ALPHA’S PREY

“Well, I’m taking a sample from every tree in this plot.” I show him how to take the samples from the tree and then how I wrap it up and pack it away for later studies.

He takes the borer out of my hand, all business. “I’ll take the samples. You wrap them up. Point me to the next tree.”

Swoon.

This man seriously has zero to gain from doing my work for me. I want to kiss him or drop to my knees and suck his cock again, but he’s already taking the next sample, and then the next. He’s stronger and more agile than I am. He makes the work look like a walk in the meadow. I follow along, drooling over the bulge of his muscles as he works and trying not to fawn too much.

As we work, he tells me about his phone call and what he learned from his connection in Tucson. The information certainly fits with the pieces of the puzzle Caleb already has.This is the property of Nô-velDrama.Org.

We finish in a matter of hours. What would’ve take me another half day is done.

I should be happy, but instead, my stomach knots up.

It’s time to leave Pecos and go back to Albuquerque. No more snowstorms to keep me locked in with Caleb, no more research to keep me on the mountain.

Caleb walks me back to the research cabin, doing that protective, visual sweep of the area as we go. When we arrive, he says, “Better get your shit packed and ready now, because I’m taking you out tonight.”

I gape at him in surprise.

“What, like on a date?”

Caleb winces a little and my face grows warm. “Okay, not a date. I wasn’t suggesting you should. I just-”

“It’s trivia night at the bar. I thought I should bring my ringer down and turn the place on its head.”

I don’t fight the broad smile that stretches my cheeks from ear to ear. “Trivia? I love trivia!”

His lips quirk with amusement. “So you said. I want to see you in action.”

My face heats again, but pleasure shoots through me, warming all my newfound pleasure zones.

JOES’ BAR IS an old brick building with a vintage Coors Beer sign over the door. The sign probably wasn’t vintage when they put it up. More like it’s been hanging there so long it’s now considered an antique, and therefore, cool. I doubt Joe or-if the placement of the apostrophe is correct-Joes plural care about cool decorations. This bar is a no-nonsense watering hole where the locals go and gripe about tourists, and hope the centuries-old grime covering the building and the sign are enough to keep away any snowbirds.

My theory proves correct when I walk in and the entire bar-ninety percent male-pivots to glare at me. I hunch in my poufy ski coat, hoping I don’t look too much like an outsider invading their local sanctuary. I consider waving to them all, but decide that would prove to them that I’m an out-of-towner and a dork. Instead I scuttle to the side and let them see Caleb.

The instant he walks in, the tension dissipates like it never existed. The bartender nods to Caleb like he recognizes him and Caleb raises his chin in a totally macho mountain man greeting. The move says, I’m a loner but this is a small town so we say hello. Polite but with the least amount of effort possible. Lots of communication in a simple gesture. It would be interesting if we greeted each other like dogs do, sniffing each other’s noses, mouths, and… other places. Okay, not interesting, awkward.

Caleb touches me and I jump.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I whisper back. “All good.”

He takes my elbow and guides me past the full tables. Trivia night must be popular. On our way to the bar, Caleb gets more mountain man greetings. A few of those eyes slide to me and Caleb’s hand moves to the small of my back in another very telling gesture. Marking his territory, warning off potentially interested males. Look, don’t approach. This one’s claimed.

I could tell him that it’s okay, no one’s likely to hit on me, but I don’t know. If there’s one thing that attracts human males, it’s a female whom another male, an alpha male, has claimed. Something about wanting what they can’t have. It says more about their esteem of Caleb than it does about me. They see me with Caleb, and they’re wondering what hidden assets I have that could attract a macho man like him. They don’t know we were snowed in with nothing else to do.

Caleb gets us to the bar, still resting a large hand in the small of my back. Normally I don’t go for macho You my woman shit, but it feels nice. Gentlemanly. Especially since half the bar (all men) are still staring at us. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and take inventory just in case my fly’s unzipped or my underwear is showing.

I’m wearing a pink vest and white thermal, and comfy jeans. In the mirror behind the bar, I see the pink matches my cheeks which are flushed from the cold. And multiple orgasms. I feel pretty-much sexier than before I met Caleb-but that’s probably not why they’re staring. One, they’ve probably seen Caleb a few times, but never with a woman. Or with anyone he’s close enough to touch and talk to. Two, I have sex hair. I did my best to brush it down, but the past seventy-two hours were filled solid with fucking, and it’s going to take more than a brush to tame my “just went to bed with a raging sex fiend” hairdo. A bottle of hairspray, maybe two. And an act of God. Of course, Caleb does not have hairspray, or any “girly shit.” He thought I was crazy for asking.

As for an act of God, I’m an atheist, but even I know a hot mountain man sexing me up is a miracle, and I’m unlikely to get another anytime soon.