me like balm. Her lips look parched, and when she tips her pink tongue out to wet them, I have to kiss her. It’s just not an option.

  “Darlin’, you’re the one doing the saving.” I exhale, our foreheads touching, and she’s looking at me like I’m the only man on the planet.

  “Don’t ever leave me again.” A fat tear rolls down her cheek.

  “Don’t go marrying some other dude, and I won’t have to.” My brow arches high and serious. Her lips purse as she considers my request, and then almost instantly they spread into a glorious smile that dazzles brighter than the midday Californian sun.

  “Deal,” Dropping her head to my chest, I can feel my heart treble in size with each step I take back down the drive. This is what it feels like; I fucking knew it.

  “Since I’m already dressed for the occasion, how about I answer that question?” Buttercup interrupts my inner euphoria, and I have to check myself.

  “Baby, I never asked you that question.” I’m pretty sure I would remember asking someone to marry me.

  “Sure you did. That truck did not haul a U-turn all on its own, now, did it?” She bites one side of her lip holding back the shit-eating, knowing grin that makes me bark out a deep throaty laugh. Damn, this woman.

  The End

  Sneak Peek of Forever Wanted

  PART ONE

  Unedited…subject to change

  Two Months Ago

  “WHAT THE HELL?” MY HANDS grip the steering wheel, jerking it back to the centre and pulling the truck back to the right side of the road after evasive steering. My head turns sharply to check over my shoulder, and I take a long look in the rearview mirror to be sure I didn’t actually hit her.

  “Sorry?” Finn asks, and I shake my head, trying to dislodge the image of what I’ve just swerved to avoid. What the hell.

  “Damsel in a white dress” I mutter.

  “What did you say?” Even pixellated with the poor reception, I can see the concern on Finn’s face. It’s why I called in the first place, because I knew she’d be worried. I knew Charge would be pissed, actually they all would be if I didn’t check in. I thought one call would be enough to reassure her that I’m fine. I’m not fine. I’m a little fucked-up but she doesn’t need that on her conscience. She’ll be beating herself up over Hope as it is.

  I need to get my head straight and a long drive works wonders for focusing the mind on everything and nothing. I just need time to think.

  “Nothing, definitely nothing, and absolutely none of my damn business.” My jaw clenches, forcing the words out, when every fibre in my body is fighting my natural instinct. To help.

  “Pink, are you all right?”

  “Gotta go, darlin’”

  “Wait! Pink!” Finn’s shrill cry makes me wince.

  “Still here,” I tilt my head, patting my ear with the palm of my hand trying to clear the ringing.

  “I love you, and take care, and come back soon.”

  “Will do, darlin’”

  “And don’t leave it too long, call again soon…anytime!” She’s rushing her words and the call keeps cutting out. “Don’t leave it too long, please.”

  I wink at the screen and give her one last quick glance.“Bye darlin.’”

  The intermittent reception ends the call before I can. It takes a few long seconds for my brain to realise what my body is doing of its own free will and volition. My foot has eased off the gas, and my hands are steering the truck into a wide loop. Sort of like a u-turn. Don’t do it, Pink.

  “Oh, hell, no!” I slam my foot on the brake and jolt to an emergency stop.

  “Son of a bitch”. Who does that? What kind of person drives past a woman on the side of the highway, barefoot, and in a darn wedding dress. It wasn’t like I wasn’t trying to wave him down. I practically threw myself across the front of his truck, and all he did was swerve the damn vehicle .

  I could not be having a worse day.

  The first vehicle to venture down this road in the last three hours, and the guy behind the wheel is a prize jerk. What’s the flipping emergency? You wouldn’t catch me driving past a critter with a limp, let alone someone who is clearly in need of a little assistance.

  “I hope you get the flat tire and haemorrhoids from sitting on your behind, driving on by me like I’m invisible.” I yell out. My throat is parched, and the plumes of dust still settling from the speed at which he drove past makes my voice croak. Wait, I take that back! No, not the haemorrhoids, just the flat tire bit, please don’t get a flat tire.

  In the distance, where the road meets the horizon in a hazy line of heat rising from the tarmac, I can see the old blue truck pull off to the side of the road. It slowly starts to swing a wide curve, and before the track can fully flip a u-turn and face me, it stops in the middle of the road.

  “Yes! Yes, please keep turning back.” If there was any traffic that truck would be holding it up or causing an accident, but there’s not a soul on the road. Which is why I’m so darn desperate for this guy to take his foot off the brake and drive this way. I hold my breath and do that mind over matter thing that never works, willing him to do the right thing. Unless for him the right thing is to drive back and still not pick me up. I can’t see that anyone would be that cruel, but then he did drive past me in the first place. He must be a real quality guy.

  The wheels roll forward at a glacial pace, and the truck begins to head back my way. Yes!

  Even from the distance, it’s apparent the old Ford pick-up has seen better days, with dents, a twisted grill on the front and mottled, flaky, pale blue paint work that reveals more rust than color. Still, with the palm of my hand providing the only source of shade from this scorching heat for the last three hours, this hunk of junk is a golden chariot, and the guy driving has elevated himself from jerk to hero with one turn of his steering wheel.

  The truck skids to a stop, sending a fresh cloud of choking dust billowing around me, clogging up my lungs, and making me blind with the grit. My eyes start streaming, I’m coughing up a storm and waving my arms to try and clear the air so I can breathe. I still can’t see, and my throat feels so raw, I’m not sure if I am going to be able to speak.

  I wince out a silent cry when I step up to the passenger door. The hard gravel slices the soft skin on the soles of my feet. Just add that to the list, Buttercup. I clasp the handle and brace to take some of the weight from my feet. Pain, humiliation and hunger have shortened the fragments of my fuse to non-existent. In my head, I am all politeness and gratitude for an, albeit, belated, display of chivalry. He’s my hero, however, my mouth, still thinks he’s a son of a…

  “What kind of asshole drives past someone, barefoot, in a wedding dress, in the middle of nowhere? What kind of monster are you? ”

  “And good day to you, ma’am.”

  My vision is blurred, blinking tears and sand from my eyes, but I can clearly see the wide white killer smile and sharp tip of his cowboy hat. The engine roars, and I have to jump back when the truck lurches forward and away from me.

  “Wait!” I scream above the churn of tyres on dirt. “Please, wait! I’m sorry!” The tail of the truck rolls from side to side as the driver continues to speed away, wrestling the vehicle over the potholes. No! I crumple to my knees and drop my head in my hands. What’s wrong with you, Buttercup? You don’t cuss, and here you are, cussing out a complete stranger that was going to save your ass. Not completely save, no one can do that, but today, he could’ve saved you today. Way to go, B.

  I’m lost in my own hopeless sobbing when I hear the tell-tale crunch, crunch of foot
steps which fall silent as I look up. His shadow falls over me, blocking the sunlight, and ensuring every detail of him is in complete silhouette.

  “Do you want my help or not?” The towering dark figure looms, his voice is rough and angry. Holding one hand out in front of me, I shield my eyes from shards of sunlight that hit my face when he moves, and with my free hand, I reach for him. His savage grip crunches the bones in my hand, and he nearly yanks my arm from the socket pulling me up from the ground. Fiery rods of pain shoot through me with the fresh weight on torn flesh and bleeding feet. I have to bite my lips and swallow back the howl of agony filling my mouth. Despite the day from hell, the near death levels of dehydration, or the mess that is my life, twenty-seven years of ingrained manners kick in, and I find myself more concerned with upsetting this stranger. I plaster a friendly smile on my dirt-stained face and try not to scare him away.

  “I do want your help, Sir, I’m sorry.” My hand drops from his when he sharply releases his hold. Rubbing the circulation back into my fingers, I try to meet his gaze, pushing my smile just a little wider. It feels like my cheeks are going to burst from the force and tension.

  I’m confused.

  I pride myself on being a people person, a people pleaser, and I’ve never met a single soul I couldn’t make smile—even our hermit of a neighbour, old Travis, who’d as soon shoot you as crack a smile. It’s our secret that he ever flashed me a crocked smile, and I have the image committed as one of my most treasured memories, the toothless grin of his weathered, weary face, when I brought over a Thanksgiving dinner for him the first year. Granted, he did try and shoot me first, but the point is, he smiled, for me. It’s my thing. I make people smile, I make them happy, and this man is staring right through me. I’m terribly confused.

  A heavy frown pinches deep lines together between his brows and at the bridge of his nose. The shade from his Stetson masks the true colour of his eyes but not the hostility. Brushing the dust from my backside, I stop on the first sweep, instantly recognising the lost cause of ever saving the dress. He tips his head to the side and takes his time looking from my bare toes to the bird’s nest of hair on my head. Nothing, not a quirk of his full lips or a curious arched brow.

  I may not be quite ready to go into all the details, but I do have a burning need to get some of it off my chest. It’s not like there’s anyone else I can talk to about this. I can’t risk Grandpa finding out and this town is small in every sense of the word. Secrets are kept for seconds, carried from lips to ears like a winter breeze swinging a screen door open, wide and unwelcome. A stranger might be just what I need to make sense of the senseless. “I’ve just been having a really bad day. I’m sorry I cussed at you. I’m sorry I was so rude. I’m not normally-”

  “-I don’t care.” He cuts me off with the harsh clip of his words and the big palm facing me, almost touching the tip of my nose. He keeps his hand there, and I have to peek around it when he continues to speak. “Ma’am, I don’t care if you’ve been jilted, you found plump on your tit, or your dog just died. This is nothing to do with me.” His palm sweeps away from my face and waves slowly, indicating the full length of my sorry-looking wedding dress. “However, unfortunately, because of my training, I couldn’t just leave you here.” He scowls, his demeanour is outwardly hostile and intimidating. In the middle of nowhere with an angry stranger, I know I should be terrified, or at the very least, aware that this could be a dangerous situation, and yet I’m not remotely scared. I’m intrigued.

  “Training?”

  “Move,” He jerks his head toward the truck he left running at the side of the road.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Move your butt, and get in the truck.”

  “Oh, right.” I nod but can’t bring myself to move my feet. The mind-numbing pain is set at a bearable inferno and I don’t want to ignite a fresh level of agony. “Thank you, I appreciate this, really. I’m not normally this much of a mess.”

  “Don’t care.” He turns his back and starts to walk toward his truck.

  “Yes, you said that already. I’m just saying,” He spins and storms back to me. I have to arch right back to create some space, because I still don’t want to move my feet. He glares, nostrils flaring, and I’m completely distracted by the colour of his eyes. Oh, he’s got blue eyes.

  “Excuse me, Miss-”

  “Buttercup.” I interrupt and hold my hand at an awkward angle trying to shake his when there is no room between us, just heat and fury.

  “What?”

  “Buttercup, my name is Buttercup. Yes, my momma was a big fan of the film and-”

  “Buttercup?” His lips tighten with the effort of forcing a strange expression. It could be a smile or a grimace. No, it’s a grimace. I’ve seen his smile, and it was breathtaking. This looks like he’s in more pain than me.

  “Yes?”

  “Can you listen to me, very carefully. This is real important.” He holds the tops of my shoulders, fixing me with the seriousness of his stern expression.

  “Of course.”

  “I. Don’t. Care.” He punctuates each word with a firm squeeze that I think might actually mark. Gosh, he’s really angry and I’m even more intrigued. I have enough going on, I know, but seeing such turmoil in possibly the most beautiful eyes I ever seen has me all kinds of distracted. I want to know his story. I wonder if he wants to hear mine?

  “Right, got it.” I mean, he didn’t really mean that, did he? He saved me, that has to count for something.

  “Have you? Because one more word from you, and I’m gonna leave that skinny ass of yours out here in the desert for the coyotes to feast on.”

  “Coyotes don’t eat people.” I scoff out, tutting at the notion. “In fact, attacks on humans are very rare. You’d be better saying leave me here to fry in the sun, or get bitten by a snake or maybe a mountain lion, yeah, that might work.”

  “Buttercup!” He barks my name, making me jump and smile.

  “Sorry.”

  Rubbing the back of his neck, he steps back and walks away. He takes several strides before stopping. He groans, drops his head with an exaggerated huff of air, and slowly turns back to face me.

  “What now? Please tell me you’ve changed your mind about the help, and I’ll gladly get back in Berta and drive outta here.”

  “No, I haven’t changed my mind, it’s just you said not to talk.”

  “And yet…” He holds up his hand and lays them in my direction, exhibit A.

  “Can you bring the truck back here. My feet are…” I lift my dress so the hem rides up, revealing two bloody and swollen feet. When I look back up, he’s right there, bending just enough to scoop me high into his arms. “What are you doing?”

  “Saving your feet.” He huffs.

  “Think you might be saving more than that.” My head rests on his firm chest. I like the way this feels. Light, secure, and happy.

  “Think again, princess,” he states, but I don’t fight the smile.

  “This isn’t the action of someone who doesn’t care,” I retort, and wait for him to look down and meet my gaze.

  It doesn’t happen. He hoists me roughly onto his shoulder, his hard shoulder digs into my stomach, and I scramble to grab something to support myself. I settle on the belt of his jeans, but I can feel the internal damage with every one of his heavy strides.

  “Ow! OK, OK, you don’t care! Now can you carry me the other way, please? This is really uncomfortable.”

  “You already know the answer to that one, princess.”

  “You don’t care.” I grunt each word. The muscles in my stomach tense and try to ease the impact until he stops at the truck.

  “Now you’re getting it.” He swings the passenger door open and dumps me unceremoniously on the seat, knocking the wind from my lungs and the delusions from my head. I console myself that the latter needed to be done. It’s not the job of a stranger to rescue me. I have to do that myself.

  Forever Wanted

 
; Part One

  Coming Soon

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  A huge thank you Shannon Boltin, my wonderful PA, Caroline, and Sarah who deal with my general lack of organisation on a daily bases and yet still have my back. I am in awe and truly grateful.

  My other Beta readers, Sarah Tandy ( you get another mention here :) ), and Katie Fezer-Sedan thank you so much for your invaluable input. My street team, especially, Nese and Alison, street teamers may come and go but you ladies have stubborn staying power and I totally love you for it <3 My reader group and random pimpers, Jenny, Gaynor, Patty, Rowan, Charlotte, Jade and Amanda I love you ladies…you totally rock!

  My ever expanding review team and I’m not going to name you because Amazon will hunt you down and remove all your hard and valuable work…but you know who you are and I FLOVE you.

  Saya my wonderful editor, and Maggie Truelove…words fail me…because I leave you so little time and you still pull it out of the bag!!! Stacey at Champagne formats I just hope I got this clean before it came to you…I can’t count how many time my work needs …just a tweak ;) and Judi at CLP for my glorious cover…You ladies are the foundation.

  I would also like to thank my bestie again…Kymme because in all honestly there would be no books if it wasn’t for her… Vegas was just the beginning…we’ve got so much more to see I love you to the moon and back.

  My family…honestly my husband deserves a sainthood for dealing with me and my mid life crisis. He is my rock and despite me chipping away he loves me and I just hope he never takes those rose tinted glasses off. I love you too….see I know he reads this bit now ;) I would also like to thank my son Ashton for his tech help, he’s a whizz and has the patience of a saint dealing with us oldies and my daughter Autumn for helping with the wizardry world of google ads and fb. See now I’ve left Tilly out and that’s not going to fly so I’d like to thank Tilly for… lending me her car :)