Untamed: (Heath & Violet) (Beg For It) (19 page)

Nestled into the crook
of his neck, I kissed him, his skin glistening and warm. He smelled
so good, such an intoxicatingly male scent. I licked him and gave a
contented purr, running my hands up his broad back.

Lowering himself down
to my side, he took me into the fold of his arm and pulled me close.
We kissed and he looked deep into my eyes.

“Violet,” he said,
“I think you’re going to be the death of me.” Before I could
reply, he came in for another kiss, savoring me like a rare and
delicious delicacy. Then he met my eyes again. “And I’m going to
die a happy man.”

§

“Steve and Kenny are
set to arrive tomorrow afternoon.” Sam arrived at my condo
unannounced the next morning. I’d made it home last night, sore and
with a smile on my face, but I’d only been asleep for a few hours
before he knocked.

“What’s up with
you?” he asked, instantly intrigued, scrutinizing me from head to
toe. I felt like a teenager the morning after a party in the kitchen
with her mom. Only a typical mom would be a lot more clueless than
Sam. He had eyes like a hawk.

“Someone got laid
last night!” he declared.

“Please,” I
scoffed, heading into the bathroom. “Give me a sec. And make us
some coffee?”

“You little whore!
I’m so jealous,” he called after me, not deterred in the least.

In the mirror, I saw
the hopelessness of my case. It wasn’t just my ratted up hair or
the faint pink mark on my throat where Heath had sucked me so good.
It wasn’t the scratch on my wrist from the rough floor planks. And
Sam would have no idea about the ache between my thighs from the
rough workout I hoped I’d get the chance to do again soon, really
soon. It was the glow.

There it was, all
across my sleep-deprived face. I looked messy and entirely free of
makeup and radiant. My skin had never looked so good. No facial,
peel, tonic or lotion could ever produce that kind of post-orgasmic
pink, the best skin elixir of them all. I looked happy. Not the kind
of “check that off the box” happy I felt after a productive
meeting, or “that was fun” happy after drinks with friends. But
happy, happy. Like a deep well of happy, past exuberance and on into
ecstatic.

Heath was so freaking
amazing. We’d spent the night together in his workshop. We kept
meaning to get up and get dressed. He’d wanted to show me his
cabin, and he’d gotten concerned that I was getting cold or
uncomfortable. Then we’d start kissing again and that was that,
lips, skin, sighing, moaning. Before we knew it the sun was filtering
through the window and we hadn’t moved from my parka spread out on
the floor planks. The Fame! Network had put me up in some pretty
swanky hotels, but I couldn’t think of a bed I’d ever enjoyed
more.

Sam knocked on the
bathroom door, startling me. “Who was it?” he called from the
hallway. “Was it Tom?”

“Go away,” I shooed
him off. I was used to his nosey ways. Everyone back at the office
was like that. Kissing and telling was as much part of the Fame!
Network culture as bitchy backstabbing competition. And that was the
problem.

It wasn’t exactly as
if I’d done something forbidden. A woman was allowed some fun,
after all, and it wasn’t as if Heath was on one of our shows.

But I didn’t know
what Sam would do with the information if he found out we were
hooking up. I did know that I had a bad feeling about it in my gut.
Maybe it was better to let him think it was Tom.

I washed my face and
pulled my hair up into a messy bun. A turtleneck would call too much
attention, so I opted for a shirt with a collar and hoped Sam
wouldn’t do too much investigative reporting.

“So Steve and Kenny
come tomorrow?” I tried to steer our conversation into safer
territory as I finally emerged, gratefully pouring myself a cup of
coffee. “Not Miguel?”

“Miguel’s booked.
But you and I need to figure shit out. They want something end of
next week.” Sam and I had done such a good job selling our boss
that he wanted to see some preliminary footage. Just with the people
who’d signed a release, just in a couple of locations. Enough to
get a taste of what
Hot Off the
Grid
could be like.

Today was Thursday, so
we only had a day to sort out what we wanted to capture before the
cameramen arrived. The line between scripted and free-for-all with
reality shows was a fine one, as I’m sure anyone who’d ever
watched one would know. Producers could spice things up and package
scenes in all kinds of ways to create drama.

“We’ll need to
feature your hunk of burning love,” Sam declared, settling himself
into a chair at my tiny kitchen table. “Maybe we can set a fire
somewhere?”

“Arson, OK.” I
nodded, sitting next to him, revealing nothing. I hoped. “Let’s
make that our fallback plan.”

“It is Tom!” he
exclaimed with delight.

I shrugged, letting him
believe it was the fire warden. “I had a fire that needed
attention.” Not exactly lying, but definitely misleading.

“You saucy minx.”
He winked at me.

“So if arson’s plan
B, let’s sort out plan A.”

As we hashed and
sketched and debated, it didn’t take long to realize Sam and I had
entirely different conceptions of the direction we needed to pursue.
In addition to our agreed-upon main characters—firefighter, K
teacher, brewery owner (roughly 30 and ruggedly handsome), and
organic farmgirl (25 and adorable), he wanted to cast a teen mom torn
between her baby daddy and her new boyfriend. I wanted to feature
some of the local businesses and the characters involved with them,
like the ladies of the antique store and the yoga/meditation/dance
studio/yarn shop.

“Boring!” he
declared.

“No, it’ll be cute!
Sweet! Like the
Gilmore Girls
!”

“People watched the
Gilmore Girls
to find
out who the mom and the girl hooked up with.”

“Lorelai and Rory,”
I corrected him. “And it wasn’t just that. People loved the town,
the charm, the eccentric characters.”

He yawned dramatically.
“When did you turn 65?”

“This is Stars
Hollow!” I declared, gesturing around me. OK, at my small condo,
but I meant Watson. It was gorgeous, charming, friendly. We’d be
stupid not to feature the setting and the quirky charm of the
businesses and their owners as much as any romantic entanglements we
could discover.

“I know someone over
at the BBC working on documentaries. Would you like me to see if he
can get you a job there?”

To be resolved later.
We weren’t going to see eye to eye, so we agreed to disagree and
just get some preliminary footage over the weekend that we could
shape later into a pitch. If we even could do that.

We still had the town
hall hurdle to jump over. Monday night the entire town of Watson was
going to show up in a community gathering to debate the merits of a
reality show filming in their midst. We needed the town’s green
light if we were going to do this. I’d never been subjected to a
democratic vote before. I wasn’t looking forward to it.

But I had better things
to look forward to, much better.

Heath called me around
one in the afternoon. Thankfully, Sam had left and I was alone to
answer his call.

“How’re you
feeling?” he asked. He was concerned, but I also detected a note of
masculine pride in his voice.

“Sore,” I answered
with a grin. He knew what he’d done to me. And how I’d loved
every second of it.

“I know you are,”
he answered, and I could hear a satisfied smile in his voice, too.
But he did add, “Too sore?”

“Are you worried it
won’t happen again?” I teased.

“Oh, it’s happening
again,” he assured me. “I just need to know how much of a break
my woman needs.”

I flushed at the words.
Such a backwoodsman, claiming me as his woman. Why did I love it so
much? “I don’t need a break,” I whispered, feeling a naughty
tingle. Did he want me as much as I wanted him?

“I’ll pick you up
at seven. We can have dinner. And then I have a surprise for you.”

“You do? What is it?”

“I can’t tell you.
Then it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

§

An afternoon spent
reading Nancy Drew mystery books and watching the snow fall. I
couldn’t believe my life had gotten so good so suddenly. I’d
popped back to the antique store downtown and impulsively bought a
set. And I’d poked around, crunching in my boots, warm in my parka
and mittens and hat. In the yoga/dance studio, a woman was leading a
tai chi class. In the general store, I bought some locally-made maple
sugar candy. On the way back to my condo, I stopped by the local
brewery and picked up some of the hard apple cider I’d fallen in
love with right from the source.

Watson was like a
little beehive, everyone doing his or her part, working together. I
could see plotlines falling into place, stories waiting to unfold.
Maybe Sam was right and I was being an idiot, but the network wanted
something different, didn’t they? Sure, the show I could see
getting filmed in Watson would be more wholesome than what we usually
did, but it would have more heart. It would connect with people on so
many more levels.

Sam didn’t buy it,
but maybe I could create my own compelling case? The camera crew
arrived tomorrow. Maybe with their help I could start capturing the
story I could see? Then it would be up to the powers that be back at
headquarters.

By the time Heath
picked me up at seven, I’d completely convinced myself. I didn’t
need Sam’s help. I’d build this story on my own. There were
enough local gems here the execs would have to realize they’d found
a diamond mine.

“Hey.” Heath stood
outside my door, big and dark with his hands stuffed in his pockets
and a knit cap on his head.

“Hey.” I smiled up
at him shyly and he took me into his arms, wrapping me in an embrace
and a kiss like I’d been dreaming about the whole day.

“I missed you.” He
nuzzled into my hair, pressing my lower back with his large hand.

L.A. Vi might have
teased or laughed, maybe even felt a little stifled by his words.
Vermont Violet sighed and admitted, “I missed you, too.”

I didn’t understand
what was going on. Heath was such a strange and unusual mix of gruff
and sweet, alpha and dominant and possessive and yet it didn’t piss
me off. It made me feel so treasured and safe and protected when I
was with him. My brain couldn’t process it all. He’d spanked me
last night. Spanking! And had I turned and run from his cabin? Kicked
him where it counted? Nope, the rough feel of his large, strong hand
smacking, then caressing my ass had gotten me so wet I’d felt a
slow, lazy drip right down my inner thigh. He’d found it, too, and
I’d even liked that, him discovering my arousal, making me admit it
to him.

Whew. Too much for my
brain to make sense of. So I just smiled up at him, put my hand in
his and let myself enjoy the ride that night.

We got dinner at a
homestyle restaurant featuring farm-to-table cuisine. Inside, on this
winter’s night, soft twinkling lights combined with country
curtains to give it warmth and charm. The food was on-par with
anything I’d had in L.A., with the added bonus of no pretention
whatsoever. I guessed that was what struck me the most about Vermont.
Everyone was just what they seemed, no putting on airs or trying to
be something they weren’t. It was such a refreshing approach, a
simple menu with only about eight options, all things you’d heard
of like ribs or cod or meatloaf, all mouthwateringly delicious and
served with a smile.

“So you’re a Nancy
Drew fan?” Heath asked, pouring me some wine.

“How’d you know?”
Had I mentioned what I’d done that afternoon?

“I saw your stack of
books by the couch.”

“You’re such a
sleuth.” I told him all about my love of the quick, fun read, from
YA to romance to zombie apocalypse mayhem. Turned out he had a liking
for a good dystopian end-of-the-world read, too.

“You’ve got to be
prepared at all times,” he told me gravely, only a slight twinkle
in his eye indicating he might be joking around. But he might not be.

“You never know when
a rogue flu is going to knock out the civilized world.” I nodded in
agreement.

“Tell you what,
Violet. If it does, you know who you want to be with.”

I smiled, picturing him
wearing some kind of a leather holster laden with weapons strapped
across his manly chest. Preferably with no shirt underneath. This
fantasy would have to take place during the summer if it were in
Vermont.

“You do know how to
live off the grid already,” I acknowledged.

“I’d keep you
safe.” The way he smiled at me, that intense intimacy, made my
stomach do a slow flip. He made my pulse race and put me at ease at
the same time. I’d never experienced the two of those together at
the same time. In the past, either a guy was sexy and exciting until
I got to know him or never even got the chance, or he was comfortable
like an old shoe. This blend of exciting and “I’ll catch you if
you fall” instinct I had to trust him? It was wild.

And it got me talking.
I found myself telling him all sorts of stories from growing up,
everything from how much fun I’d had at my mom’s hair salon to
the kinds of things I didn’t usually share, like how much it had
sucked when my father hadn’t even shown up for my high school
graduation.

“Don’t feel bad.”
Heath took my hand. “My father did show up for my high school
graduation. But he brought his flavor-of-the-month girlfriend who was
maybe five years older than my classmates. My mother about had a
heart attack.”

“That sucks.” I
squeezed his hand, and we made each other smile and even laugh a bit
even as we relived painful moments from the past. That’s how good
we were together. And then I couldn’t even blame it on the wine
when I found myself bragging, telling him how I’d earned my college
degree completely on my own, online and at night, while working full
time in L.A. and then making my way into becoming an assistant
producer last year.