Chapter One
Wren Marlowe placed the basket of freshly
rolled silverware onto the shelf by the door directly below the
vinyl coated menus she had wiped down. A total of five customers
had wandered into the old truck stop that night, leaving her with a
whopping fourteen dollars in her pocket in tips. At least the small
trailer that she lived in behind the diner was rent free. Grimly,
she took the bottle of spray cleaner and a towel and began to clean
the ancient vinyl booths, cracks and all. She couldn’t explain the
restlessness that plagued her, but it was there nonetheless. There
was an impending sense of doom, but she knew better than to speak
of it. She had learned the hard way to keep her thoughts, her
predictions, to herself.
As Wren cleaned the booths along the front
wall of the diner, she could look out onto the parking lot through
the grimy windows. He appeared out of nowhere. One minute there was
nothing but an empty parking lot and a deserted stretch of highway.
The next, he was striding across the pavement, his long limbs
eating up the distance. His stride was confident, purposeful, and
aggressive. Predatory, she thought. In spite of that, she found
herself watching him, appreciating the powerful play of muscles
beneath his clothes. Her breath hitched in her chest and her heart
raced, blood rushing through her veins.
As he approached, the blinking neon sign that
announced their 24 hour service cast harsh shadows over his face.
It was both beautiful and frightening. Hard, chiseled features and
slashing dark brows were offset by lips that curved sensually.
Images assailed her, flitting through her mind, both shocking and
erotic. She could see them clearly, his body covering hers, her
thighs parting to welcome him. She could almost feel the weight of
him on top of her, the exquisite fullness of his cock moving inside
her. Other images came, a flood of them, mirroring the rush of
warmth, of liquid heat that now flooded her thighs. Her knees
quaked, and her breathing was ragged.
When he entered the room, he filled the
space. His presence was overwhelming, powerful and frightening. She
noted that his hair was damp, though it had not begun to rain yet.
They were miles from anywhere, and there were no vehicles nearby.
She felt it then, a deep certainty that blossomed within her. He
was not what he appeared. Instantly and with little provocation,
she was intensely afraid of him. She was also terrified of her
response to him, of the spark of lust that had erupted into
wildfire within her. No man had ever affected her so, and he had
done so without even touching her. Instinctively, she backed
away.
“Wren Marlowe,” he said in a deep, slightly
gruff voice, “You must come with me.” His voice caressed her skin,
warm and rough, it raised goose bumps on her flesh. Her nipples
puckered, hardening inside the padded cups of her bra. Desperate to
hold onto some semblance of good sense, she seized the most
disturbing piece of information from his short greeting. He knew
her name.
“No,” she replied, “I mustn’t.” He might be
beautiful and his body might make her mouth water, but she didn’t
know him from Adam. She wasn’t going anywhere with him.
The sensual line of his lips firmed and he
stepped toward her. His movements were slow and deliberate, much
like someone approaching a strange and frightened animal. Without
any real weapon and his large body blocking her only escape route,
Wren dropped the dirty towel to the floor, and hurled the bottle of
spray cleaner still clutched in her hand. She aimed it directly for
his head. He ducked to the side, and it glanced off his shoulder.
It slowed him down not at all and he continued moving toward her,
his face a grim mask of determination.
Wren braced herself, clenching her fists
tightly at her sides. She didn’t know what his intentions were, but
she wasn’t going to give in without a fight. He reached for her,
and she lashed out, knocking his hand away. She
Wren Marlowe placed the basket of freshly
rolled silverware onto the shelf by the door directly below the
vinyl coated menus she had wiped down. A total of five customers
had wandered into the old truck stop that night, leaving her with a
whopping fourteen dollars in her pocket in tips. At least the small
trailer that she lived in behind the diner was rent free. Grimly,
she took the bottle of spray cleaner and a towel and began to clean
the ancient vinyl booths, cracks and all. She couldn’t explain the
restlessness that plagued her, but it was there nonetheless. There
was an impending sense of doom, but she knew better than to speak
of it. She had learned the hard way to keep her thoughts, her
predictions, to herself.
As Wren cleaned the booths along the front
wall of the diner, she could look out onto the parking lot through
the grimy windows. He appeared out of nowhere. One minute there was
nothing but an empty parking lot and a deserted stretch of highway.
The next, he was striding across the pavement, his long limbs
eating up the distance. His stride was confident, purposeful, and
aggressive. Predatory, she thought. In spite of that, she found
herself watching him, appreciating the powerful play of muscles
beneath his clothes. Her breath hitched in her chest and her heart
raced, blood rushing through her veins.
As he approached, the blinking neon sign that
announced their 24 hour service cast harsh shadows over his face.
It was both beautiful and frightening. Hard, chiseled features and
slashing dark brows were offset by lips that curved sensually.
Images assailed her, flitting through her mind, both shocking and
erotic. She could see them clearly, his body covering hers, her
thighs parting to welcome him. She could almost feel the weight of
him on top of her, the exquisite fullness of his cock moving inside
her. Other images came, a flood of them, mirroring the rush of
warmth, of liquid heat that now flooded her thighs. Her knees
quaked, and her breathing was ragged.
When he entered the room, he filled the
space. His presence was overwhelming, powerful and frightening. She
noted that his hair was damp, though it had not begun to rain yet.
They were miles from anywhere, and there were no vehicles nearby.
She felt it then, a deep certainty that blossomed within her. He
was not what he appeared. Instantly and with little provocation,
she was intensely afraid of him. She was also terrified of her
response to him, of the spark of lust that had erupted into
wildfire within her. No man had ever affected her so, and he had
done so without even touching her. Instinctively, she backed
away.
“Wren Marlowe,” he said in a deep, slightly
gruff voice, “You must come with me.” His voice caressed her skin,
warm and rough, it raised goose bumps on her flesh. Her nipples
puckered, hardening inside the padded cups of her bra. Desperate to
hold onto some semblance of good sense, she seized the most
disturbing piece of information from his short greeting. He knew
her name.
“No,” she replied, “I mustn’t.” He might be
beautiful and his body might make her mouth water, but she didn’t
know him from Adam. She wasn’t going anywhere with him.
The sensual line of his lips firmed and he
stepped toward her. His movements were slow and deliberate, much
like someone approaching a strange and frightened animal. Without
any real weapon and his large body blocking her only escape route,
Wren dropped the dirty towel to the floor, and hurled the bottle of
spray cleaner still clutched in her hand. She aimed it directly for
his head. He ducked to the side, and it glanced off his shoulder.
It slowed him down not at all and he continued moving toward her,
his face a grim mask of determination.
Wren braced herself, clenching her fists
tightly at her sides. She didn’t know what his intentions were, but
she wasn’t going to give in without a fight. He reached for her,
and she lashed out, knocking his hand away. She
Similar Books
