Lycan on the Edge: Broken Heart Book 13 (2 page)

rather stare at the ground, anyway, because the

other option was to stare at her breasts as gravity

slowly squeezed them out of her bikini top.

If only she could shift. But going werewolf

now

would

only

complicate

the

already

complicated mess of hanging upside down from the

ten-foot ladder. She’d gotten on the step with the

printed warning “Do Not Stand On This Step.”

She’d fallen backward. The ropes wrapped around

her ankles and suspended her above a particularly

nasty mud hole.

Since all the blood had rushed to her head, she

no longer felt the pain in her rope-entangled feet.

She sighed. The low breath skimmed down her

heated face, and she got a whiff her mint

toothpaste. Oh good. At least she’d have decent

breath when she died of embarrassment. They

could eulogize her with, “Sure she died with her

breasts exposed and resting on her chin, but at least

she didn’t have halitosis.”

How difficult was it to paint shutters?

Seriously. Could she do nothing that didn’t end

with her being maimed? When she’d tied the ropes

around the paint cans and looped them over the

ladder’s tray, she raised and lowered them several

times to make sure she wasn’t, as Nana constantly

harangued her, “overdoing it.”
Werewolf strength

—I has it.
Sometimes. She hated the muscle

spasms that took her breath and her movement. Oh

yeah, and she couldn’t forget about the occasional

blackouts that stole her memories.

Deal with it, Sophie. This is your life now.

Thanks to the isolated location of their

Victorian house, help was not within shouting

distance. In Broken Heart, no one could hear you

scream. At least no one in the vampire seniors

nudist colony, which was ten miles up the road.

Come to think of it, she would prefer not to be

rescued by the wrinkly, naked undead.

Where the heck was her grandmother? How

long did it take to pick up a few groceries? Sophie

groaned. She’d been trapped on this stupid ladder

for…

Hours?

Days?

Aeons?

She turned her wrist over and read the upside-

down digital display.

Five minutes.

Her left breast shifted, threatening to expose

her nipple. She tucked the errant boob back inside,

wondering if she dared to untie and re-tie her

bathing suit top. It needed to be tightened if she

hoped to keep covered. Her gaze flitted around the

side yard. The bushes beside the ladder concealed

most of her, and since they lived on the road to

nowhere, she had no fear of being seen by passing

motorists. Or werewolves.

Wouldn’t her friends just die? They would

never let her forget.

Goddess, please kill me now.

Her face felt swollen and tight with rushing

blood. Her pulse hammered in her ears blocking

out all the normal farm noises she normally heard,

and her nose was stuffy too boot. On top of those

annoyances, her right breast crept toward freedom.

Frustration shot through her. “All right. That’s

it!”

Damned if she was going to be found hanging

upside-down with her breasts dangling from her

bikini

top

like

discarded

Christmas-tree

ornaments. Sophie reached behind her back and

fumbled with the string. All she had to do was

tighten it. Maybe she could just pull the loops—

The string loosened and released. The top

swung off and dangled from her neck.

A string of curses erupted from her as she

grabbed the top and pushed it against her

uncooperative bosom. She couldn’t get her boobs

into position and re-tie the top. She pressed the

material, her arms against her chest, and closed her

eyes in despair.

“Werewolf yoga?”

The deep, masculine voice startled Sophie.

Her eyes flew open. Damn it! She’d been so

focused on the bikini tops, her boobs, her swollen,

stuffy head, she hadn’t heard the man. Now, she

found herself staring at a jean-clad crotch. He was

too close for her to get a good angle to see his face

without face-planting into his groin.

She tried to wriggle away, but swayed

forward, bumping into the the stranger’s family

jewels.

The man jumped back, missing the water-filled

hole by scant inches.

Mortification scorched her cheeks.
I’m half-

naked, upside down, and now I’ve informally met

some random dude’s genitals.

The jeans moved forward. Her gaze riveted to

the glinting steel button. Crap. The crotch was

returning.

“Stay away!”

The man retreated. He hunkered down, his

warm brown eyes holding an expression of

concern. Wow. He was gorgeous—like Brad-Pitt-

and-Keanu-Reeves-had-a-baby gorgeous. Wavy

brown hair framed his chiseled cheekbones. “Are

you okay?” he asked.

“Peachy,” she said. Hmm. This close, even

with a stuffed up nose, she smelled wet earth and

pine—scents associated with werewolves. He was

shifter, but she knew all the shifters in Broken

Heart. Hell, everyone knew everyone in the small

Oklahoma town. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Trent. You must be Sophie.”

“You a psychic?”

“Nope. Handyman. Virginia offered me the

garage apartment in exchange for fixing up the

house.”

Her grandmother hired someone to help with

repairs?
What am I? Chopped liver?

Trent frowned. No, smiled. Sophie bent her

neck, getting a sideways view of his face instead

of an upside-down one. Technically, he’d done

nothing threatening. It wasn’t his fault his bulge

was eye level with her or that she was a klutz.

Sweat dripped from her brow as her body

protested its unnatural position. Her arms had lost

sensation, and her breasts had already jumped out

and yelled, “Howdy!”

“I’ll get you untangled.”

“Oh.” She swallowed heavily. “My bikini top,

uh, came loose.”

“I see.”

“You do? Oh my God!” She looked at her

chest, but her arms still provided sufficient cover.

“No, no. I don’t see your—I can’t see anything.

I meant I understood.” He looked away, and then

returned his gaze to hers. His eyes were dark

brown, reminding her of her favorite chocolate

truffles. They held an indecipherable emotion in

check. She suspected he found some humor in the

situation, and she felt grateful he hadn’t laughed.

“Do you want me to help you tie your bathing suit

top?”

Her expression must have revealed her answer

because before she could blurt out
Hell no!
, he

stood and took off his white T-shirt. He squatted

again then pushed the shirt over her head, gently

tugging her ponytail through. “Do you think you can

get your arms through it?”

She nodded, her mouth dry. Hot damn, his abs

were the epitome of washboard. She cursed her

nipples for picking that moment to poke her

forearms. It was as if they’d never seen a cute guy

before. Ugh.

“I’ll go away.” He put his hands on his hips,

his pecs contracting with the movement. A small

smile tugged at the corner of his mouth when he

caught her looking. He was smart enough to keep

any comments to himself. Instead, he nodded. “Yell

when you’re ready.”

Sophie waited for him disappear around the

corner of the house. Jesus, the view was just as

good from behind. Hurriedly, she put on the shirt

and tugged it over her stomach. Her arms felt achy

and tingly, but she held onto the bottom seam for

dear life. “Okay!”

He jogged back to her and grabbed the end of

the shirt. “I’ll tie it in a knot. It should hold until I

free you.” His hands covered hers, and suddenly,

the cold tingles pricking her fingers heated. “Your

arms must feel like they’re going to fall out of their

sockets.”

She nodded and reluctantly let go of the shirt.

As he tied a tight, efficient knot, his knuckles

brushed her abdomen. Her muscles tensed. When

he stepped back to survey the ladder, she released

a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding.

Trent shook his head. “How did you manage to

get the ladder between the holly bushes,” he

pointed to the puddle, “this swamp and the house?”

“I’m very talented,” she grumbled. “Do what

you have to, but do it quickly because I can’t feel

my feet anymore.”

“Wrap your arms around me and hang on so

you don’t fall when I get you loose. I’ll hold onto

your legs and lower you to the ground.”

Humiliation flooded her as Trent stood and

reached for her feet. Her breasts pressed against

his flat stomach as she tucked her face between his

legs. She hugged his muscular thighs and tried not

think about the man’s anatomy, in particular, the

part located under her chin.

Sophie felt his grip around her knees as he

tugged on the ropes. Next, his warm palm slid

between her thighs. The ropes loosened, and her

knees connected with his shoulders as her feet

were freed. He tilted, his sneakered feet

scrambling for purchase on the wet grass. His grip

on her legs tightened, and Sophie had no choice but

to hold on for dear life as they both tumbled into

the puddle.

Sophie spluttered as gritty water showered her

face and filled her mouth. Since she’d landed on

top, she had the advantage. She turned around and

plunked herself squarely on Trent’s chest with

enough force to expel whatever air he had left in

his lungs. A pair of brown eyes blinked at her as he

tried to draw in a breath.

Sophie put her hand against his throat, pressing

against his windpipe.

“I surrender,” he gasped out, holding up his

hands. He grinned, his teeth flashing white. His

stomach muscles flexed under her rear end, and

Sophie realized he was allowing her to sit on his

chest and bully him.

The realization came too late. Before Sophie

could scramble off, he grabbed her wrists and

flipped her to her back into the puddle. Muddy

water dripped from his dark hair and onto her face.

Her werewolf surfaced and began to growl.

“Whoa.” His eyes held a teasing glint, and his

body was relaxed, not rigid with tension or intent

to harm. Well, so now what? Sophie considered

her options. She could knee him, she supposed.

She flexed her fingers, noting that his hands only

lightly held her wrists.

For a long moment, they stared at each other,

panting heavily. A woodsy scent—his cologne

mixed with pure alpha wolf—filtered into her

senses. Wow. He smelled really good. Her human

side and her wolf side were both in agreement—

Trent was a fine specimen.

“Sophie!” Nana’s voice trilled. “I see you’ve

met Trent.”

The man rolled off Sophie. She balanced on

her elbows and narrowed her gaze at her crafty,

sneaky, unapologetically nosey grandmother.

Nana smiled brightly. “Trent, er, Mr. Clayton is

my new handyman. I hired him yesterday. He’s

going to help us with the house.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” accused Sophie.

“I forgot, dear. I’m old.” Nana’s gaze

transferred from Sophie to the ladder. “What were

you doing?”

“Painting the shutters,” answered Sophie. She

glanced at Trent, who was trying to wipe the mud

off his arms and out of his hair. The curly brown

hair on his chest narrowed down his muscular

stomach, the silky line of hair disappearing into his

jeans. Tan, muscled, and good-looking. She looked

at her grandmother and frowned. Suspicion crept

through Sophie like a cautious spider.

“Where did you find Trent?”

“Queen Patsy recommended him.”

“You consulted with the vampire queen about a

handyman?” Sophie eyed Trent, who shrugged.

“Seriously?”

Nana
tsked tsked
, then made shooing motions

at Sophie. “Take a shower, young lady. Trent, you

need one, too. Go on, now, both of you!”