Unleashed: Volume 1 (Unleashed #1) (5 page)

His jet black hair was
cropped shorter now than before, all business. But he had the same
chiseled jaw, the same mouth I still dreamed of six years later. The
same dark, restless heat

I fanned myself as I
walked. Around the corner I found a Starbucks, the Chat ‘n’
Chew’s mortal enemy. Only that made it seem like Starbucks was even
vaguely aware of us, as if we faced off in combat. Where I lived, the
nearest one was an hour away. I was pretty sure Starbucks didn’t
even know our diner existed.

“Chai tea?
Macchiato?” The young woman behind the counter rattled off
suggestions, clearly sensing my bewilderment as I scanned the giant
marquee of options listed behind her. “Oh, you know what I’d have
if I were you? A caramel ribbon crunch Frappuccino!”

“How about a large
coffee and a ham and cheese?” I tried.

“Venti,” she
corrected me, punching my selections into her computer. “And a
panini.” She pointed down to the cold case in front of me with
pre-wrapped sandwiches. Sorry, paninis. I hadn’t realized I needed
to speak Italian to eat at Starbucks.

I resisted the urge to
tell her that they were just a big old fast food chain, same as
McDonalds and Dairy Queen. I simply smiled and pocketed my shockingly
small amount of change. I guessed that was the big difference between
them and the good old DQ: suckers ponied up $10 for what should cost
them $5.

The coffee was pretty
good, though, I had to give them that. I could feel my boss Dot’s
wrath reaching across the state, her angry eyes burning into me as I
not only drank but enjoyed Starbucks. The sandwich, panini, whatever
it was didn’t really cut it, though. The bread was too dry.

I took a couple of
bites, mostly drinking my coffee and trying to make sense of what had
happened up in Declan’s office. I’d promised him I’d work hard
to pay back a loan, told him that he could name the terms of the
agreement.

“I name the terms,”
Declan had repeated, his voice authoritative and commanding.

Why did it sound so
scary coming out of his mouth? And why did it make my pulse race?
When I really thought about it, he’d been an asshole. He’d
actually asked me why he should bail out a failing ranch. Dick.

Outside the window,
people spilled out of office buildings for lunch hour. High heels and
suit jackets, iPhones and Androids, everyone looked busy talking to
their coworkers, their mobile devices, or both at the same time. Fast
paced, it all blurred before me. I had too much going on inside.

I was still reeling
from Declan’s presence, rocked to the core. I thought I’d managed
to keep it together up in his office. Mostly. But inside, I’d
instantly melted into a hot mess. When I’d first walked into the
room and seen him, it had felt like all the years between us dropped
away.

But as much as I might
feel the same way, everything else had changed completely. We now
lived in totally separate and opposite worlds. While I still felt at
home back on the ranch in our creaky old barn of a house, he was now
surrounded by money and privilege. His office gleamed with polished
woods and rich leathers. His window looked out over everything else
in the city.

I didn’t know him
now. He was a stranger to me. He had nothing personal in his office,
no framed photos, no clues to the internal life of the man in the
suit. He hadn’t worn a wedding ring, but I still had no idea
whether or not he was single. His desk had been completely bare save
a large computer screen and a phone.

I had to remind myself,
I hadn’t known him all that well back in the day either. I’d
thought I was starting to, beginning to get past that tough, gruff
exterior and grow close to the man within. But I’d been kidding
myself. As it turned out, sometimes you should judge a book by its
cover. When a man seemed dark and dangerous, the type who’d melt
your panties and make you beg for more then leave in the middle of
the night without a trace? Sometimes that’s exactly who they really
were.

How perfect that his
company was named Obsidian Investors. The obsidian cliffs were a few
hundred miles away from our ranch, but every now and then a chunk
would show up on our land and you couldn’t help but be riveted by
it, shining with glassy black swirls in the light. You couldn’t
help but want to reach out, dust it off and run your fingers along
it, exploring the smooth ridges and grooves. It drew you in, but it
didn’t warm to your touch and you certainly never saw through it.
It remained a cold, immovable rock. Like Declan.

Come to think of it, I
remembered I’d given him a piece of obsidian I’d found back in
the day. I’d been such an idiot. I’d chased him around like a
puppy, giving him homemade pies and trinkets I found in the dirt,
hoping that would make him notice me.

In his office when he’d
said it had been a while since we’d seen each other, I’d blurted
out “six years.” Sipping my coffee, I cursed myself, wondering
how much I’d given away in that moment. I’d clearly missed him,
felt his absence. At least I hadn’t blurted out something more
precise like “five years, ten months and twelve days.” I hadn’t
been counting the hours we’d been apart, I honestly hadn’t,
though the sad truth was I could probably figure out the exact number
of days since he’d been gone in a heartbeat.

Then the man had had
the gall to taunt me. “You need to sell me,” he’d said. “You’d
better bring it.”

You didn’t tell a
woman who’d grown up on a ranch in the middle of one of the
toughest states in the entire union to bring it. There was a reason
no one in their right minds lived in Montana. It wasn’t a fluke
that we only had about six or seven people for every square mile of
land. The average person couldn’t hack it. Me? I loved it. I’d
lived through droughts, wildfires, flash floods, and 24 of the
coldest damn winters a person should ever have to endure. Oh, I knew
how to bring it.

Coming to see him had
probably been a huge mistake. But I was in it now. There was nothing
to do but see this through. I’d meet him tonight for dinner. At
some restaurant named after foods people never really ate, persimmon
and pomegranate, some kind of crap like that.

I took one last sip of
my coffee, finishing the final drop. I tossed the paper cup in the
trashcan along with my uneaten lunch. There was clearly only one
thing to do tonight: deliver a knock-out punch. He’d told me to
bring it? I’d bring it. I’d make him fall right out of his chair
I’d bring it so hard.

I had a mission to
accomplish. Step one: shopping.

Out in the sunshine, my
boots clipped along the sidewalk, fueled now by bright, intense
defiance. I’d get my truck and drive over to the upscale shops, the
kinds rich tourists shopped in, the ones that sold dresses that
delivered a mean KO.

So what that I didn’t
have a penny to my name? I still had one credit card that wasn’t
fully maxed out. And goddamn it I was tired of living like a nun,
scrimping and saving and staying up late every night with nothing but
my grief over my father’s death and debt-ridden ledger books to
keep me company. I was 24 for Pete’s sake. When was the last time
I’d bought something new for myself? It had to have been a few
years ago, before my dad had gotten sick.

Yup, that was it. I
remembered the pretty cotton shirt with the little flower sprigs I’d
bought at Walmart for a date with a rancher from one town over. Two
and a half years ago. That had been an awesome night, all paws and
tongue and bad breath. We hadn’t gone out again.

Honestly, even before
my dad had gotten sick it wasn’t as if I had a lot of inspiration
to get myself gussied up. My dating pool was pretty limited. When you
lived out in the middle of nowhere you were basically looking at a
bunch of guys you’d gone to high school with. You’d known them
when they’d gone through that gangly awkward phase with the acne.
You’d heard all about their attempts to get into your friend
Mandy’s pants after that football game. So when they sidled up to
you at a bar Saturday night your heart didn’t exactly go pitter
pat.

My high school
boyfriend, Bruce, had returned to town about six months ago. He’d
made it clear he’d be more than happy to pick up where we left off.
I’d made it clear I had no interest.

The June sun beamed
down and I tilted up my face to bask in the warmth, full-on like a
sunflower. Who knew, maybe tonight would go well? Maybe Declan would
help me out and I’d be able to turn things around? Maybe there was
a chance for a fresh start?

Not between us, of
course. Even in my most hopeful moments I didn’t allow my heart to
go there. The man was deep in a new world with money and the women
who chased it. But tonight I’d show him I wasn’t such a hayseed.
I could play with the best of them.

Two hours later I was
feeling a whole lot less brassy. Apparently dresses could cost over a
thousand dollars. In one white-on-white boutique the price tag I’d
touched had nearly burnt my fingers. In another shop the price of a
simple black dress had made me snort, drawing vicious glares from
both of the praying mantis-like salesgirls. I’d figured on spending
maybe a hundred total on a dress and shoes—money I could save by
not booking myself into a hotel and just driving home through the
night. But in the shops I’d seen, I’d be lucky if that could buy
me a button and half a zipper.

I’d about given up
hope when I came across a storefront that spoke directly to me: Deals
‘n’ Steals. A consignment store, the upscale cousin of the thrift
shop.

I walked in and out
from behind a clothes rack a large woman appeared, wrapped in layers
of silks and what appeared to be an ostrich feather popping out of a
headband. “How can I help you, dear?” she asked with a sweet
smile.

I mumbled about needing
to look amazing that night but not having enough money to do it.

“A date tonight?”

I nodded. “At the
restaurant at the Stanyon Hotel.”

“Fig and Fennel!”
The saleswoman clapped her hands together, her feather bobbing
around, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “The nicest restaurant
in Billings? You have to knock ‘em dead.”

The nicest restaurant
in the city? And Declan had asked me if I’d heard of it, like I
made it up there every weekend to go out for fine dining. Fig and
Freaking Fennel. What was fennel anyway? It wasn’t on the menu at
the Chat ‘n’ Chew.

I shrugged, my earlier
fire down to a wisp of smoke. “Knock ‘em dead would be nice, but
I’d settle for something that doesn’t look like I bought it off
the sale rack at Walmart.”

She winked at me.
“Let’s do this.”

After a whirlwind of
activity, I found myself in a large changing room with a waist-high
pile of dresses on a chair. I tried them on, the good, the bad and
the horrible until, suddenly, I found it. The perfect little black
dress. Thin straps, form-fitting, ending mid-thigh. Emphasizing every
curve yet also somehow classic, could I hope even for elegant?

Looking in the mirror,
I put a hand on my hip and pursed my lips. I bent over a bit as if
leaning in to Declan, offering him a generous view of cleavage. God,
I wanted to make him want me. Payback for all those years I’d spent
pining for him. All those nights I’d had nothing but my hand,
pleasuring myself until I was wet and panting, gasping his name. I’d
show him what he’d missed, what he’d turned down.

When I’d walked into
his office that morning, I’d heard it in his voice, how he always
used to dismiss me, brush me off. “What brings you here, Kara?”
Gruff, displeased, yet still sexy as hell. He really knew how to make
me feel like an annoying teenager. But you know what didn’t look at
all like an annoying teen? Me in that dress. Pair it with four-inch
stilettos and I was a full-blown, all-woman siren. Try to brush me
off now, Declan.

I grabbed a black lacy
bra and matching panties just for the hell of it. The shop had some
new inventory mixed in with the consignment pieces, and a dress that
hot deserved some candy underneath. Getting rung up at the cash
register, I held my breath. The moment of truth. Seemingly unaware of
my discomfort, or maybe trying to distract me, the saleswoman asked,
“Where are you getting your hair done?”

“Oh, no, I don’t
have the money.”

“What’s that now?”

“I don’t have the
money to—”

“Are you trying to
say something crazy about not getting your hair done?”

“Yeah, I know I
should, but—”

She held up her hand
like a traffic cop at rush hour. I knew enough to shush. She kept her
hand like that while she pushed a button on her cell phone and placed
a call. I heard her say “special client” and “the works.”

Then she pressed a few
more magic buttons on the register. “Oh, look, honey! It’s all on
sale.” She gave me another wink.

My eyes filled up with
tears, my voice cracking a little as I thanked her. I’d just met a
real, live fairy godmother. She worked at a second hand store and
wore an ostrich feather on a headband. The world was a strange and
wonderful place.

“You go now, head on
up to the salon on 8th. They’re expecting you. That man of yours is
going to have a heart attack tonight.” She hustled me out of the
store. “Have the EMTs waiting!” I had to laugh as I walked away,
waving a grateful good-bye.

A few hours later I
stood in front of the mirror in the salon’s changing room, not at
all sure who was looking back at me in the reflection. I’d decided
to change into everything—lingerie, dress, heels—at the salon. It
had more appeal than the back of my truck.

In the mirror, gone was
the rancher, the woman who tied her hair back in a functional
ponytail and wore old boots and jeans. Gone was the waitress, a gravy
stain across her apron. In her place stood a movie star.