The Wild Ones
Passion as hot as midnight in the South and love as wild as the horses they tame.
Camille “Cami” Hines is the darling daughter of the South’s champion thoroughbred breeder, Jack Hines. She has a pedigree that rivals some of her father’s best horses. Other than feeling a little suffocated at times, Cami thought she was pretty happy with her boyfriend, her life and her future.
But that was before she met Patrick Henley.
“Trick” blurs the lines between what Cami wants and what is expected of her. He’s considered the “help,” which is forbidden fruit as far as her father is concerned, not to mention that Trick would be fired if he ever laid a hand on her. And Trick needs his job. Desperately. His family depends on him.
The heart wants what the heart wants, though, and Trick and Cami are drawn to each other despite the obstacles. At least the ones they know of.
When Trick stumbles upon a note from his father, it triggers a series of revelations that could ruin what he and Cami have worked so hard to overcome. It turns out there’s more to Trick’s presence at the ranch than either of them knew, secrets that could tear them apart.
CHAPTER ONE- Cami
Sipping my beer, I look around at the familiar scene. If the honky tonk music blaring from the speakers in the ceiling hadn’t been enough to scream COUNTRY BAR, the sea of cowboy hats would have been. I smile as I adjust the black one that sits atop my own head. I love being incognito. Even if, by chance, someone I know stumbles into the smoke-filled dive, they’d never believe it was me looking out from beneath the brim.
Something hits the back of my barstool¬—hard—just as I put the glass to my lips. Ice cold beer pours down my chin and straight into my cleavage. I suck in a breath.
“’Scuse me,” a deep voice rumbles in my ear. Two hands grip my upper arms and pull me back, keeping me from tipping right out of my seat. I’m looking down at my soggy jeans and t-shirt when I feel the hands disappear. Half a second later, a face appears in my line of sight. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
My fingers stop plucking wet cotton away from my chest and I stare. Quite rudely, I might add. I’m speechless. Literally. And that, like, never happens to me.
The most amazing eyes I’ve ever seen are staring back at me. They are pale greenish-gray, rimmed in sooty lashes and filled with concern.
A sharp jab to my shin makes me let out the breath I hadn’t been aware of holding. I see my best friend Jenna’s head poke out from behind the mystery face. I know she kicked me and I know she’s trying to get my attention, but I can’t look away from these eyes long enough to glare at her.
God, his eyes! I’ve never seen eyes that make me want to gasp and giggle and do a strip tease all at once. But these do.
They flicker down, letting me go just long enough to collect my wits. I find very few of them. They are well and truly scattered. When he looks back up at me, his eyes are wrinkled at the corners. He’s smiling. And holy hell, what a smile it is!
“Does it make me a bad person for liking your shirt better this way?”
I glance down at myself. My dark pink bra is plainly visible through the now-wet paper thin material of my pale pink shirt. So are my very erect nipples. I blush, mortified.
Why, oh why did I wear a light pink t-shirt with a dark pink bra?
Because you can’t see your bra through it when it’s dry, dumb ass.
A thumb brushes my right cheek. “God, that’s sexy,” he whispers. Against my will, my eyes fly to his face. His smile has died to a lopsided grin that is devastation in its purest form. “I’ve never made a girl blush before.”
I laugh nervously, struggling to find my voice, to find my dignity. “Somehow I doubt that,” I say softly.
“Wow! The hair of a devil, the face of an angel and the voice of a phone sex operator. You really are the perfect woman.”
To my utter humiliation, my cheeks burn even hotter. Curse my fair skin!
Reaching into his pocket, Hot Stranger pulls out a couple bills and slides them across the bar. “Another of whatever…” He trails off, looking at me in question, waiting for me to fill in the blank.
“Cami,” I say, trying to hold back my grin.
Smooth way of getting my name. Chalk one up for Hot Stranger.
“Another of whatever Cami is having.” He turns back to me, a wicked gleam in his smoky eyes. “Sorry about your drink. Not so much about your shirt, though,” he admits candidly.
Willing myself not to blush again, I tilt my head. “So, do clumsy strangers have names in this place? Or are you just called ‘bull in china shop’?”
The lopsided grin comes back. “Patrick, but my friends call me Trick.”
“Trick? As in trick or treat? That kind of trick?”
He laughs and my stomach flutters. It actually flutters. “Yep. That kind of trick.” He sobers and leans in close to me. “Cami, can I ask a favor?”
I’m breathless again. He’s so close I can count every hair in the stubble that dusts his tan cheeks. For just a second, his clean manly scent overrides the cigarette smoke and stale beer smell of the bar.
I lose my voice—again—so I nod.
“Pick ‘treat.’ Please, for the love of God, pick ‘treat’.”
Like an idiot, I say nothing. I do nothing. I simply stare. Like a…a…well, like an idiot.
He makes a disappointed noise with his lips then starts shaking his head. “Too bad. Woulda made my night.”
He straightens, takes a step back and smiles at me again. “Nice to meet you, Cami,” he says, and then he turns and melts into the crowd.
********
“Earth to Cami!”
Tearing my gaze away from the broad-shouldered, slim-hipped view of Trick walking away, I turn to Jenna. “What?”
“Is that all you have to say? ‘What’?” She’s grinning.
“What would you like me to say?” I’m still a little addled. Or is it bedazzled?
“Um, I’d like to hear your plan for getting your lame ass off that stool and going over there to collect on that treat!”
“Eavesdrop much?”
“He was practically sitting in my lap while he hit on you. What was I supposed to do?”
“Uh, move!”
Jenna snorts. Not a great sound, but somehow she makes it seem cute and girlie. “And miss that view? I was all but catatonic just looking at him. He is seven kinds of hot, Cam!”
I giggle. “Listen to you. You’ve got a boyfriend. Or have you conveniently forgotten that we are meeting people here?”
“I haven’t forgotten. Have you?”
I nod at her. “Touché, pussycat.”
In truth, I had. From the time I’d looked up into Trick’s eyes, I hadn’t thought of Brent one time. And that can’t be a good sign. Brent has never made me feel what this guy has in three minutes.
“Meh,” she says, waving her hand dismissively as she sips her own beer. “Don’t give it a second thought. Looking at him is kinda like staring at the sun. You see spots and you’re dizzy for a while, but then it goes away.”
I wonder to myself if I really want it to go away. I can’t ever remember a guy making me feel this way.
I can’t stop myself from looking into the crowd again. I scan the endless ocean of hats until my gaze stops on one dark head. The hair is longish and has a slight wave to it. I know without having to see his face that it’s Trick. It just seems right that he’d be the only guy in the place not wearing a cowboy hat.
Almost like he can feel my eyes or my thoughts on him, Trick turns around. His gaze locks with mine like there isn’t a room full of people between us. We stare at each other for a few seconds and then, real slow, he grins.
Good God, he has dimples! I might die!
Right on cue, my cheeks get hot. Here we go again.
His grin widens into a smile and he winks at me. I’m pretty sure my toes are numb. I watch him turn away. Before his head completely disappears,
I consider what Jenna said. Maybe I should go and ask for the treat…
I jump when I feel fingers at my neck, brushing my hair back. “You looking for me?”
I recognize the voice. It’s Brent. I sigh. It’s not right that I should feel a little disappointed. But I do. The time for me to be reckless has past. The door of opportunity has officially been closed. By Brent.
I turn on my stool. I smile up into the face of Brent Thomason, my quasi-boyfriend.
Brent is no slob in the looks department. His sandy hair has that purposefully messy look and his dark brown eyes have an exotic tilt I’ve always found very appealing. But even as I stare into them, I’m picturing smoky greenish-gray ones.
“Were you looking for me?” he asks again.
I dodge the question, playfully poking him in the chest. “You’re late!”
“I can’t be too perfect. Gotta keep a girl like you on her toes.” He kisses the tip of my nose and then brushes my lips with his.
“Did you get the ‘Vette running?” I ask, leaning back.
“No. That’s why I’m late. I just talked to the guy that was supposed to take a look at it for me. Since I couldn’t even get it here, he agreed to look at it tomorrow night instead. I’ll get it out there even if I have to have it towed,” he growls in determination.
As usual, I find Brent’s passion about his car a little bit of a turn on. One of my father’s obsessions is vintage cars. We have a garage full of them and I know enough about them to talk like I’ve got some sense.
“Out where?”
He shrugs. “Eh, some sort of field thing. You know how country people are.”
I feel my frown, but can’t stop it. I know Brent doesn’t really mean anything by the comment, but it still bothers me. Unlike most of my friends, I know what life without money looks like, feels like. Granted, it was a long time ago, but some things a girl never forgets.
Sexy eyes drift through my mind…
“I want to get that thing running so I can drive you around and show you off. I mean, drive it around and show it off.” He grins at me. I grin back. The sad thing is, I think he had it right the first time.
Other books by Chelsea M. Cameron:
Nocturnal (Book One in The Noctalis Chronicles)
Nightmare (Book Two in The Noctalis Chronicles)
Whisper (Book One in The Whisper Trilogy)
Coming Christmas 2012: Silence, Book Two in The Whisper Trilogy.
Find Chelsea online at: leftandwrite7.blogspot.com or contact her:
[email protected] For my parents, especially Dad. I hope you’re proud of me.
For my friends, who are my escape from the imaginary and realize there is a world outside my head, even if they have to drag me into it.
For all my online friends. You make me feel like I’m not alone when I’m sitting alone at my computer. You mean more to me than I can say. I adore all your virtual faces.
For all the book bloggers who have been so supportive of this story from the beginning. You overwhelm me with your expectations. I will try my best to meet them.
For all the authors who have helped me along my indie journey. Your support and friendship is worth more than hitting a million best seller lists.
For my beta reader, my soul twin. I heart your face.
For my editor, who gave me confidence in this story. I hope you aren’t sick of me yet
For all my musical inspirations, especially The Head and the Heart, The Civil Wars and Taylor Swift. You’ll probably never be aware of this, but you’ve given me enough inspiration to last a lifetime.
And lastly, for you, whoever you are, reading this. I hope you’ve enjoyed the journey you took with Hunter and Taylor. Thank you for being a part of my dream.
About the author
Chelsea M. Cameron is a YA/NA writer from Maine. Lover of things random and ridiculous, Jane Austen/Charlotte and Emily Bronte Fangirl, red velvet cake enthusiast, obsessive tea drinker, vegetarian, former cheerleader and world's worst video gamer. When not writing, she enjoys watching infomercials, singing in the car and tweeting. She has a degree in journalism from the University of Maine, Orono that she promptly abandoned to write about the people in her own head. More often than not, these people turn out to be just as weird as she is.
My Favorite Mistake is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, business establishments or locales is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2012 Chelsea M. Cameron
Ten
Monday morning I woke up a little excited. It was my first day at the library in the afternoon, and I was nervous, but happy to be having some money coming in. I would cut off my hand before asking my mother to spot me some. She had enough worries without me being a mooch.
I took out my retainer and glanced over at Hunter. He was on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes, as if he was blocking them from the sun. His other arm was slung over the side of his bed. Somehow his sheets always managed to cover what they needed to cover. Except...
I shoved my face under the covers. I did not just see that. I peeked out again. Yup. Hunter Jr. was awake and standing at attention. Oh. My. God. I faced the wall, unable to look at it anymore. He moaned, rolling over. I stayed as still as I could, but suddenly, I got a fit of the giggles. I stuffed my blanket in my mouth, but it didn't help. Hunter sighed and moved again. I really, really didn't want him to wake up.
The giggling continued. I was in deep and there was no end in sight.
“What's so funny?” His voice made me jump, killing all hope I had of pretending I was asleep. I froze anyway, hoping he'd think I was having a nightmare or something.
“I can still hear you laughing,” he said, and I heard him grabbing his boxers. How could he get them on over...
“Why don't you come over here and give me a hand instead of giggling like a twelve-year-old,” he said, somehow getting the boxers on.
“Why don't you just take care of it yourself? That's probably what you usually do.”
“That's what you think.”
He walked out of the room and shut the door. The giggles finally took over and I was lost. Something about man bits was just hilarious. My fit continued until I had tears on my face. I lay in bed after it was over, gasping and trying to regain my composure.
It was only seven, but there was no way I was going to be able to sleep. I might as well get up and do some homework. I needed to wash my face and brush my teeth, but I wasn't going near the bathroom once I knew Hunter was out of it.
I parked myself in the living room with my textbooks, a bowl of cereal and a cup of black coffee. I heard the shower turn off and glued my eyes to my book.
“Shower's free,” he said, behind me.
I made a noncommittal sound and pretended I was absolutely fascinated with my French textbook. I heard him walking closer and I kept my head facing away. “You come any closer with that and I'll break it off. Got it?”
“You're feisty this early in the morning. I like it. Watcha reading?” He leaned over my shoulder, his damp skin inches from my face.
“Go away, Hunter. Seriously.”
“Fine, fine.” He shuffled back to the bedroom, and I went back to my homework.
An hour later Darah stumbled toward the coffeepot.
“What are you doing up so early?” she said.
“Couldn't sleep.”
“Was that you laughing like a psycho earlier?”
“Yeah, sorry. I didn't wake you up, did I?”
“Meh,” she said, gripping the coffee cup and taking a deep sip. “I wake up if Renee breathes too loudly. Not your fault. So,” she said, shoving some of my books aside so she could sit next to me, “what was all the giggling about
?”
“It's nothing,” I said, the giggles threatening to come up again. “Just something I was thinking about.”
“Or someone?” She poked my shoulder.
“No.”
“Yeah, that was very convincing, Taylor. There is something going on between you and Hunter. Everyone else seems to see it but you.”
“The only thing that's going on is that he drives me up a wall and I want him to get hit by a bus.”
“Right, sure.”
“I'm serious!”
“Okay, Taylor. Whatever you say.” She gave me a look and went back to her coffee, and I went back to whatever the hell I was working on and not thinking about Hunter.
I headed for my first day at the library with nerves and excitement. I punched my old-fashioned timecard and walked back to the office.
“Hello, Taylor, it's nice to see you again,” Tom said, shaking my hand. There were a few other people who worked in the department, and I was introduced to Nancy, Mary and Jeff.
“And this is the student worker section. We usually only have two workers at a time. The other student who shares your shift should be here any moment.”
I was a little early. He showed me to a desk that was split into two workstations facing each other with two ancient desktops, lots of stamp pads and pens.