Stalk (Hotblooded Book 1)

by Victoria Danann

  Brant thought of himself as a simple sort of guy even though he was an avid reader of classics and secretly pondered some of the great philosophical brain-scramblers while he worked as a mechanic. He’d been born with the talent for it, loved taking things apart and putting them back together in better condition than before. The Sons of Sanctuary had nurtured that gift by mentoring and letting him tinker with their vehicles.

  After high school, he’d drifted from one Austin repair shop to another, accidentally improving his resume with each move to a larger shop, new title and more money. When he was twenty-five, he took a job as Head Mechanic at the Yellow Rose Resort. It required a double skill set: mechanic and manager of fuckwads who needed a babysitter more than a supervisor. Even though he was younger than almost all the guys who reported to him, he handled it. One way or another.

  He smiled about that. It was exactly the sort of thing his old man liked to say. Get it done. One way or another.

  It never occurred to Brant to wonder if there was more to life, and maybe he never would have, if Garland St. Germaine hadn’t gotten lost while exploring the resort grounds. Occupied by her own dark thoughts, not looking at much but the pavement in front of her, she’d wandered far afield of the guest paths. When she looked up, she was in front of the huge vehicle maintenance facility known as “the shed”. She didn’t know how she got there and had no idea how to find her way back.

  Since she’d been in Austin for a week, she’d acquired a golden tan that would be the envy of any lotion ad. Her ash blonde hair had also lightened several shades and taken on some dramatic, but still natural, highlights. Wearing a tank top, knee length shorts, she flip flopped through one of the open bays and came face to face with Brant Fornight.

  He was wearing jeans and a black tee with the Yellow Rose logo and text that simply read CREW.

  He looked her over too quickly to be accused of leering at a guest. And everything about her screamed guest, from the small diamond studs in her ears, to the designer sunglasses, to the skin that had that look of perfect nutrition and expensive lotion.

  “What can I do for you, darlin’?”

  The endearment was politically incorrect according to the new standards, but if she complained, he could always say it was just part of the local charm.

  Looking at the twin fires in Brant’s striking black eyes, she temporarily forgot what she needed. It was hard to tell whether the amusement on his handsome face was a permanent expression or if he was having fun at her expense.

  She cleared her throat. “I was having a look at the, uh, property and I guess I got turned around.”

  “Yeah.” He gave her a slow smile that had all her lady parts perking up and standing at attention. “We don’t get many people who start out lookin’ for the pool and wind up here,” he drawled, while wiping his hands on a rag.

  She scowled. “I wasn’t looking for the pool. I was just…”

  “Havin’ a look at the property.” He smiled. He pointed to a black and green vehicle that also bore the Yellow Rose logo. “Hop in this golf cart and I’ll drive you back.”

  “I don’t want to put you out.”

  He laughed out loud and shook his head. “This is the best thing that’s happened to me this year. Come on. I’ll go fast enough to get the breeze goin’ and cool you off.”

  She had gone past attractive glow to full on sweat. As if on cue, she was reminded of that when she felt a trickle of perspiration run between her breasts. His promise to ‘cool her off’ caused a blush for, what she was sure was the first time in her life.

  “Well, it is hot out here,” she said, looking around as if someone might argue. Or intervene.

  He looked over at the temperature gauge. “Only ninety-six in the shade. ‘Course that’s the way they report temps. In the shade. But…”, he looked down at her feet, ”…it’s really about one fifteen where you’re standin’. On that asphalt. In the sun.”

  Following his eyes down to the tarmac beneath her feet, she realized that she did actually feel as if she was slow cooking.

  “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  His grin was heart-stopping. He turned his back long enough to open a refrigerator, withdrew a bottle of water, and set it in the cart’s drink holder when he got behind the wheel. After Garland seated herself on the passenger side of the cart, he handed her the ice cold bottle of water. “All part of the service, ma’am.”

  “Thank you.” She accepted gratefully. But as badly as she wanted to drink, she wanted to feel the cold bottle against her skin even more. She held it to her chest, closed her eyes and moaned. “You’re an angel in disguise.”

  When she opened her eyes and saw the change in his expression, she realized that calling attention to her breasts may not have been the smartest move.

  Brant tore his gaze from the water bottle. It may have elicited a moan that would haunt his fantasies forever, but even he knew that ogling guests was crossing a line. He wasn’t sure whether he should be glad that he’d given her a cold compress, or curse himself for it, but the view above her neck was just as interesting. She’d removed her sunglasses and stuck them on top of her head, which left him exactly sixteen inches away from amber-colored irises that were stunning, and so unusual with her blonde locks that she looked almost exotic. At the moment they were also questioning why he wasn’t starting the engine.

  He pushed the ignition button and they lurched forward. When they started down the hill, the cart picked up speed. The air movement did cool the feeling of scorching skin. She took a big swig of cold water and laughed. “You’re right. This feels good. You could sell rides to the overheated.”

  He smiled, steering and stealing glances at the unlikely passenger and the strange, but welcomed turn his morning had taken.

  “So where to?”

  “You know where the hotel is?” He raised one eyebrow. “Well.” She laughed. “Of course you do.”

  They coasted down a hill then laughed when the cart struggled to climb up the next. On reaching the top, the hotel came into view, sitting on a ridge as if presiding over the Yellow Rose’s five championship golf courses.

  She pointed to the right of the eighteen-story hotel. “We’re in one of those villas next to the hotel.”

  He whistled long and low. “So I’m guessing you’re not using a stay-two-nights-get-the-third-free coupon.”

  She laughed because she had no other response, not knowing if there was such a thing or if he’d just made that up. “Oh, you know. My father is here overseeing some business development. Told me to either come for the summer or look for a box under a bridge.”

  When Brant looked over, he seemed to be studying her. He suspected that she was early twenties. So what she said about being there with her father didn’t really make sense. “You in a box under a bridge. Can’t see that.”

  “Hmmm. Well, it could happen. You remember the story about that ex movie star who was living in the bushes in Central Park?”

  “No. I guess I missed that.”

  “You must not watch ‘Entertainment Tonight’.”

  He chuckled. “Guilty. Or not guilty. Take your pick.”

  She indulged in a leisurely look at his tan profile. He had lashes so long and thick that she would think they were fake on a woman. But she thought that, if she was reading signals right, there was nothing fake about Brant Fornight. He had an open, easy-going manner that put her at ease. Running her eyes over the dark hair that threatened to reach the ribbed neck of his tee, and following the line of his straight nose and strong jaw, she decided he could be vying for the title of the best-looking man she’d ever seen.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Brant Fornight. What’s yours?”

  “Garland St. Germaine.”

  His eyes slid sideways. “Pretty name. And unusual. I don’t think I’ve ever run into a Garland before.”

  “It was my grandmother’s maiden name. The one good thing about it is that it doesn’t lend itself t
o cute nicknames.” She chuckled. “The closest anybody ever came to making one stick was this guy at school who used to call me Garfield.”

  Brant puzzled at his reaction to that. His gut had tightened. Apparently he didn’t like getting an image of another guy calling this girl anything. Once he realized that he would probably never see the beautiful girl with the terrible sense of direction again, he slowed the cart down as much as possible without raising suspicion.

  When they reached the walk to the door of her villa, she turned toward him. Her hesitation made him wonder if she was just as reluctant to end the unlikely encounter.

  Her smile was warm, but he couldn’t tell if it was a friendly smile or an ‘I’m interested’ smile. “Well. I guess this is me.”

  “I guess so.”

  “Thank you for the ride, Brant.”

  “It was my pleasure, Garland. Whenever you get lost anywhere around vehicle maintenance, this chariot will be at your disposal.”

  She grinned. “Flowery words for a vehicle maintenancer.”

  “Maybe I’m not one-dimensional.”

  She stared as if she was trying to read his mind. “Maybe you’re not.”

  She got out and walked to the door knowing that he was watching her rear end under the pretense of seeing her safely home. She swiped the card key and opened the door then turned to smile and wave. In return she was rewarded with a macho chin jerk that made her smile even bigger.

  CHAPTER 3

  Brant set the torque wrench down, wiped his hands, grabbed his keys and pulled the bay door down. Like always, he waited until everyone else was gone so he could lock up. As he started his car, he turned his attention to what he might do with a Wednesday night. He could throw together some Hamburger Helper and watch the tube. He could grab a shower and stop by the Hawg Stop for a burger and a beer. Or two. Depending on who was there.

  He was seven minutes from home, still running through options with no stand-out choice, when he saw a BMW pulled off the roadside with the driver side door open. Being a car guy, he noticed the car, but it would be pretty hard to ignore the shapely derriere that was bending over the seat.

  As he slowed, he was thinking that a damsel in distress with a killer ass could be just the thing he needed to get Garland St. Germaine out of his head. As he pulled close to the Beemer’s bumper, the owner of the heart-shaped butt stood up and looked to see who was there.

  “God’s balls,” he muttered to himself. How was he supposed to forget about Garland St. Germaine when she made a habit of turning up unexpectedly, wearing the juiciest look of vulnerability?

  She looked a touch wary about the car that had stopped, until he opened the door and set one booted foot on the gravel. When she recognized him, her face broke out in a smile that put sunshine to shame. And his heart squeezed in his chest like it was caught in a vise grip.

  “Brant Fornight! Just when you need a mechanic…”

  He couldn’t help but return the smile, flattered that she’d cared to remember his name. “Trouble?”

  “No. It’s Garland. Garland St. Germaine.”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “So you say. But I’m thinkin’ I got it right.” Her grin revealed teeth so perfectly white and straight they could easily be featured in a toothpaste ad. “Man. You have beautiful teeth. I’m guessin’ you don’t chew.”

  He intended it as a joke, but she looked confused. “Chew? Doesn’t everybody?”

  He laughed. “Let’s see what’s goin’ on here.”

  “I couldn’t figure out how to open the hood. Not that I’d know what to do after that.”

  “Why’d you pull over?”

  “The gearshift popped out of Drive and wouldn’t go back in.” She paused, seeing the look on his face. “That expression is telling me that this is not good.”

  “No. It’s not.” Looking through the open car door he spotted a mobile phone. “You tried callin’ somebody?”

  “Yeah. No luck.”

  “Figured. It’s hard to get service through this stretch. Is this a rental?”

  She looked down at the car. “No. It’s a loaner for while I’m here. Some business associate of my father’s.”

  “Hmmm,” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world to know people who loan practically new BMW sedans to the grown children of business associates. ”Well, get your stuff and come on. I’ll get a tow truck to take it to a shop that specializes in Germans. They know me and won’t try to rip off your dad’s friend.”

  “You’re going to give me a ride?”

  “I’m not leavin’ you out here to walk.”

  “That’s nice of you, Brant.”

  As she smiled, he was thinking that maybe, if she knew what all he’d like to do to her, she wouldn’t think he was so ‘nice’.

  When she pulled her purse out of the car, he said, “Were you running away?” Those little lines formed between her brows. He pointed at the bag. “That’s gotta be the biggest purse I ever saw.”

  “It’s Sequoia Paris,” she said defensively.

  He chuckled, but said, “Okay,” in a maddeningly placating way.

  When she settled into his car, he realized that he liked the way she looked in the passenger seat way more than he should.

  When she closed her door she realized that, in a vehicle without open-air sides, he was a really big guy who took up a lot of space and made proximity feel very, very close.

  “What kind of car is this?”

  “It’s a 1968 Camaro. Original everything.”

  “I like the color. What do you call it? Slate?”

  “No. I call it gunmetal gray.”

  She nodded and threw his placating reaction back at him. “Okay.”

  When he started the engine, Garland felt the vibration rumble through her body like a purr. Not a kitten’s purr. More like a panther that had flopped down next to her and proceeded to rub his big head into her lap like she was catnip.

  “Wow.”

  “Exactly.” He turned to grin at her and watched her throat as she swallowed. He hoped she wasn’t afraid, but truthfully he could just eat her up. As he pulled back onto the road he said, “So where were you goin’?”

  “Oh. This woman at the pool told me I’d be missing out if I didn’t go to the Bee Caves Shaman while I was here and get a tarot reading.”

  He laughed out loud. “New Age Hoodoo?”

  She cut her eyes his direction and smiled slightly. “Maybe.”

  “You still want to go?”

  Garland’s big eyes widened. “You mean drop me off there?”

  He glanced away from the road long enough to appreciate her surprised look. “Well, no. I’ll wait for you and take you back to the Yellow Rose.”

  “You’d do that?”

  “Conditionally.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “What conditions?”

  His lips twitched at the corners. “I have two. The second one is that I need to be fed first. It’s been a long time since lunch.”

  “You’re going to make me ask you about the first, aren’t you?”

  “No ma’am. I’ve had the pleasure of workin’ a full day without benefit of air-conditioning. I need to stop by my place and grab a quick shower.” He could feel her tense up without even turning his head to look, so he cautioned himself to soft pedal. With a slow smile he said, “I’m not a serial killer, Garland.”

  “That’s what all the serial killers say, Brant. And death may not be the thing I’m most worried about.”

  He slanted his eyes toward her while still wearing a smile. “You can wait in the car. Won’t take long. I promise.” She relaxed visibly. “Then I’ll take you out for the best Mexican food in the Great State of Texas.”

  “Really?”

  “No shit. And it’s just five minutes from the Shaman.”

  “Oh. So you know where to find New Age Hoodoo?”

  “All the locals know about Foss Carley. Comes from a family of famous musicians. Well, at least
they’re famous in Texas.”

  “Is Foss a guy?”

  “Yeah. Went to high school with him.”

  “Really? Was he super spiritual back then?”

  Brant almost guffawed. “Hardly.”

  Brant’s house was on a bluff overlooking Bee Caves Road, ideally located halfway in between two ice houses frequented by the Sons of Sanctuary. That would be fifteen minutes to the Hawg Stop at Bee Cave and fifteen minutes to the Watering Hole at Dripping Springs. A nice easy ride either way, especially at sunset, when the warm air would rush around a biker like a ravishing lover. It was also just three miles from work at the Yellow Rose.

  At the top of the hill, Brant turned onto a gravel and caliche drive. The house was small, but made entirely of local white river rock. It looked substantial enough to withstand a siege.

  “The three little pigs might as well not bother,” Garland said.

  Brant looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “What?”

  “You know the story. Right?”

  “I do know the story, but since I live here, you must think I’m the wolf who ate the pigs and claimed their house.” She laughed. “You sure you want to wait out here? It’s cool inside. I’m just gonna make a call about your car and shower quick.”

  She hesitated, the wariness returning. But after another look in his eyes, she decided to go with her instincts. “Okay.” She opened the car door and got out before she could change her mind.

  He entered first. “Well. Be it ever so humble… Come on in and cool off.”

  When she stepped in, the cool air enveloped her in blessed relief.

  There were ample windows, but it was dark inside.

  “Do you always keep the shutters closed?”

  “Just during the eight months when I’m trying to keep the cool air in and the hot air out.”

  “Oh.”

  Brant stood watching for her reaction to his casita. It was simple, but it was paid for and it had a coveted eastern view over the tops of trees that was valuable beyond price.

  Garland took it all in. The house had two rooms, a large combined living with kitchen at the end away from the front door and, what Garland supposed was, a bed and bath down a short hallway.