Owned: An Alpha Anthology (21 page)

FORBIDDEN FLAWS BY PEPPER WINTERS

2

THE MOMENT I charged through the heavy fire door and back onto my floor, I grabbed a glossy magazine—the only thing on the skinny side table—and fanned the pages against my chest while striding toward my door.

Sure, it was only skin, but I had to cultivate my confidence. Baby steps.

I couldn’t expect to be the sleek, poised actress I portrayed at my audition overnight. After all, I came from a small town a few hours from Sydney. I’d been on my own for six years, since my parents died in a horrible bush fire, and used the measly life insurance to pay for a course in drama.

Every day had been a struggle.

Every day I ached for company.

And every damn day I looked at the poster of Los Angeles and vowed that I would make it.

The day my parents died, I died, too. I cut myself off from friends—removed myself from the human race—and spent my time as a hermit. It wasn’t until I realised I’d been acting impeccably when asked the question ‘how are you’ that my coping mechanism had given me a way to freedom. I could create a world where I’d become different characters with different problems and heartaches—I would be safe from feeling the truth.

I would be a chameleon.

Reaching my door, in the regiment of other doors, I pressed down on the handle.

I frowned as it didn’t budge.

I pressed on the handle…

Shit!

Of course, it’s locked
. And where was the key? In the stupid switch that permitted lights to turn on—
inside
the room.

"Great," I groaned, pressing my forehead against the smooth veneer. Not only was it three a.m., but I now had to head to reception and ask for a spare key.

I peered at the magazine. Perhaps I could make a dress type thing or even a micro skirt out of its pages—would that be better than flashing my feminine charms?

At least life decided it had tormented me enough as no other guests entered the floor. I was alone. For now.

What should I do? Wait till most of the guests were back in their rooms, then make my way stealthily to the lobby? Could I use the lift, or did I have to walk the stairwell of shame again?

A small laugh escaped me. "God, this is just the beginning I needed."

My head snapped up as the emergency exit slammed open and a couple dressed in flannel pyjamas siphoned into the corridor.

Flannel.
Of course.

Next to their buttoned up floral and striped goodie-two-shoes flannel, I looked like the hotel whore.

I pressed my back against my door, fanning out the magazine and positioning it over my breasts.

"Evening," the husband said, his eyes flickering between my gaze and my sheer knickers. His wife scowled, picking up her pace and fishing a key card from her pyjama pocket.

Damn, what I wouldn’t give for a key. I had sanctuary behind me. One tiny piece of plastic had the power to end this night of horrors, but no—I had to leave it behind and grant myself more misery.

"Evening," I muttered as the couple drifted past. The wife stabbed the key into the lock, waited impatiently for the blinking green light, then disappeared into the room a few doors down. The husband shrugged, giving me an awkward smile. "Um, have a good night."

The wife reached out and jerked her man inside, slamming the door like a vicious slap in my face.

"Great," I muttered. "Everyone thinks I’m a home wrecker just for some scraps of material."

If only they knew how completely wrong they were. First impressions were always dangerous. Up until four days ago, I hadn’t had a haircut in six years, worn make-up in four, and preferred baggy track pants and my father’s tatty t-shirts over Victoria’s Secret.

The girl people saw today was a perfectly crafted persona of a successful actress with the world at her feet. I meant to live the role so brilliantly that even I believed the lie.

But it would take time.

My nails might be buffed and my body plucked and waxed within an inch of being bald, and I might wear clothes that any respecting girl from my hometown would turn her nose up at, but it was the part I had to play.

A part I had every intention of embracing.

Spinning around, I tried my door again. Why? Who the hell knew? Maybe leprechauns had somehow granted me a reprieve.

My skin broke out in goosebumps. The hotel’s air-conditioning had sprung into action, fighting imaginary fire with arctic gusts.

Keeping my grey eyes trained on the exit, I waited to see if any more stragglers would appear.

Two minutes passed.

Three minutes.

Good enough.

Flattening my arms over the magazine like a shield, I pushed off from my door and made the decision to dash. My toes sank into the plush carpet as I trotted toward the lift in my three hundred dollar underwear.

The buttons of the elevator glowed, welcoming me with every step. So close.

The emergency door opened.

Shit.

I slammed to a stop as the exit spewed forth a man dressed in a suit with lipstick marks on his white collar and pink smudges on his cheek.

Classy.

His eyebrow twitched, a smirk twisting his lips. He couldn’t have been more than mid-thirties, and the wedding band on his finger hinted it might not have been his wife mauling him.

"Well, aren’t you a pretty sight. If I knew a fire alarm brought out creatures like you, I would’ve set the thing off myself." He stopped, eyes slithering over my body.

Gritting my teeth, I turned the magazine sideways, earning a few extra inches to hide behind. Not that it helped. I either had to choose between exposing my nipples or the freshly waxed landing strip between my legs.

"Waiting for someone?" he asked, moving closer.

I backed away, plastering myself against some unfortunate person’s door. If they opened it, they’d get my backside in their face. Tilting my chin to stare into his brown eyes, I nodded. "Yes, as a matter of fact."

The man looked left and right, waving a hand at the empty corridor.

Of course, it was empty
now
. Heaven forbid anyone else arrive when I actually
wanted
more eyes on me to ensure my safety.

He ran a hand through his messy black hair, smiling as if he were God’s gift to women. "Want me to keep you company while you wait?"

Narrowing my grey eyes, I said, "No, I don’t. How about you scurry along to your wife…or your mistress? I’m guessing the lipstick might not be your wife’s colour?" My blonde hair stuck to my nape with a sudden flush of nerves.

He froze, anger darkening his face. "Clever. But I wouldn’t be so cocky if I were you." He took another step.

I stood my ground. What could he do? We were in a busy hotel with guests within screaming distance.

"Not cocky, just sleep deprived. I suggest you leave before I get mean."

He leaned closer. "I like mean."

God, he was an idiot.

"Go torment someone else. I’m not interested."

"Any woman wearing see-through underwear is guaranteed to be interested." He laughed. "Don’t treat me like a fool."

"I’ll treat you like a rapist and scream if you don’t bugger off."

He frowned. "That’s a bad word to use, pretty girl. Anyone ever tell you—"

"Back. The. Fuck. Off."

Both the creep’s head and mine shot up, searching in the direction of the growled command.

My heart instantly tripped over itself; my eyes drank in a man wearing a white terrycloth dressing gown with the hotel’s emblem on the front. He was tall—taller than the asshole pestering me—and towered over my dainty size. I noticed all the usual traits—grim full mouth, dominant blue eyes, and bone structure bordering on the rugged line of perfection—but it was the things I
felt
that froze me to the spot.

Something strong and eager unfurled inside me.

He wore an effortless cape of violence, cascading off his shoulders like some superhero. His bare feet were gorgeously formed and symmetrical. His hands were fisted by his sides, while every muscle stood out in preparation for a fight. Not to mention the shaggy dirty blond hair or the minor bruising on his cheekbone, turning him from roughly delectable to dangerously unpredictable.

I clutched my magazine harder as his eyes landed on mine. Time slowed to a never-ceasing whisper as his gaze trailed from my mouth to my breasts to my stomach and swept down to my toes.

I forgot all about the creep as I remained locked in his powerful stare. He stood as if he were used to the world bowing at his feet. He moved as if he had every right to be smug and self-assured because he’d beaten life into submission and won.

I wished I had that confidence. I wanted to steal it from him. I wanted to duck under its protection.

Shit, get a grip.

Blinking, I glared at the newcomer. He glared right back, sending shivers down my spine.

"Who the fuck are you?" Creep asked, facing his newfound opponent.

The man didn’t tear his blue eyes from mine; his nostrils flared as if seeing past my choice of undergarments and seeing the real me.

The real me!

In a split second, I shed everything I knew and stepped into a new role. The role of a woman who belonged to the man breathing shallowly and oozing with violence—the woman who’d been waiting for her lover in the corridor on the fourteenth floor.

"David! Damn, you took long enough." Throwing the magazine at Creep, I strode confidently and purposely toward the man I’d decided would be my ticket to freedom. He didn’t blink as I threw my arms around his waist.

It was like hugging granite.

The dressing gown gave no comfort or softness to the insane strength and rigidness of masculine muscles beneath.

Damn, what did this guy do for a living?

He didn’t move for an interminable second, then, as if we’d scripted and played this part all our lives, his arm came up and wrapped lovingly around my shoulders. "Lace, I told you to go back to the room." The weight of his hold pinned my head in place, trapping my blonde hair.

I fluttered my eyelashes, looking up into his deep blue gaze, while cursing my racing heart. "I know. But then this gentleman decided to detain me."

Swallowing, I commanded my nervous system to calm the hell down. My stomach was a riot of frothy bubbles, my heart full of moth wings and palpations.

He
affected
me.

I wanted to hate him for that. But I couldn’t. How could I hate someone who gave me back a smidgen of life just by existing?

His fingers dug into my arm as his embrace tightened. It wasn’t romantic or protective—purely possessive and aching with the urge to harm. "Oh, did he now?" His eyes narrowed at Creep. "Care to tell me why you
detained
my woman when she clearly said she wanted nothing to do with you?"

My woman
.

I’d always hated the caveman mentality of mine, yours, belonging—so why did my knees feel a little less substantial than they did three seconds ago?

Creep scowled. "Look, man. Any woman wearing shit like that attracts attention." His eyes landed on my thigh, searing into my skin like a brand. "It’s a fucking invitation."

Oh, shit.

I didn’t know this man I clung to—I had no idea of his temperament or morals, but I knew not to antagonise him. I was just a stranger to him, yet his entire body stiffened with undiluted rage.

"What the fuck are you implying? That every woman caught in a fire alarm wearing sexy as hell lingerie has a sign on her forehead saying ‘please fucking rape me because I’m gagging for it?’"

My heart stopped beating. His voice dripped with menace and threats.

I squirmed under his heavy arm, trying to get free. The pressure of an imminent attack clouded the corridor with testosterone.

I didn’t want to be the cause of anyone’s pain—regardless if Creep had been a douche-bag. He was partly right, I supposed. Strutting around wearing practically nothing could be seen as inappropriate, and to those with loose convictions, an invitation.

Guilt swarmed me for causing this mess.

"David, it’s fine. Just a misunderstanding." I patted my saviour’s chiselled granite chest, shaking out the tingles in my fingertips from touching him.

The man never tore his attention from Creep’s.

"No, Lace," he growled. "It’s not. He disrespected you and any other woman wanting to wear something hot. That’s not fucking okay."

My stomach tangled with my heart, turning me into a pretzel. His voice sounded as gruff and thick as any Neanderthal, but intelligence shone bright in his eyes.

Interest and fascination spread fast through my body.

Who is this man?

Creep took a step back, his hands flying up in the universal sign of surrender. "Fuck it, man. Keep the slut. I can get plenty more."