Playing for Keeps (Pack Heat Book 5) Read online

  Playing for Keeps

  Sam Hall

  Playing for Keeps

  Playing for Keeps © Sam Hall 2021

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except for in the case of brief quotations for the use in critical articles or reviews.

  Cover art and design by Mibl Art

  The characters and events depicted in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Stalk me!

  Stalk me!

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  Author Note

  This book is written in Australian English, which is a weird lovechild of British and American English. We tend to spell things the way the Brits do (expect a lot more u’s), yet also use American slang and swear more than both combined.

  While many people have gone over this book, trying to find all the typos and other mistakes, they just keep on popping up like bloody rabbits. If you spot one, don’t report it to Amazon, drop me an email at the below address so I can fix the issue.

  [email protected]

  Trigger Warning

  Some of the history of the Tirian race deals with the crappy actions of some of those people, particularly the conduits of the White and Black wolves, Lonan and Branwen. Their actions including manipulating others, infidelity and other unpleasantness.

  Branwen’s manipulation of the MC could be construed as dub con? The female main character is pretty on board with everything that happens, but Branwen comes in afterwards, pushing her agenda onto the MC.

  Contents

  Stalk me!

  Author Note

  Trigger Warning

  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

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Epilogue

  What’s next?

  Stalk me!

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Some kind of Christmas this was.

  I stood behind the bar, polishing the well lacquered wooden top with a rag, yet again. My boss, Helen, was determined that we stay open all throughout the festive season, and me being one of the few people without a partner or kids, it meant I got the night shift at the roadhouse.

  “There’s no one waiting at home for you, honey,” she’d said in that faux bright tone of hers. Like apparently, you can say seriously cunty things, as long as you sound highly medicated when you say them. “And think about the money. Time and half!”

  It was of course, supposed to be triple time, according to our award, but getting an industrial relations consultant out here—actually anyone other than truckers and hippies or backpackers packed inside Kombi vans—was a mean feat. Which was why I was so surprised when he rolled in.

  I saw the big truck and assumed I was gonna get either some tweaker off his face on caffeine and meth, grinding his teeth as he muttered just what he’d like to do to me after my shift, or some boofhead with a big mouth and even bigger gut. I got neither of those things.

  The sliding doors parted, and while it was nine-fifteen PM and the moon was well and truly up, I felt like I was having one of those moments where that single ray of sunlight hits your one true love, wreathing him in golden light, because day-um. This boy was beautiful. Long blond hair tossed carelessly behind his shoulders, which were so broad, I was sure they could blot out the sun. They narrowed down to a neat waist, the worn cotton of his shirt hinting, teasing, flirting with me with the glimpses of cobblestone abs I spied. Who the fuck had a body like that outside of my much replayed copy of Magic Mike or gay porn? I was a keen watcher of both. But for some reason, Tall, Golden and Way Too Fucking Gorgeous for This Dump looked a little lost.

  “Can I help you?” I asked, my usual script with customers, but I admit, I might have injected a little purr in there.

  “Uh…yeah. I was looking for a drink and a meal.” He dug out his wallet and pulled out a card. “And a room if you have one?”

  “All three, sweetie. You’re in luck. My boss assumed we’d have a fleet of people wanting somewhere nice to crash for the festive season, but alas, no. So just a room for you, or is there a lucky lady with you?”

  I wondered what the hell I’d said wrong when I saw a flash of pain cross his face. Like no, no way. It went against the rules of the universe that someone that gorgeous would experience heartache. Surely he was leaving trails of beautiful women panting in his wake, always wanting more?

  “Just me,” he said with a shake of his head. Then he walked up to the bar, moving to take a seat, before pausing. “Is it OK for me to sit here?”

  “Sure,” I said, trying not to drool at the prospect of him sitting front and centre. “There’s no one else here, so every seat is free. Now, what can I get you while you’re filling out the accommodation paperwork?”

  I slid the basic details form we used when someone rented one of the few not especially well-appointed rooms at the back. They were old, tired, but I made sure to keep them squeaky clean, and out here, beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  “I could murder a beer,” he replied, reaching over to take the pen I offered. Our fingers grazed each other for a second. No big deal, right? Like, it was a small piece of real estate, a pen, and two sets of fingers, they didn’t have a lot of room to move on it. That whole thing, of the world turning sideways because of a tiny little inconsequential touch, was the stuff of romance novels and teenage girls. I was just past thirty and as unlikely as anyone to get all twittery over a little thing like that. His head buried between my thighs, now that was a whole other thing.

  So why did I feel a wash of something hot, so very hot, as he reached for the pen and then tugged it from my slack fingers? Why did I feel like I’d just been dipped in candle wax, ready to ignite? Why did my nipples bead that little bit harder, my pussy unleashing a goddamn deluge? Why did I see me and him, whatever his bloody name was, naked and wound together, tight as snakes, his arm around my hips, helping me work myself up and down, up and down until we—

  His eyes were the most perfect shade between blue and green, and they stared into mine like he saw every damn thing playing out in my mind and more. A small tip of a tongue flicked out to moisten sinfully full lips, his nostrils working as he drew a deep breath in, like he was scenting me.

  Wait, what?

  That thought was a quick slap to the face, forcing me to acknowledge the damn spectacle I was making of myself. I smiled and then turned, grabbing a clean schooner glass with one shaking hand and pouring him a tap beer. But when I went to set it before him, I saw he was still staring.

  I wasn’t bad-looking. Helen had hired me because I filled out a pair of jean shorts and the required polo shirt well enough that the largely male clientele had something to look at when they came in, but I was just your average, slightly pretty, curvy girl. I was like a six on a good day, when I woke up and my hair was doing what it actually should, not going all frizzy, but him? He was an infinity symbol. So why the hungry look? Why did he stare at me like I’d hung the moon or something?

  “Is there anything else? The kitchen’s closing soon, but I can rustle you something up before it does. Are you hungry?” I asked, attempting to claw back my chill and failing miserably.

  “More than you can imagine,” he ground out, his voice suddenly a low growl.

  Fuck, the swimming pool that had already formed in my pants was just getting hosed with more. Those eyes, they took in the way I’d been trying to wriggle subtly, thinking that would somehow ease the sudden ache inside me. I stopped still, feeling like a mouse when an owl has them in their sights, his gaze going lower and lower until—

  “Hey, Bec, you want something to eat before we close up? There’s heaps of leftovers,” Charles called out through the kitchen servery. “Oh, hey, man,” he said when he saw the stranger. “Want Christmas dinner with all the trimmings? Half-price, as I’m gonna have to toss a lot of these or make turkey and cranberry sandwiches for like weeks.”

  “I could eat,” the customer said to our cook. He slid a card across the counter. “I’d like to buy you two a meal and a drink.”

  “No need,” I said with a wave of my hand. “We don’t get paid much, but food and board is part of it.”

  “Then let me get you both a drink. Sitting out here, doing the grave
yard shift for minimum wage, you deserve a one or two.” He waved the card. “This is the boss’ expense account, and I’ve been given some leeway with what I spend.”

  “You wanna get your drink on, pretty boy?” Charles asked, his hulking form filling the servery window. His brown eyes slid to me. “Looks like we’re gonna have a Christmas dinner after all.”

  Chapter 2

  Because it had been so dead, I was already well and truly on top of the cleanup for the end of my shift, and so was Charles. We moved together a few tables, with me grabbing tinsel and other decorations off the walls and festooning them across the surface.

  “So what’s your name?” Charles asked the blond stranger, gesturing for him to take a seat at the head of the table.

  “Shaun,” he replied, looking at the chair. “You sure? I can—”

  “If you’re fitting the bill, you may as well take the place of honour,” Charles said with a broad grin.

  He was a huge guy, his family originally from Tonga, which made me feel a lot more secure on late nights. He was as sweet as pie, a total gentle giant, except when he felt like someone was acting up. I’d seen him go from mellow to ripping someone’s head off, figuratively, in a matter of seconds, especially when female staff were involved. He was the cook and bouncer, all rolled into one out here.

  “Now, what do you fancy? I’ve got turkey, ham, roast lamb, potatoes, pumpkin, peas and carrots with a honey glaze—”

  “It sounds awesome, all of it,” Shaun replied, blinking a little at the proposed bounty. “I thought I’d be sleeping in the back of the truck after scarfing down a meat pie that’d been sitting in a bain-marie for three days straight and washing it down with a flat Coke. Any and all of what you described is fine by me.” His eyes flicked to me. “And anyway, it should be lady’s choice, right?”

  I opened my mouth to reply, but nothing came out. Well, a whole lot wanted to, but since it involved mashed potatoes being spread all over his muscular chest and gravy trickled over that before I licked him clean, I kept that to myself.

  “You’ve never done us wrong before, Charles,” I said. “Let’s go with whatever you think’s best.”

  “Three course dinner it is then,” he said, rubbing his hands together, then disappeared back into the kitchen.

  “So, Shaun, another beer, or would you like something else?” I asked, getting to my feet. It felt weird, sitting in the big dining area, every table empty, the floor swept clean and mopped. The only view outside through the big windows was the artificial lights above the fuel pumps, the bugs buzzing around them, and a brief glimpse of the highway before it disappeared into the darkness.

  “What kind of something else do you have?”

  Shaun was acting like a normal guy. He was looking forward to a good feed, had obviously been driving his rig all day by the lines on his face, and had been given an expense account to go with his trip. There was nothing unusual about him looking for something a bit more top shelf, but… I looked back at him, saw those perfect turquoise eyes were on me, and noticed something hungry in that gaze. I didn’t overthink that, moving over to the bar and taking a look at the stock.

  “We’ve got Jacks, Beam, Bundy. There’s a nice OP bottle of that.”

  “OP Bundy and Coke sounds like a winner to me,” he said, settling back in his chair to watch me pull out a full bottle, some glasses, and a jug of Coke post mix.

  “How do you like your drink?” I asked, cracking the screw top.

  “Strong.” He was still staring, but his gaze had gotten flatter, more emotionless at that. “I…have trouble sleeping sometimes.”

  “Fuck, tell me they don’t have you mainlining all that speedy weedy shit that most of the truckers take,” I said, realising as soon as the words were blurted out that it was probably not wise. If he were on track to become a tweaker, that was his business, surely. I handed him his drink, there being two shots of an already over proofed rum in it with some Coke to ease the burn. He held it and waited until I’d poured my own, before raising his glass to me. I did the same and then took a mouthful.

  “No,” he said. “I don’t drive that much. The community I live in, they didn’t use to do much about Christmas before now, but some of the kids started getting excited about the idea, and so someone needed to go and pick up the orders. I’m single, don’t have a family waiting for me—”

  “How the hell is that possible?” I muttered, only realising how loudly when he grinned in response. But that turned to something wondering as his brows creased.

  “Most girls out here, they aren’t too friendly,” he said, nursing his drink.

  “Oh, I’m plenty friendly.” Especially towards a fine specimen like you. “Gotta be, living in the boonies. I’m the same—no family, haven’t seen my friends in ages. If I don’t make the effort with customers, it gets awful lonely, y’know?”

  My response had somehow turned into a question, one he was about to answer, leaning forward, long, well-formed fingers toying with the rim of his glass, his lips parting to tell me yeah, he knew all about that. Inexplicably, in that moment, I knew. Like when you look across a crowded bar, past all the people posturing and whooping it up, and your eyes lock on someone, someone who sees through all the bullshit, just like you do, who shoots you a secret smile, acknowledging a truth only the two of you saw. Of course, that was when the kitchen doors opened, swinging noisily on their hinges, and Charles deposited platters of finger foods in front of us.

  “Helen, our boss, she thought we were gonna capture the lonely trucker market. Everyone stuck out here on Christmas Eve,” Charles said by way of explanation as Shaun stared at the bounty before us.

  “We had some earlier on in the day,” I said, snagging some of the cabana, cheese, and pickle onion towers he’d put on toothpicks. “Nowhere near enough to warrant what was spent. That’s Helen,” I said with a shrug. “Lots of ideas but…” I looked around at the place. “Let’s just say neither of us are confident we’ll still be in these jobs in six months’ time. The drought has gone on too long. There’s not enough people coming out here anymore.”

  Charles let out a long breath. It was something we’d talked about plenty as we saw the day’s takings drop. Some days, it was all we had to talk about, as the hours between customers seemed to grow longer and longer.

  “Well, you’ll have to thank Helen for me,” Shaun said, reaching over and piling food onto his plate, Charles grinning in response. Nothing he liked better than seeing people appreciate his creations. “This is…” His eyes slid to me, and he smiled. “More than I expected to enjoy today.”

  Charles looked at me, cocking an eyebrow as Shaun bent to take a mouthful of the canapes. If an opportunity arose, we were each other’s wingman one hundred percent. He jerked his eyes to the stranger, widening them at me when Shaun let out a groan I could feel reverberating through my whole body.

  “Fuck, mate,” Shaun said finally after swallowing the spuds. “You’re like a Michelin star chef or something. This is good shit.”

  “Thanks,” Charles replied with a wide grin. “Bec here helped.”

  “Yeah?”

  Under the table, I kicked Charles fair in the ankle as those turquoise blue eyes came back to meet mine. I wanted Shaun’s attention obviously, but not for something I had absolutely no hand in helping.