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Book Two in the Wild Heat Series
VONNIE DAVIS
A division of HarperCollinsPublishers
www.harpercollins.co.uk
HarperImpulse an imprint of
HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2015
Copyright © Vonnie Davis 2015
Cover images © Shutterstock.com
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015
Cover design by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
Vonnie Davis asserts the moral right
to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is
available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are
the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is
entirely coincidental.
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and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
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No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted,
downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or
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written permission of HarperCollins.
Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress.
Ebook Edition © December 2014 ISBN: 9780007594528
Version 2015-02-12
To Ron and Debbie who have loaned us their condo in Indian Rocks Beach so we could fall in love with the small Gulf side community in Florida, where much of this book takes place.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
EPILOGUE
Coming Soon from Vonnie Davis…
Also by Vonnie Davis…
Vonnie Davis
About HarperImpulse
About the Publisher
CHAPTER ONE
“Quick! What aisle are the douches in? I’ve got three bitches at the beach cottage and they all stink to high heaven.” The broad shoulders of the harried man appeared solid under his faded t-shirt, worn inside out and backward. His pale whiskered stubble was pulled tight by his clenched jaw and tensed lips. The customer practically vibrated with frustration.
“I can’t let them in bed with me smelling like that.” His fingertips tapped a beat of annoyance on the check-out counter. “What is it with females, anyway? Ain’t got the good sense God gave them.”
Behind the counter, Molly Devon’s temper flared. Oh, yeah, as if you men are the sharpest knives on humanity’s chopping block.
He brushed his neck, his fingers tangling in the worn tag of his t-shirt. He looked down, plucked at the material and muttered a curse. “Sorry, I grabbed the first top I could find and just yanked it on.” He reached back with one hand and jerked it off, trying to set it to rights.
Molly’s Colorado born-and-bred gaze took a skiing trip over the mountains of his hardened pecs and skied down the ridges of his abs. Along his downhill masculine slope, she noticed other things. Skin tanned dark. On his left side, a wide tribal rib tattoo ran from below his armpit to beneath his pants to who knew where. A light tan treasure trail of chest hair thinned at his navel. The waistband of his raggedy jeans barely hung onto the V indent at his hipline created by well-toned internal obliques.
Sweet Lord, what a girl couldn’t do with…
For Pete’s sake, stop gawking! Haven’t I learned my lesson? Men are bad news. Not to be believed and never to be trusted.
Firm biceps flexed as the customer slipped the faded t-shirt, advertising boogie boards, over his torso, tugging it down and shifting his wide shoulders. “Sorry, about that. But, believe me, I’d sooner be home, hammering away, than in here.”
His obviously crass remark jerked her admiring attention to his overconfident square jaw.
Yeah, just give me a hammer, buddy. I’ll pound some sense into your arrogant over-sexed brain.
He leaned toward her. “Well? Where are they?”
The stranger’s bark startled her. With her nerves on edge from her mother’s recent passing, her father’s increasing signs of dementia and Wade’s violent reaction after she broke off their engagement, any perceived threat—no matter how minor or brief—set her insides to trembling. Paranoia had her in its grip for she was sure she’d seen Wade’s battered, dark blue SUV cruising Gulf Boulevard in Indian Rocks Beach. Both times she hid, her nerves having slipped into fear mode.
Molly tussled with her anxieties, scrambling for internal control.
“Ah…” She lifted her index finger to indicate she needed a second or two as she scanned the overhead signs, listing the items stocked in each aisle. Where had she seen the feminine products during her brief new-hire orientation two days ago? Another deep breath and calmness returned, her mind finally chugging into gear.
The customer lifted his blue ball cap with some kind of marine rescue emblem on it, forked his long fingers through straight hair—bleached nearly pale blond by the sun—and resettled the hat. “You do carry Massengill, don’t you? That’s the best brand, according to my research.”
“Ah…” What kind of man researches douches? A man who goes to bed with three women, Molly. Now concentrate.
Two broad hands clasped the edge of the counter. His index finger had a nasty red-rimmed cut on its side. An appealing mixture of sawdust, lime and ginger snagged her attention and, when the man cleared his throat, her gaze snapped upward to lock on a pair of surf green eyes flecked with blue. “Is my question too difficult for you to answer…” he glanced at her nametag, “Molly?”
Oh, this guy has a good tongue lashing coming. Molly sucked in a breath, pulled together a string of insults to hurl at him and then changed her mind. Better to smile while she enjoyed her private opinions of this man-whore, especially since she needed this job badly. She’d put a big dent in her credit card balance to substitute the laptop her dad had misplaced, along with his wallet and her carryon of her clothes. Not to mention the money she needed for groceries and her father’s medication.
Finally the product’s location slipped into place. “You’ll find them in aisle six, on the right.”
The knuckles of his fisted hand rapped once on the counter before he sauntered off.
Big-headed, demanding jerk.
Frazzled nerves got the best of her and her gaze settled on the box of chocolate bars calling her name, taunting her. Why did everything she ate have to settle on her ass? Two women strolled in the store wearing shorts that showcased slender, toned thighs and itty-bitty butts. Her thighs were toned, but thick by society’s standards. Unfortunately, the only things slender on her body were her earlobes and toes. Life just wasn’t fair.
Molly was shoving packs of cigarettes into racks behind the register when someone thunked items onto the check-out counter. She pasted on a smile, did a quick pivot and sighed as the grin slid off. Douche-man was back with twelve double packs of Massengill disposables.
“You only had two boxes of the mixable kind.” He read the printing on the box he held, never once sparing her a glance. He tapped the second carton resting on the counter with his cut finger. “Would you mind checking your inventory in the back? I’ll need more.”
“I’m not allowed to leave the register, but I’ll be happy to page our stock boy.”
Douche-man grunted and flipped the package around. “It’s gonna take at least two boxes for Lola. She’s big. Got wide hips. Skinny legs, though. Kinda like a twenty-gallon tank on toothpicks.”
What an ass, talking about his girlfriend like that! Molly sneered and depressed the button on the store’s intercom. “Cruz, could you check our supply of mixable douche powder? I have a man who needs three or four boxes.”
“Make it five or six. And they have to be Massengill, don’t forget. God, I don’t know which girl smells the worst.”
Well, quit putting your nose in their hootchies. Molly cleared her throat and rolled her eyes before depressing the button on the intercom. “Could you make that six boxes of douche powder? Massengill, please, Cruz.” A few snickers floated over from aisle two.
“I can see I’m gonna have a rough night ahead. Maggie Mae hates when I give her a good scrubbing, especially if I get soap in her beady eyes or get too rough with her.” He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger and sighed like a man greatly imposed upon. “God, I hate a whiny bitch.”
Oh, I am so going to belt you.
“Caroline handles her bath pretty well. She likes it rough, especially when I hold her head under the faucet.” He had the audacity to chuckle. “She tries to drink the water, but then she’ll drink most anything.”
She’d have to be drunk to put up with you, buster. You need some serious help.
Cruz hurried to the register, his arms full of boxes. “Here you go, Molly.” He shot the customer a curious glance.
“Thanks. Would you do me one more favor, please?”
The pimply-faced teen’s head bobbed. “Sure.”
“Our customer needs a bottle of peroxide and Neosporin for the cut on his finger. It’s showing signs of infection.” Cruz nodded and hurried back to aisle four.
Douche-man glimpsed at his hand. “Thanks. I do have a first aid kit, but I’ve been too preoccupied with work to take care of it. Ain’t nothing but an infected splinter. Can’t seem to dig deep enough to get to it.”
Oh, just give me a machete. I’ll show you how deep a good woman can cut.
He slid his fingertips into the front pocket of his jeans, pulling them a little lower on his hips, until he finally tugged out folded bills secured with a silver fire truck money clip. “What’s the damage?”
To your wallet or the self-esteem of those poor women?
After totaling his purchases, Molly handed him his change and six plastic bags. “Hope you get them cleaned up.”
He grunted again. “Sure as hell hope so. Don’t know if I can sleep without the girls laying all over me.”
Oh, puh-lease.
He headed for the exit, high-top sneakers clunking the tile floor.
Molly glared at his retreating form. What a piece of macho jerk.
He snapped his fingers and returned. “Where’s the dog toys? They’ll be expecting a treat after I scrub the skunk smell off.”
“Dogs? Dogs!” Had he been talking about dogs all this time?
Douche-man nodded, his blond five o’clock shadow more an eight o’clock sexy scruff. “Yeah. An overweight Black Lab, a beady-eyed Chihuahua and a Collie mix. I’m kinda partial to my girls, but not when they chase skunks and get a good spraying.”
“Skunks? Spraying?” God, I sound like an echo.
“Used to wash them down with tomato juice after being sprayed, but Caroline would lap at the juice and get terrible gas.” He shook his head once. “Couldn’t stand to be around her for days.” He grinned and dimples slashed his cheeks. “So, I researched online and found out about bathing animals in Massengill after encounters with skunks.”
Boy, talk about a miscommunication.
He studied the bags in his hands for a beat and then raised his gaze. “I’m sorry for storming in here earlier and ranting about my dogs, calling them bitches, but they had me so damn mad.” He winced. “Sorry. After a long day of tearing out decrepit kitchen cabinets and replacing them with new ones, moving walls and installing appliances, the last thing I want to do tonight is to scrub down three dogs.”
His gaze flicked over her hand before his green-eyed perusal once more settled on her face. Had he just checked for a ring? “Could I interest you in a cup of coffee after work?” He peeked at his watch. “Store closes in fifteen minutes.”
Not expecting his boldness, she stepped back. “Sorry, I don’t meet strange men for coffee.”
A wide smile spread, exposing straight white teeth with a chip broken off the corner of his left front one. Those deep dimples and chipped tooth added a boyish charm to his male persona, a charismatic contrast to the arrogant sternness he’d exhibited earlier. He set his bags in front of her on the checkout counter before tilting a hip against it and crossing his arms, obviously settling in for a chat neither she nor her boss wanted. She was on the clock, after all.
The door swished open and she jumped. God, she had to get beyond thinking she’d seen Wade’s vehicle twice. Sure, he’d been royally pissed when she threw the engagement ring in his face, but no woman wanted to marry a man who cheated on her…and then became violent when she called him on it. But he wouldn’t come all this way to find her. Would he?
The strange man’s eyebrows were furrowed as if he’d been studying her and he cleared his throat. “You know, I really do owe you an apology for my ranting when I came in the store.” He managed to make his grin almost unsure, as if he’d suddenly lost his confidence. How many times had he practiced this technique—and how often had a woman fallen for it? “A coffee and a piece of pie couldn’t hurt, could it?”
“I repeat, I don’t know you.” She motioned him aside so she could ring-up another customer’s purchases.
She hoped Douche-man would take the hint but, no, he patiently hovered nearby while she waited on two customers, his male aura slowly swirling around her like a testosterone fog. Turning to him, she scowled. “What part of I don’t spend time with strange men don’t you get?”
He extended his hand, his charming smile increased another dangerous notch. “Barclay Gray. Fireman, marine rescue diver, dog lover and pie connoisseur.”
The man certainly knew how to pour on the charm, she’d give him that. But she couldn’t forget that men had a potential for violence she’d never known before…
Molly shook Barclay’s hand. The warmth from his callouses sending shocks of awareness through her system. When she tried pulling back, his hold tightened and a jolt of panic twisted her stomach.
As if he could read her mood, his shifted to one of reassurance. “Calm down, Molly. I don’t intend to hurt you in any way. White Sands Diner is three blocks up the street and usually has good pies.” His thumb slowly rubbed her knuckles and she jerked her hand away.
His gaze narrowed on her as if he were some kind of therapist, evaluating her every move. Gone, too, was his cocky smile. “What have I done to frighten you?”
“Tell me, do all the women fall for this macho lure you’ve got goin’ on?”
One shoulder lifted in an arrogant shrug. “Yeah. Usually. Sometimes.” His sea green gaze quickly swept over her face. “It’s not working with you, though, is it?”
She folded her arms. “Hell, no.”
He smiled again; this time as if to soothe her. “You’re a cold-hearted woman, Molly. How will you sleep tonight, knowing I’m having pie and coffee all by my lonesome?”
Molly glanced at her fingernails. “I’m sure I won’t give it a second thought.” Oh, but she would. Who could forget his animated eyes or those cute dimples when he smiled? Or the way his deep voice triggered a need she’d be better off denying.
“Tell you what, I’ll order two cups of coffee and two slices of pie. If you don’t join me, it’ll be your fault I’ll be up all night with a sugar-induced, caffeine high.” His deep voice poured over her like honey on biscuits.
“Right. You don’t even know if there are any pies left at this time of night.”
Barclay whipped out his cell and thumbed a number. “Sarah, is that you? This is Barclay. Hey, you got any pie left?” His gaze locked on Molly’s and the corners of his mouth twitched in a damnable overconfident way. “What kind?” He nodded, no doubt listening to Sarah rattle off flavors. “Hold on.” He pressed the cell to his worn t-shirt. “They’ve got cherry, lemon meringue and double chocolate sin.”
Was he daft? She fisted a hand at her waist. “I told you I’m not meeting you for pie. I don’t care what damned flavor it is.” The last thing she needed was to get involved with another guy, even if she and her dad would only be in Florida for a few more weeks.
The man had the audacity to wink at her and then lifted his cell. “Save me a slice of each. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Put on a fresh pot of coffee too.” He slipped the cell back into the front pocket of his jeans.
“How are you going to keep that washboard stomach, eating three pieces of pie by yourself?” She was not joining him.
Humor twinkled in Barclay’s eyes, setting her system all wonky again. “You been looking at my abs, Sugar? Won’t you give a poor guy fifteen minutes to apologize for his moodiness?” He splayed a wide hand over his heart as if he were making a grand plea.
“Why don’t you do like every other man. Mumble ‘sorry’ and then slither away?”
A flicker of something passed over his face, erasing his jovial demeanor. “Is that how you’ve been treated? As if you don’t matter? Or that you’re not damned precious?”
He was hitting too close to her past experiences with men and she didn’t like it. “Look, we close soon. If you want toys for your dogs, you’d better hurry.”
“True that. Quitting time waits for no man.” Barclay sauntered off in the direction she’d indicated for pet products, shooting the lowest of blows over his shoulder. “Double Chocolate Sin pie, Miss Molly. How much you wanna bet it’s sinfully rich?”
“I hate chocolate, bucko.” Liar.
His laughter, rich and deep, bounced off the walls. “The name’s Barclay. Don’t forget it.”
As much as she wanted to fire back a volley of putdowns, she didn’t want to give this arrogant fireman the satisfaction of knowing he was getting to her. No doubt he flirted with every cashier and waitress he came across.
Which was why she didn’t want to tell him she worked the early morning shift at White Sands as a waitress. No need to give him any encouragement. So what if he made her feminine parts sit up and beg for buttermilk, as her dad was known to say? Really, she had no right to enjoy their banter, even for one brief interlude, especially with her life so unstable. Besides, she needed to get back to the condo her dad hated and see how he was doing.
Still, how many men would come out this time of night to get something for their dogs? She sniggered and shook her head. Douches of all things. When she thought about it, his devotion to his pets was kind of sexy. She slapped a hand over her eyes. Enough. Men could be heartless creatures beneath the jovial, often gentle, façade.
She’d be better off praying for immunity from handsome men, like the one who charged into the drug store minutes earlier with vibrant sea green eyes, hair the color of corn silk and deep dimples when he smiled. Or wide calloused hands that could do wicked things to a woman’s body while she inhaled his lime and ginger cologne. Erotic visions steamed a sensual path through her mind, and she shook her head to clear the thoughts.
After her shift was over, Molly hurried up the street toward the tiny condo in an older building on a side street across the road from the beach. Normally she and her dad stayed at Verne’s Cabins on the beach side of Gulf Boulevard, but the place was closed for renovations this year. Last February, when her little family made their annual trek here, the cabin they rented had been nearly uninhabitable. Still, her mother loved those little beach bungalows. It almost seemed fitting their first trip without Mom would be to a different section of the gulf side community she so loved.
A dagger of lightning ripped through the night sky before thunder bumped the ragged edges together again. Drops of rain the size of grapes pelted her head and shoulders, and she yanked up the hood of her jacket as she started a slow jog from the small strip mall along the main drag. Three more blocks and she’d be at their temporary home.
If only she could convince her dad to sell the house in Colorado and move here to the year-round warmth. The change in weather would help his arthritis and with her job back home, a web design business, she could work anywhere. She loved this little community.
Every winter, her heart yearned to return here where she could listen to the waves and relax. Unfortunately this trip, with her dad’s mental confusion coming and going, there was little relaxation to be had. She had to find quick work in order to provide for groceries, personal necessities and her dad’s medicines. Buying a new computer strong enough to handle all the graphics she used in her business had slapped her credit card balance pretty hard. Luckily, restaurants and some stores were always hiring, or so it seemed.
What remained on her credit card balance, she had to keep to cover parking at the airport, gas, food and lodging for their return trip home. Only, home was the last place she wanted to go. She did not want to return to Breckenridge and the cold empty house without her mother to warm it with her laughter and love—or to Wade.
As the thought came into her head, she noticed a dark SUV, the model of her ex-fiancé’s, was parked along the street, setting her heart to beat double-time. She squinted in the rain, trying to read the state on the mud-covered license plate. Although this area of the charming beach town was somewhat dark, a convenience store and the White Sands Diner illuminated the end of the street. Was Barclay there, eating his pie? Not that she planned on joining him, but there was a level of curiosity as to whether he’d really intended to spend time with her.
One more block before she made the turn to the narrow street that housed the condo building. Another clap of lightning brightened the sky. Her eyes struggled to adapt to the change in luminosity before darkness blanketed her vision.