Taming Alaska (So Not Prince Charming Book 1)

  Taming Alaska

  Diana Downey

  www.dianadowney.com

  The characters, places, and events in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. All characters, except historical and public figures, are products of the author’s imagination and should not be construed as real. In the case of historical and public figures, the situations, events, and dialogues of those people are fictional and do not depict actual events. In all other respects, any similarity to real person, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Copyright © 2016 by Diana Downey

  All rights reserved. This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.

  Cover photo: Shutterstock

  Cover design: Books on the Edge

  Copy Editor: Love N. Books

  www.dianadowney.com

  ISBN 978-1-942630-04-3

  Published by Books on the Edge

  This book is dedicated to the readers.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Seducing Texas

  More books by Di

  Acknowledgements

  Author's Note

  Chapter One

  Cynthia

  The predatory glimmer in Trevor’s eyes stirs uneasiness in my chest. He directs me to an open grassy field parched golden from the relentless sun and merciless heat. We’re out in the middle of nowhere, so my fingers slightly tremble on my Porsche Boxter’s steering wheel because I know why he’s taking me here. I should tell him “no” and drive home because I don’t think I’m ready, even though he’s the prince, and I’m Cinderella. That’s what all my friends say.

  His long fingers that curl easily around the football during a game rake though his lush blond hair. His grey blue eyes sparkle as his lips twist up in his infamous confident grin. He picks up the blanket and the bottle of Grey Goose he stole from his parents’ liquor cabinet and gets out of the Boxter.

  Trevor opens my door and takes my hand. “Come on, Cyn.” His black tee hugs his taut chest and hard-earned abs from hours at the gym and playing on the field, and his cutoffs don’t hide the expanding bulge just beyond his zipper.

  While the scent of wild sage and wheat rushes into my nose from the hot wind blowing, I swallow down my fear. I don’t understand why I’m scared. I’ve dated him for three months now, and we’ve gotten close before.

  Normally his touch sends waves of pleasure through me, just like the first day he noticed me at school. Since our freshman year in high school, my closest friends Gina and Christine and I have been rubbernecking him because Trevor Duncan isn’t just gorgeous, he’s related to the long line of Texas oil barons. Gina has told me she would’ve been all over him on the first date while Christine tells me I’m way past due. They wouldn’t lie to me.

  When he finally asked me out late summer of my junior year, my friends were so excited for me. Next year, he has a full ride football scholarship to the University of Texas, and it’s right here in Austin. There isn’t a girl at school who doesn’t want him, and he’s mine…for the moment if I can just get through this. Both my friends have given me fair warning about the girls dropping naked in front of him at parties, and I don’t want to lose him, not to the cheerleaders or teen queens.

  He throws the blanket onto the grass and pulls me down on top of him. His sensual lips press against mine while his tongue probes my mouth. Though I like him, anxiety knots my stomach while his fingers glide up my inner thigh, under my skirt, and along the slit.

  “You’re wet,” he whispers into my ear.

  I’m not, though in the past, I have been. I don’t know why this is different, other than his patience is wearing thin.

  Nervous waves of tremors ripple though my body. He takes a swig of vodka before handing me the bottle. I drink hastily, giving the liquid encouragement the chance to seize control. He won’t wait much longer, not when he can date college girls who will.

  “You don’t have to be home for another couple hours,” Trevor says, licking and nibbling my neck while tucking his fingers under my bra to squeeze my disappointingly small breast.

  The Texas humidity lodges in my throat and glazes my skin. It’s so damn hot out here I can’t think. I can’t breathe.

  “We could wait,” he says, though I know better. His sweet lips press against mine. He gulps from the bottle and then lets me take a drink, probably sensing my hesitancy.

  Normally, I love his kisses, but uncertainty plagues my heart. Trevor Duncan has it all. He’s charming, has money, comes from a good family, athletic, good looks—damn he has the looks—and drives a brand new Maserati. What is wrong with me?

  I should just get it over with, so I’m no longer the only virgin amongst my friends. They all brag about how good it feels. This time, I chug the Grey Goose. The liquor coats and loosens my throat and nudges me into submission.

  After Trevor unhooks my bra, he tugs off my shirt and bra then his shirt. He lays his muscular bare chest on top of mine. I’m so nervous my body stiffens, and he doesn’t even notice how uncomfortable I am. He kisses me, feeling me up while a tear rolls off to the side and into my hair.

  He pushes up my skirt and shoves my panties aside before unzipping his shorts. Say “No,” but nothing escapes my mouth. What will my friends say if I don’t? That the other girls waiting in line for him have already offered up their bodies.

  His hands roam my breasts and between my thighs. I feel nothing but used.

  A pathetic “No” escapes my lips but is muffled by his ardent kisses.

  Before I know it, he tears open a condom, slips inside, pinching me, and it’s over.

  “You fuck so good,” he says.

  I finally find my voice, and my lone tear turns to rage. “What the hell?” I’m lying here like a wooden board, and wasn’t I supposed to get something out of this? Oh hell yeah.

  Why have I let this boy get off on me when I got nothing? “That’s it?”

  “It’s our first time. It’ll be better next time,” he says, sweating like he’s actually done something.

  “It was awful. Where’s my orgasm?” A few months ago I would’ve told most boys to take a hike but not Trevor Duncan. My friends would hang me.

  Trevor shakes his head. “It’s not my fault you’re hard to please.”

  Anger forces its way up my throat, singeing my face and hands. I feel the true me emerging, full-throttle. Why did I let him intimidate me? I sigh because he’s a Duncan and ticked off all my boxes for the perfect man.

  I’ve come close to having an orgasm before, so he can’t blame me. “Hard to please? You kissed me a few times, and it was over in a second. It sucked.”

  Trevor narrows his eyes. “Cassie is much more fun in bed
, and she never complains.”

  “I thought you broke up.” How did such an unsatisfying high school boy get a college girl anyway?

  “I had to get it somewhere,” he says, shrugging. “You weren’t giving me any.”

  I shove him, and he laughs. “You asshole,” I yell, realizing he’s too dumb to lie. What is wrong with me? I should’ve resisted. I should’ve dated someone older who actually knows what he’s doing.

  He shakes his head. “It’s not like I could be with you long term. My parents expect me to someday marry your sister Fay.”

  “What the hell? Why her?” My shoulders sag. It’s because she’s like Mom, perfect—blonde hair, blue eyes, big boobs. I look like my dad’s side of the family.

  Grimacing, Trevor stands and tugs on his shirt. “Because she’s a Hunt and you’re…”

  Half Mexican. Without thinking, I kick him so hard in the balls he doubles over. “You’re right. It’s not going to work.” I stomp over to my Porsche Boxter and get in.

  “You can’t leave me here,” he whimpers, clutching his wounded testicles while glancing around at the open field where miles of empty wheat husks and sagebrush surround him.

  I flip him the bird out of my opened window and punch on the gas, letting him eat my dust.

  When I get home, I stomp up to my room and sob. I pound my pillow because I thought I’d met The One.

  After a much-needed maintenance cry, I get up from my bed and wander to the bathroom. My eyes are poufy and red, and I can’t have that—not tonight, not for Mom’s big night.

  Lots of college-educated, older men will be there, so I put on the right amount of makeup that the lady at the MAC cosmetics’ counter showed me. Unfortunately, the mirror doesn’t hide my disappointment in Trevor and myself.

  I pull out the knee-length ruby red dress that shows a hint of cleavage and has a low cut back—very grownup and very sexy. At five-eight, my six-inch platform heels will make me impossibly tall—taller than Trevor.

  The front door slams shut, and footsteps travel up the stairs to my room. Holding Nordstrom and Prada shopping bags, Mom and my younger sister Willa open the door. Willa’s in middle school while Fay attends Stews, St. Edward’s Catholic University where I’ll go in two years.

  “Oh my gosh,” Willa cries out, crashing onto my bed stomach first and kicking her feet up into the air. “You look so much older. At least twenty-one.”

  That was my intention, no more silly high school boys. “Thank you,” I say, twirling around to let the skirt flare out.

  Mom sighs, a tired smile upturning her full lips. “You’ve grown up so fast. Give me a few minutes to get ready, and I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  Sadness sparkles in her pretty blue eyes. A couple days ago, Dad had to rush off to Mexico again to calm his crazy drug lord brother, and she worries, even though Dad will be back later tonight.

  Mom and Willa leave my room, and after applying lip-gloss, I carefully descend the stairs in my scary high heels, feeling slightly wobbly.

  As I reach the first floor, Willa stares at me with envy. “I wish I could go,” she says. We’re mirror images of each other and of Dad—black hair, dark eyes.

  “In a few years,” Mom says, kissing Willa’s cheek.

  It’s my first year to attend the Entrepreneur of the Year Award. The Chamber of Commerce hosts it every year, and Mom’s family has sponsored it for many years now. Finally, I get to do something really grownup, like Fay.

  * * *

  The limo dropping us off at the front makes me feel like a princess. Fay wears a black cocktail dress that accentuates her big boobs. Mom and she politely speak to several board members before we head into the Civic Center. The men give Fay the same attention as Mom, ogling them.

  I roll my eyes. Mom would never dump Dad for any of these old guys. After Fay’s dad, the oil tycoon died of a heart attack, Mom married her gardener, mi padre, and Fay hasn’t gotten over that.

  Fay scrunches up her nose as she loops her arm into Mom’s because she doesn’t like to share her. Tomorrow’s trip with just Mom and me is supposed to make up for the debutante committee blackballing me from the Silver Ball because of my Latino heritage. I think it may also have to do with a socialite marrying a Mexican.

  Standing close to the podium, one man sticks out because he’s much younger and his jeans ride low on his narrow hips because he’s not wearing a belt. A sport coat straddles his wide shoulders and almost hides his crumpled white button-up shirt. Does he not know where he is and who these people are? And who the heck is he? No one important by the way he’s dressed.

  He scans the room and his gaze lands on my mom. A warm smile enhances that ruggedly cut chin of his, so they must know each other. His eyes dart to mine where I give him my big Texan smile. I swear he sucks in a breath as his gaze coasts along my legs and up my waist to my bra-free breasts, and he doesn’t even once checkout Fay. The dress must be working. Excellente.

  Mom returns his smile and takes us to him.

  Up close, he’s frighteningly big and reminds me of the Kodiak bear at the zoo. I breathe in the outdoors coating his skin, a hint of pine and fields brushed with cinnamon. A nasty scar slashes across the dimple in his chin, yet he’s handsome in an unbroken bronco kind of way, but the jeans have to go. They’re faded and worn to the point he should’ve thrown them out years ago. He’s not the slightest bit embarrassed that the other men are dressed in business suits. Maybe he’s dumb, like Trevor.

  “Mrs. Diaz,” he says, taking her hand and kissing it.

  She actually blushes. “Shane, call me Grace.” Her hand grasps Fay’s arm. “This is my oldest Fay and my middle daughter Cynthia, and this is our guest of honor, Shane O’Flannery.”

  “Pleasure,” he says, shaking Fay’s hand then mine.

  “You’re the entrepreneur of the year?” That came out like a shockwave. My embarrassment flames my face.

  He must be smart to own and run a company at his age.

  “Why is that so shocking?” His deep voice resonates in my body like riding a Harley, and he hasn’t let go of my hand. From his cocky grin, he must find me amusing.

  Even though humiliation steams my cheeks, I recover and smile back. “You’re just so young.”

  Even in my platform heels, I look up at him and notice a more recent scar, angry and red under his jaw. His touch sends a shower of sparks and flares in my chest. After today, I wouldn’t have thought this would happen so soon, so what does he have over Trevor, other than he’s older and apparently intelligent, despite his lack of fashion sense? And I don’t know that any man has given me dragonflies bombarding my stomach, but then again, they were all boys.

  Shane’s grin reaches all the way to his green eyes the color of Caribbean waters. They favorably appraise me while he holds on longer to my hand than he did Fay’s. From the attitude igniting in those eyes and that self-assured grin, he knows women like him. And from the way he’s flirting, he must not think I’m still in high school.

  It’s the dress.

  Instead of rolling my eyes, I broaden my smile. After Trevor, I deserve better. I definitely deserve smarter.

  Fay bats her lashes and takes Shane’s arm, breaking our connection. I narrow my eyes at her, and she shrugs me off. She leads him to the tables setup on the stage where she must think she’ll flank his other side at dinner. He stops at the bottom to allow Mom and me to scale the steps before him. Fay pouts because now she’ll be at the end next to Mom.

  As I climb up, the grate catches my heel and twists my ankle. I feel the helplessness of falling where I’ll probably break a leg, arm, or neck, not to mention my mortification. My arms flail, and a small cry escapes my lips, and my heart beats scared rabbit fast. A couple women gasp near the front, so my hellacious landing must be imminent.

  Strong, steady arms scoop me up from behind, while one large rough hand grabs a good amount of my big booty. His hand warms it, and I swear my sex soaks my boy shorts. He doesn’t even have t
o work at exciting me, like Trevor did. A hot fever moves its way into my breasts, and did he stuff a sawed-off shotgun down his pants? He’s definitely not the spaghetti-stick Trevor is.

  Shane carries me to my seat. My hands cling to his jacket while his body heat pours into me. “Are you all right, Cyn?” How does he know the nickname I hate? The taunts ricochet in my mind—wicked as sin, simply sinful.

  “As soon as you quit groping my butt,” I say playfully.

  “My apologies. My hand must’ve slipped.” A rakish grin curls his weather-beaten full lips as he carefully slides his hand out from underneath me so no one sees and stands me by a chair next to him. His hard body chiseled from granite that held mine burns as hot as the temperature rising in my blood. He pulls out the chair for me, and Fay presses her lips together in a very unladylike snarl. For once, a man notices me over her, and I relish in the moment.

  Shane lets out a long breath, and I notice some of the much younger women, well younger than their money-toting husbands, wrap their gaze around Shane like he’s the last piece of chocolate and they’re ready for the death dive to get it before any of the competition can. Mom gives Shane an approving smile for saving me, and he nods to her.

  A couple of the top chamber members, including Trevor’s dad Mr. Duncan, and their wives join us on stage while dinner is served. The waiters bring most of the men prime rib while the ladies receive dainty portions of Coho salmon. I ordered steak, like Shane. He shrugs off his jacket and rolls up his sleeves, like he’s at a pig roast, while I hold in a laugh.

  My cut of prime rib is rare and melts in my mouth. I use my napkin to wipe the au jus sauce from my lips, and Shane grips his fork and knife like their shovels.

  “Shane’s from Alaska,” Mom says in between sips of champagne while Fay and I have to drink Diet Cokes. It’s so humiliating.

  Being from the icy frontier explains his barbaric manners, but I doubt any other man I know could’ve pulled off that save so easily. I study his rock-hard body and his rough, scarred hands. He doesn’t look like the kind of guy who flexes at the gym, but I bet he bench presses grizzlies to keep in shape.

  Shane gulps a beer, rudely wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, so he must be at least twenty-one.