by Ellen March
A Heart’s Breath
Ellen March
Fanny Press
PO Box 70515
Seattle, WA 98127
For more information go to: www.fannypress.com
helenduggan.com/ellen-march/
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Cover design by Sabrina Sun
A Heart’s Breath
Copyright © 2017 by Ellen March
ISBN: 978-1-60381-264-1 (Trade Paper)
ISBN: 978-1-60381-265-8 (eBook)
Produced in the United States of America
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Acknowledgements
I can't thank my editors Catherine and Jennifer enough. They truly are brilliant, and I love working with them. When Jen goes, “I had a cup of coffee and was thinking ….” I think, “Oh dear, what's coming!” However every suggestion from both only adds to the story. They truly know how to make the most of an author. I love you loads ladies, and thank you for believing in me. I'll be forever in your debt.
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Ellen March lives in Wales, UK, so we have retained the British spelling and idioms.
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Chapter One
Savannah rose and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Christ, she had to admit she looked rough. No wonder she was incapable of catching herself a boyfriend.
She tossed the mess of brown hair over her shoulders. “Cato, you screwed up again,” she shouted into the stillness of her bedroom.
The object of her wrath slunk towards her. “Hey, baby sis, it’s not my problem your hair looks a-tangle.” He was a tall blond Adonis of pure muscle and sweet sexy eyes.
“Well, you cut it.”
“And did a damn good job,” he replied, twirling a hand through her soft locks. “You could try combing it.” Standing behind her, Cato combed and sprayed and coaxed her hair until it regained its shape. Then he tried not to smile.
“You messed up big style, okay?”
“No I didn’t. You just need to get used to it.”
She directed a vicious glare at her brother, then returned to the image reflected in the mirror. Her long brown hair now fell to her shoulders.
“I asked for a trim, not a hacking attack.”
Cato shrugged. “Whatever, you’ll get used to it.” Again making her face the mirror, he brushed it back and applied a few more spritzes of hairspray. “Your ends could use some conditioner.”
“I hate it,” said Savannah as she swivelled inspecting the new style with a critical eye. “But I know what I’d like to slap.” Then, turning her head, she debated if it really did work, if it suited her. She had to grudgingly admit it did. She kept these thoughts to herself.
Savannah fussed with her new cut, huffing and preening. “This is not what I asked for.”
“Exactly,” said Cato, standing back. His long fingers scaled through her locks. Pulling his scissors out of his back pocket, he snipped at a tiny piece. “It’s perfection.”
She struggled to quell the despair she felt at the sight of herself. “I don’t know. It’s too severe.”
“Oh for pity’s sake, Sis, it’s a haircut. Even you have to admit it’s an improvement over the mess that was hanging down your back.”
“It’s a damn sight more than that; it’s a bloody shock to my system. I trusted you to listen.”
Cato rolled his eyes and dropped his scissors. “You’re such a drama queen.”
Savannah spun on her brother. “Don’t even go there. I’m the one working down the café to make ends meet whilst you prance about at the salon.”
He stopped and dropped her a quizzical glare. “Anna, let me just say, there’s a lot I do there, and mess about isn’t one of them.” His hands rested on slim hips emphasized by ridiculously body-hugging trousers.
Savannah took a deep breath and tried to adjust her skirt. It was tight. In fact, it was digging into her flesh. Unfortunately there was plenty of that. “Have you put this on a boil wash and shrunk it?” She struggled to squeeze a finger between the material and the skin it was clinging to, cutting into her surplus flesh.
Cato grinned. A row of perfectly whitened teeth flashed stark against his bronzed skin. “Nope, Sis, you’ve been at the biscuit jar again. It’s called weight gain.”
She shot him a cold glare with her usually warm chocolate eyes, and her full lips slashed into a wicked scowl. “Shut the hell up. It’s shrunk okay?” With her forbidding expression and defiant stance, Savannah was daring him to answer her back. She covered the not so subtle roll of fat with a baggy shirt and loose apron.
Cato backed down. He knew how volatile her temper could be.
In Savannah, the cute looks of the girl next door were paired with the temperament of a harpy. She was wild and unpredictable—impulsive to the point of stupidity—yet overall had the sweetest personality. In fact his sister was a serious pushover. She couldn’t walk past a tramp without handing out cash, even if it was her last.
Savannah winced at the pinch lancing her side. Deftly she undid a button—at last she could breathe—and ferreted in the nearby chest of drawers. She pulled out a large pin, subtly sliding it into place to give herself a tiny smidgeon of room.
She checked the time—running behind as usual. “Catch you later. Are you making food tonight?” Savannah clasped her oversized bag. Apparently it was the height of fashion or so the street vendor had told her. She hated it. It took forever to find anything.
But for a tenner she strived to look fashionable.
“I’m working late, and with a bit of luck, going on a date with Callum after.” He sucked in a sultry sigh and his eyes darkened. Automatically his hand grazed his crotch.
Savannah didn’t miss his action and shook her head in frustration. “Yuck, gross. Don’t forget that I’m your sister. Don’t you ever let up?”
Cato shook his head. “Not if I can help it, Sis. Seems like I’ve got all the hot genes whilst you,” he paused, “have none.”
“Look, you randy git, leave my sex life out of it.” She hooked the bag over her shoulder and dug her hand in to make a brief check of its contents, deep in the bottom.
“What sex life?” Cato quirked a blond brow, his look probing and oh-so-knowing.
She spun on him and jabbed a pointed index finger into his chest. Slowly advancing on him, she said, “Just because everyone is talking about books on sex and BDSM doesn’t mean I’ve got to drop my knickers at a drop of a hat.”
Cato’s rich laughter sprayed over her. “Sis, your knickers are sealed to your ass. Hell, when was the last time you had a date?”
“Yeah. Wonder what that reason could be? Because I was rearing a lummox of a brother,” she hissed between clenched teeth. Spinning around, she yanked at the door and dragged it open. Without turning, Savannah yelled, “Why is it criminal to be a virgin in this day and age? There’s too much emphasis on sex and not enough on romance.” When she slammed the door behind her, it gave a reverberating shudder. Sex is overrated, isn’t it?
Savannah stormed down the path from the rented house they shared, muttering under her breath. The bag swung as a pendulum in time with her wide hips. She wished her brother would shut the hell up.
Did he think she clung to her virginity? Held it close as a prize?
Hell, she’d give it away if she had half a chance. The right time had simply never arose. The only social event that tic
kled her fancy was her vibrator that she’d nicknamed Eveready. Because she was forever gagging for sex and it was always there. Mute, cold, and plastic.
It was just unfortunate she never managed to get it—that is, the real thing.
She wondered how it would feel. A real, live, honest-to-God erection deep inside her, fetching her to that bliss she craved. An orgasmic explosion of sheer lust. The familiar ache took hold between her legs and she bit her lip, stopping from squeezing a hand comfortingly between them. A film of tears grazed her eyes. She wanted a man, someone she could talk to and make love to, to her heart’s content. Could curl up into, overcome with sweet exhaustion.
Was it too much to ask?
A shiver ran over her. She was a fatalist, and her life was mapped out. It had been ever since the unexpected death of their parents in a car accident. At the age of eighteen, she’d suddenly become both mother and father to her younger sibling. Cato had been twelve and needy. So she’d put aside her own grief and wrapped her love around her brother.
She sought to ease his pain.
So, whilst most girls were out partying, she was fighting with the various people seeking money. From the gas board to the social, she had it all thrown at her. All the while, she made sure Cato was blissfully immune to her struggle. Instead of dating, she spent her evenings and days working and looking after him. Their bond was uniquely strong and she wouldn’t have it any other way.
However, sometimes, like now, she wondered if there was anyone out there for her. A man who could take control, so that for once in her life she could lean back, let someone else make the decisions. And again her hopes wandered back to sex. What would it be like to wake up in a man’s arms and not snuggled deep into a feather pillow with a plastic vibrator digging in her hip?
Coming back to earth, she glanced up at her destination: the neighbourhood café.
The sign across the top of the entrance was brash and bright. It read THE SIZZLING SAUSAGE. Such a classy description, thought Savannah. Like not, yet it raised many a smile. A spillage of red paint drew attention to the name, along with huge letters painted in slashes of swirling black.
The menu and today’s offers were on a board that had been strategically placed on the pavement below it. Savannah didn’t have to think what her shift was going to bring. She knew. It was predictable and boring.
Which was why she hated every second of her job.
Savannah sucked in a snatch of irritation and pasted a smile on her face. It was a job and paid the bills.
Pushing the door open, she wandered in. A pungent aroma of rich coffee filled the air, along with the mouth-watering scent of bacon. Her stomach rumbled, the pin pinched, and she tried to haul a breath in.
Savannah wished she was sylph-like, much on the trim lines of her brother. But no, she was all buxom curves. Her parents had bequeathed her the fat gene pool.
She comfort-ate because she was miserable, she reasoned, and she was miserable because she was alone. A glance at her reflection in the window convinced Savannah she was alone because of her weight.
Cato was one hell of a lucky bastard, she decided. He had his pick of boyfriends, whilst she was left dreaming and hoping. One man. Was that too much to ask for?
But no, God in his wisdom saw fit to deny her the oats she craved with the need of a racehorse before the Derby.
She glanced around at the usual faces—not a stranger in sight. Moving to the staff quarters, Savannah slid her coat off and hung it up. Then, checking to make sure her pin wasn’t about to come undone and stab her unexpectedly, she made her way out front.
Another boring day of knowing everyone and what they ate and hearing the same chatter. Savannah knew exactly what type of conversation she would overheard at any one table. She had one hell of a sad life.
Slade Taylor moved to his regular seat. His red hair glinted, whilst his paunch hung over smartly pressed trousers. Savannah knew he was watching her from beneath a pair of sunglasses, incongruous inside the dimly lit café.
Casually he flicked them up, where they rested over a thatch of springy hair.
She knew he reckoned he looked cool. Privately she thought he looked a right idiot.
Savannah headed towards him, crossing the small space with a rolling walk. She held her notepad in her hand, her pencil at the ready. Reaching him, she smiled, already guessing what he’d order.
A double bacon butty with ketchup and a large milky coffee, three sugars.
She’d already jotted down his request by the time he gave the inevitable order, ignoring how his beady eyes roved over her body. She was going stir-crazy for a man, but she wasn’t that desperate. Savannah hated how his sneaky eyes devoured her when he thought she wasn’t looking.
Virginal she might be; stupid she wasn’t.
Hell, she knew firsthand how men acted. She’d discovered that by rearing Cato. Except he had to blow her out by admitting he was gay. Not that she had a problem with his sexuality, but hell, some of his boyfriends made her mouth water.
She’d shaken her head and thought, What a waste.
***
Slade’s hazel eyes drilled into her, ploughing through the ugly red uniform and razing over her chest. Even in a baggy blouse, she couldn’t hide those humongous hills. He tried to see through the material and catch a glimpse of her nipples. “How are you today, Savannah?”
“Okay, I guess.” There wasn’t really anything she could add. Nothing had changed since yesterday. Hell, nothing had changed since last week.
His lecherous gaze seared across her body and settled on her newly acquired haircut. “Nice, I like it. Suits you.”
Self-consciously, she patted her shorn locks, unused to the lightness. “It’s okay, I suppose.” Savannah didn’t like his personal comment and neither did she give a toss about his opinion.
“No man taking you out?”
“Not tonight,” she hedged. Then gave a ghost of a smile when she spotted her favourite old man who had just hobbled in. Swiftly moving past Slade, Savannah ignored the shiver that raced down her spine. She didn’t like the vibes coming from that man, not one little bit.
She advanced on the old man’s table. “Hi, Jack, how are you this morning?” Her warm brown eyes melted over him. Savannah guessed he was in his late fifties but looked a lot older. One of those people of indefinable age.
The man nodded. Taking a seat, he peered up at her. “Okay, I’m okay. Thank you, Savannah.” His voice was strangely husky.
“You having the usual?”
Again he nodded. Savannah wished she didn’t know the habits of everyone who came into the small café.
Minutes later she watched as Jack tucked into his food. His gray beard was liberally smeared with baked bean juice. He glanced up and gave her a hesitant smile, a shard of bacon wedged in his teeth.
Savannah turned away from him, her smile dying, and dry-heaved.
For the thousandth time she checked her watch. God but she hated her job. It had seemed a lifetime of long, torn-out minutes, yet she’d been on duty less than two hours. Two hours of torture.
Already she could set the clock by Jack. She knew what time he arrived, the food he ate, and when he would leave. She had a seriously pathetic life. No social activities, no dates, and a shit job she couldn’t afford to give up.
The chime on the door tinkled, and a large, bearded biker strolled in, a brightly coloured bandana covering his head. A gold earring glinted beneath the spear of sunlight filtering through the window. His gaze swept to Savannah. She studied him as he slowly sat and cricked his finger.
A smile tugged at her lips. She’d met his type before, and would take pleasure in educating him.
“What can I get you?” She nibbled provocatively on her pencil, the notebook in her hand.
“Are you on the menu?”
Savannah sucked in an agitated breath. She was used to the corny line. As overweight and messy as she was, for some reason men who visited the café seemed to want her
along with their sausages.
“Strictly off limits.” She tapped her pencil on her pad. “And the food?”
“I don’t think you heard me.” His voice hummed with a growl of a threat, and a hand snaked out, snatching at her wrist. He pinned her, daring her to move.
“Trust me, sunshine, I heard you loud and clear.” She attempted to yank free, but still, he held her. “Now!” Savannah stabbed his hand hard with the sharp point of her pencil, satisfied as he yelped with pain.
“You bitch,” he yelped and stared at the spot of blood staining his hand.
“Got a problem, little lady?” asked Slade, moving his bulk between them.
Savannah glared at the asshole of a biker. “No, I think we’ve reached an understanding.” She paused. “Haven’t we?”
The biker glanced between the two, then down at his injured hand. “I’ve lost my appetite.” With a brief nod of his head, he rose and stumbled out.
The chime tinkled as the door closed behind him and Slade swung his attention to Savannah. “You need a strong man to look after you.”
Savannah raised her feathered brow, drawing attention to the fact that she didn’t pluck. “Slade, I’m more than capable of looking after myself. But if you happen to find one, let me know.” She spun round, leaving him open-mouthed.
His gaze hooked onto her wide ass as she sashayed away. A scowl crawled over his pale features. One way or the other he intended on bedding her. Slade knew she didn’t like him, but he would work on that.
After he’d taken her.
Chapter Two
Micah rolled back against the silk sheets, his hand on the brunette. She was sucking him off as if blow jobs were going out of fashion. And he wasn’t complaining.
