Alphas Confess All, page 47
She laughed, grabbing my hand first and kissing my cut finger before taking the roses and cutting open the paper cone holding them together. She turned her back to me, arranging the roses in an empty vase on her dressing table. When she sent a quick glance over her shoulder, our eyes connected. I could feel that look of hers slice all the way through me, spilling my heart and soul onto the floor in a puddle at her feet.
I stepped forward, scooping her hair off her shoulder and pressing my hands against the back of her neck, kneading her muscles in firm circles with my thumb.
Her eyes fluttered closed, lashes brushing the tops of her cheeks as she dropped her head back against my chest again and moaned, all the air rushing between her parted scarlet lips. As though my touch made her breathless. God, I hoped it did.
She dropped the roses she had been arranging and they scattered across the table as she curled her arms around my neck and kissed me hard. Her tongue plunged into my mouth, and fuck me, if she hadn’t already been in costume and full hair and makeup, I would have taken her right here against her lit mirror.
We parted, and this time, I was the breathless one. She panted heavily and reached for something in her makeup bag. It was clutched in her fist and she looked down at her hand, nervously. “I was going to wait until after the show…after the party to talk to you. I know you and Faith were together for a long time before you ever got engaged. And I know you said that long engagements freak you out.” She swallowed, pausing, glancing up at me through the threads of her black lashes.
I brushed a piece of her hair behind her ear, my brows creasing. “You can’t blame me for not wanting a long engagement, right? The last time, all hell broke loose.” I tapped her hand and asked, “What’s this about?” She dropped her gaze to her hands. There was something in her tone that I’d never heard before. I bent, meeting her eyes, and grinned at her, loving the way she nervously nibbled her bottom lip. “What we have, Hazel…it’s nothing like what I had with Faith. I would marry you tomorrow if you were ready.”
Her gaze jerked to mine. “What?”
I reached into my breast pocket and pulled out a small velvet box, opening it and dropping to one knee in front of her. “Hazel Stone, I didn’t think I’d ever find love again. I didn’t think I was worthy of the sort of love you’ve shown me. I know I said I want a short engagement, but the truth is…I just want you. However you’ll take me. If that means we’re engaged for ten years until you’re ready, I’ll take that. If it means you want to fly to Vegas tonight, I’ll take that. As long as I get you in the end.”
She swallowed, tears brimming in her eyes, and slowly her clenched fist opened, revealing a simple titanium band in her palm. “I was going to ask you to marry me.” She laughed, covering her mouth with her free hand. “You’re always ruining my plans, Bradley!” She moved to smack me on the shoulder, but I caught her hand, tugging the simple square-cut diamond from the box and sliding it halfway up her knuckle.
“Is that a yes?”
She nodded, one tear spilling over the edge of her eye. “Yes.” I slid the ring on the whole way and stood, kissing her hard. “On one condition,” she whispered. “Vegas is too far and we have another show tomorrow night.” She paused, showing me the ring she’d been holding. “Let’s drive to Atlantic City…tonight.”
I kissed her hard, lifting her in my arms.
“Do you want to invite anyone?”
“Just Rosa,” she said. “And what about you? Any best man you want to bring?”
I didn’t even have to think about it before I answered, “Noah Tripp. He’s the whole reason we’re together in the first place.”
She rolled her eyes playfully at that. “I guess I can forgive him, finally.”
There was a knock at the door and Hazel yelled for them to come in. Max, the stage manager, poked his head inside. “Places,” he said, grinning just as nervously as Hazel was.
I brushed my lips against hers, gently this time. Thank God for long-lasting lip stain. “But first…before we do anything, you have to go break a leg tonight.”
“I will,” she said, squeezing my hand and sliding the ring off her finger, tucking it safely into its velvet box. “But Sister Mary would not be engaged.”
She winked and strolled past me to get into her spot on stage for the start of the show as I slipped out into the audience to take my seat for opening night. How lucky was I that I got to watch the makings of a star. I got to see her blossom into the Tony winner I knew she would someday become.
And I got to marry her. Tonight.
About Katana Collins
As an author and a story-teller, it is the lifeblood to which my ideas take flight. And I believe in giving credit where credit is due. Occasionally someone (ie – my husband) will try to secretly switch out my beloved regular coffee for decaf. I always know the difference. ALWAYS (I’m looking at you, SEAN).
Since penning my first novel back in 2012, I’m now an international author with 15 published books, in a wide range of contemporary romance genres–(Paranormal, New Adult, Small town, Erotic Suspense… you name it!).
After living for a decade in Brooklyn, NY, I took the plunge and moved to beautiful (although kinda chilly) Portland, Maine. I now live full time in ‘Vacationland’ with a kind of mean cat, a mellow chihuahua, and a very NOT mellow lab-pittie mix. Oh, yeah… there’s a husband who draws comics somewhere in that mix, too. 😉 I can usually be found in a coffee shop with my nose in my laptop wearing fabulous (albeit sometimes impractical) shoes.
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1
Katiana
I knew I was going to die.
A freak snow squall was the last thing I expected while driving this twisting mountain road. But suddenly, the skies opened up and dumped white stuff everywhere. My trip went from angst-inducing to treacherous. I should never have relied on memory alone to guide me through the sharp curves and steep inclines to Papa’s secluded cabin in the Black Hills of South Dakota.
When my Jeep suddenly fishtailed, I eased off the gas pedal and squeezed the steering wheel. Though the wipers and defrosters were working overtime, I couldn’t see much beyond the hood. But I wasn’t plunging into the craggy canyon like some snowy version of Thelma and Louise, so I must still be on pavement.
Moments later, the tires gripped the road again. I sighed in relief and cautiously pressed on the accelerator, once more ascending the mountain.
The skeptical part of my brain implored me to turn around, wait until the weather improved, and save myself from certain death. But I was much closer to the cabin than the city now. Besides, giving up wasn’t in my DNA. I was the daughter of Victor Markov, mixed martial arts legend. I wasn’t allowed to quit. I’d learned that lesson the hard way when I was twelve and he’d decided to teach me self-defense.
Stop pushing me so hard, Papa. I’m a girl!
Yes, but I will teach you to hit like a man!
And he had because he’d loved me, a fact he had never failed to convey.
Blindly, I brushed my fingers over the cold silver urn beside me, filled with his ashes.
Though it had only been nine days since the center of my world died, it felt like a century. I was still raw, lost, and broken. Papa wouldn’t like me mourning, but I couldn’t help it. My hero was gone. This pilgrimage I was taking would be our last goodbye.
Grieving had been a tiny bit easier the cold, rainy day of his memorial service. I’d been surrounded by dozens of burly cage fighters who’d come to pay respects to their teacher, mentor, father figure, and friend. Drawing strength from their imposing sizes, I’d managed to keep my grief at bay.
But once they’d gone, I’d shattered. I hadn’t stopped crying for days.
The unrelenting misery still crushed me. And the closer I came to the cabin, the deeper my heartache grew.
When I was a kid, Papa and I had spent nearly every weekend fishing, hiking, and marveling at the stars up here. Once I’d reached middle school, cheerleading practice, gymnastics, flute lessons, and homework halted our trips. College and my part-time job had killed any hope of resuming those getaways.
Now I regretted how much time I missed with him.
A mournful sob tore from my throat. I muffled the next with my hand. I’d never again smell his unique combination of citrus, sage, and sweat he carried home from the gym. Never feel his thick arms around me as he lent me his strength. Never again hear him say I love you.
Wiping away a tear, I prayed the peace and happiness we’d once shared on this majestic mountain would ease my pain and help me accept his loss. But there were no assurances that sitting on the porch where we used to sip hot cocoa to watch the sun rise would help me miss him less. What if laying him to rest in the place he loved most didn’t bring me closure?
As I grappled with the pain and worries, the thickening veil of snow and fresh tears distorted my vision. Suddenly, my bumper scraped the flimsy guardrail and I stared into the maw of the canyon below. I’d missed a curve in the road.
Adrenaline jetted through me as I slammed on the brakes and jerked on the steering wheel with all my might. The Jeep bucked and bounced away from the ragged gully, but I’d overcorrected and now hurtled toward the jagged mountainside. The brakes were useless on the slick roads. Impact was coming.
This is going to hurt, a voice screamed in my head. I squeezed my eyes shut, buried my face in my arms, and prayed I would survive.
Ryder
The minute I stepped out of the cabin, I smelled the coming storm. A glance at the clouds skating over the mountaintops confirmed that. Scrapping this hike and hunkering down would be smarter. I had enough smoked game stockpiled to see me through the winter and enough fruits and vegetables from my garden to last awhile. But my taste buds were crying for rabbit stew. And I craved fresh air. Cabin fever was no joke in the winter.
As I started up the trail to check my traps, the ominous clouds grew closer. My first snare was empty. Before I’d even reached my second, the skies opened up, dumping a deluge of wet, heavy snow that damn near obliterated my tracks in seconds. Tucking my chin, I double-timed it to my next trap and found a fat hare. Wasting no time, I quickly reset the snare and hurried back to the cabin.
I ducked under the porch, tossed the rabbit down, and dusted the snow off my buckskins. As I started to shrug off my survival pack, an out-of-place thud and high-pitched screech of metal split my silence.
What the hell?
Jogging to the edge of the property, I squinted through the driving snow and peered down at the road below. A vehicle had plowed into the rock. The wind suddenly inhaled, and I saw steam billowing from a mangled Jeep. Iridescent green radiator fluid colored the snow neon.
Jaw clenched, I waited for the urbanite to climb from the wreckage and pull out a cell phone with an annoyed huff. But minutes passed. No one emerged.
“Shit.”
Shaking my head, I traversed the steep decline and hurried toward the crumpled carnage. Reaching the passenger door, I wiped away the snow and peered inside. A pale young girl with inky black hair slumped unconscious against the seat. Blood flowed freely from a gash in her forehead.
My mouth went dry and my heart thundered as I curled my fingers beneath the door latch. Then the ramifications of helping her gonged through me. I paused, indecision wrapping me in a choke hold as the million reasons I should walk away pelted my brain.
Aside from the fact that she wasn’t my responsibility and she should never have tried driving in this shit, people would come for her. People I didn’t want to see, who shouldn’t see me. I could barely recognize my former self…but what if someone else did?
As I second-guessed my options, I couldn’t peel my stare off the girl’s soft features. She was barely more than a kid. And while I’d always had a merciless reputation that my self-imposed solitude hadn’t improved, I still had some humanity. I couldn’t leave her here to die. She needed someone to shelter and protect her. I was the only person for miles…
Whatever the consequences, I’d deal with them.
Sucking in a ragged breath, I yanked on the door. It wouldn’t budge. So I tried the passenger side. It gave way with a sharp squeak.
I stuck my head inside the Jeep. The scents of jasmine and honey slammed through me. My cock roared to life.
Damn. I’d forgotten how pretty women smelled.
She’s injured, asshole—and half your age. She needs your help, not your dick.
My basal male instinct didn’t care. It was also unfazed by my disgust.
Visions of another too-young temptation assaulted my brain. Shoving the memories away, I reached into my pack and retrieved the small first-aid kit, then crawled onto the passenger seat.
Mopping the blood from her wound, I tried to ignore the thick, dark lashes kissing her pale cheeks and the sparks tingling up my fingers, igniting my neglected libido each time I brushed her skin.
“Stand down,” I growled at my insistent cock.
After I released the latch on her seat belt, her soft, supple body spilled into my arms. She was…
Warm.
Petite.
Pretty.
And so fucking young.
Carefully gathering her to my chest, I backed out of the Jeep. The snow was coming down harder now. I had to get her to the cabin and out of the elements, but not until I assessed her injuries. I didn’t want to hurt her further hauling her up the hill.
Using the side of my boot, I cleared a patch of pavement and gently laid her on the road. I glided my hands up and down her arms and legs, searching for wounds…and trying to ignore the feel of her soft body slowly destroying me. No broken bones or serious trauma, thankfully, but when I felt the dip in her clavicle, my lust diminished.
“Fuck.” Her shoulder was dislocated.
I knew from personal experience that resetting the joint hurt like a motherfucker. Though the conditions weren’t ideal, I needed to reset it now, while she was still unconscious. It would hurt far less in the long run. That blow to her head would be painful, too.
Wrapping my calloused fingers around her tiny wrist to guide her arm over her head, I bit back a curse and tried to ignore the temptation of her soft skin as I guided the joint until it popped back into place.
Grateful the maneuver didn’t wake her, I carefully lifted her into my arms. The tiny thing weighed next to nothing. As I tucked her against my chest, I dismissed the way she fit against me by making a mental note to come back for her things in the Jeep. Then, cock throbbing from her intoxicating scent, I hauled her up the hill…and hoped like hell this wasn’t a mistake.
2
Katiana
From a strange, inky dimension, my consciousness swam to the surface. Immediately I wished it hadn’t. My head pounded in tandem with every heartbeat, sending shards of pain to pierce my head. Coupled with the sporadic sizzles and pops echoing in my ears, I thought my brain might explode.
Then the scent of smoke tickled my senses, and I pushed past the pain to force my eyes open. The sight of the familiar moss-rock fireplace, alive with crackling flames, confused me. Darting a wild glance around the room, my panic subsided as I took in the comforting log walls, faded curtains, and furniture from my childhood. On the mantel, old photos of Papa and me crushed me with bittersweet memories.
Swallowing the lump of grief clogging my throat, I tried to remember how I’d reached the cabin and passed out on the couch beneath a pile of blankets. But my thoughts were like lightning bugs, igniting and flickering out before I could catch them. Images flashed through my brain like strobes…me driving my Jeep in the falling snow—and plowing head on toward the rocks.
Oh, my god. I’d crashed. I remembered. I blacked out after that. Thankfully, I survived.
But…how did I get here?
I started to sit up, but pain slashed at my head, while more sliced at my shoulder, dropping me back down to the thick cushions. I hissed in a breath, stunned when the pungent taste of testosterone—the same thick essence that wafted through Papa’s gym—filled my mouth.
I zipped a frantic glance around to find the intruder, but I didn’t see anyone. Then a scraping noise sounded from the kitchen.
I wasn’t alone.
Panic spiked. Fear pulsed.
Another noise, louder than the first, sent the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. I opened my mouth to call out, but quickly changed my mind and snapped it shut.
Had someone else been driving through that nasty blizzard and found me? But how would they have known to bring me to my cabin? Maybe some homeless squatter who’d needed a warm place to ride out the winter had found me in the wreckage. Yeah, or maybe a demented serial killer had stumbled upon me and was now searching the kitchen for knives and towels so he could rape, torture, and murder me before burying my body in the woods.
Fear replaced the male pheromones on my tongue.
Suddenly, the instructions Papa had drilled into my head during self-defense lessons roared in my ears. Strike first and strike hard, Katiana. Poke the eyes. Drive your palm into base of his nose. Kick his balls, then sweep his knees. Don’t take him down, mishka…take him out.
Determined to defend my body and my property, I tossed the blankets aside and darted a panicked glace at the front door—my only means of escape. I noticed someone had lined my belongings up neatly along the hardwood floor.
What the hell?
Intending to investigate—and leave myself an escape path—I launched off the couch.
