Rude Awakening Read online

  His training didn’t cover how to win back a woman’s trust…

  Jaimee Turner spent most of her life trying to be an unassuming pillar of virtue and submissive wife to a man who demanded nothing of her—especially physically. A year after his unexpected death, she’s finally finding her own footing, only to find herself thrown completely off balance by Lucas, a man who awakens desires she never knew she had.

  FBI agent Lucas Grayson is relentless in his quest to bring down those who prey on the innocent. The Turner case is unlike anything he’s dealt with before, and so is the widow Turner. One thing’s for sure: Brent Turner was blind to think he could outsmart the Collective. And blind to the fact Jaimee was a gift he threw away.

  The Collective has dirty fingers in all sorts of bad pies, and the FBI suspects Brent’s “accident” was anything but. Jaimee knows more than she thinks she does. Lucas would sell his soul to extract that information and keep her safe. But he can’t save her from the devastating betrayal she’ll have to face.

  Warning: Some mild violence, a very sarcastic best friend, sneaky massages, inappropriate use of caramel and some occasional back door lovin’.

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  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520

  Macon GA 31201

  Rude Awakening

  Copyright © 2009 by Veronica Chadwick

  ISBN: 978-1-60504-595-5

  Edited by Tera Kleinfelter

  Cover by Natalie Winters

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: June 2009

  www.samhainpublishing.com

  Rude Awakening

  Veronica Chadwick

  Dedication

  To all of you who never gave up on me,

  To all the lovely ladies of the forum,

  And to Nat, Jen, Janine and Annmarie: the best Posse in the world,

  I dedicate this book.

  All my love.

  Acknowledgments

  Many thanks to:

  Capt. Steven Floyd of the SPD (retired after 30 years of service)

  for his wonderful suggestions and willingness to read and re-read.

  To Monica Floyd for her invaluable input and for being the go between.

  And to

  Marcia Sanderson LPN, for her expert advice and humor.

  Chapter One

  Sweat trickled between Jaimee’s shoulder blades to pool at the small of her back. Wisps of damp hair had escaped her haphazard ponytail to cling to her neck and face. Her triceps burned, her calves and thighs burned, but it was a good burn. Careful to breathe out with each squat she glanced over at the tan Herculean stud who stood at the Nautilus machine, doing pull downs.

  Normally, she could leave school, be at the gym by three thirty and be finished no later than five, thereby avoiding the health club when most of the guys showed up after work. The parent/teacher orientation ran late tonight, which meant she had to deal with the oppressive fog of testosterone or miss working out, and she hated to miss her workout.

  She lifted the weight and tried to focus on her biceps. Constantly bracing for the occasional sneer from an egotistical jock or disparaging snicker from a passing supermodel wanna-be made for an uncomfortable workout at times. Her plump five-foot-five frame was conspicuous when surrounded by sweaty, muscle-bound guys and tall willowy females.

  Usually they were friendly, mostly courteous, always eager to give her advice on diet. Low carbs, low fat, eat only the foods compatible with her blood type, go organic only, don’t eat at all. Ugh! And she really hated the people who told her not to use weights. Those who insisted she focus on aerobic exercise and would be better off just walking the track until she slimmed down some. But she didn’t like walking the track. She liked working with weights. And what was it to ’em anyway?

  The stud working on his upper body was watching her. A slow smile curved his well-shaped lips when he caught her looking. Gorgeous. Her heart skipped several beats before she reminded herself that he probably thought she looked ridiculous. She wasn’t ugly, and even though she was still full-figured, she didn’t consider herself obese anymore. More the scholarly type, she never thought of herself as attractive, especially not sexually so. Still, as if she were a train wreck, he just couldn’t seem to help but gawk.

  Anxiety had her chest tightening and she fought the urge to cut and run. In a flash her curious interest turned to irritation. And still he stared, meeting her gaze. She gripped the five-pound weights tighter, imagining they were his neck. She leveled her best don’t mess with me glare and refused to look away in hopes that he would just go on with whatever it was he was here to do and quit staring at her. Instead of respectfully turning away and minding his own business, he arched a dark brow and tilted his head. Evidently she was an oddity he needed to study, which only served to piss her off all the more, in spite of the rush of arousal whipping through her body.

  His face was all hard planes and angles, with high cheekbones and a slightly over-large, regal nose. His long black hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail. Muscles rippled with each rep as sweat ran in rivulets down his smooth chest. A gold ring glinted in each nipple. Now see, one should never trust a man without chest hair, and since when did she find nipple rings so appealing? What was he, seven feet tall? Why was he looking at her that way?

  Dark eyes traveled her body like she was a tasty treat. That thought made her tingly all over and, at the same time, want to laugh out loud at the absurdity of it all. In spite of the fact that he was big, sexy, intensely sensual, absolutely beautiful and so not the picture of a typical male, he was looking at her with unguarded, unmistakable lust. Her mind filled with erotic images of that amazing body rising over her, pressing hard against hers, his mouth, his hands on her. She looked away to try and shake the flare of raw desire becoming more and more intense.

  In all fairness, she was noticeable, just not in a good way. She didn’t look at all like most of the female members with their sporty, tummy-baring, spandex sport tops and short shorts with the waistbands rolled down until they barely covered their asses. Then there were some who did bare them in leotards that were just short of being thongs. What was the point of those anyway? These were the kind of women who had no cellulite and looked naturally beautiful and ethereal without makeup.

  Jaimee had bought a leotard, however it completely covered her wide ass. The idea of a constant wedgie while she worked out was less than appealing. Anyone who wore those things couldn’t be at the gym to seriously benefit from a workout anyway. The plain, deep purple leotard she’d chosen wasn’t unattractive. Not that she had the nerve to wear it alone, but having it on under baggy gray sweats helped remind her to hold her belly in. She’d even rolled down the waistband of her baggy sweats since she’d lost a few inches; but no way was she going to be seen in just the leotard.

  She probably did look pretty ridiculous clumsily going through her workout with her stringy wet wisps of hair clinging to her red face and covered head to toe in fleece wear. It didn’t matter what she looked like. Her reasoning for coming to the health club had nothing to do with anyone else. The time she spent
here helped her work out more than just her body and she was feeling better physically and emotionally. Brent had always been a safe haven for her, a quiet undemanding love that she could hide away in and not have to face the world or herself for that matter.

  Now it didn’t seem such a healthy thing, but Brent had been her best friend, her anchor. When he died she thought she’d lost her whole world, such as it was. The truth was, she would still be lying around feeling sorry for herself if her friend Maxine hadn’t been so freakin’ pushy. A membership to the posh, upscale, spa-style health club had been Max’s idea. Of course, Jaimee had resisted, but Max nagged and nagged until she finally gave in. Making herself go hadn’t been hard, considering the big chunk it took from her budget. And as usual, Max had been right, it turned out to be just what she needed.

  Eight months since the accident and she still missed Brent. Every single day she missed him. Theirs hadn’t been the perfect relationship but she had loved and needed him, maybe too much—no, definitely too much. Working out at the gym gave her something to do besides sit and think of all that was wrong in her life, all she had lost, all she had let slip by. It helped her begin to let go and she was stronger all the way around even if Mr. Muscle and his obvious amusement at her expense was just a tad hurtful. Shame wasn’t far behind, reminding her of her naughty little fantasy earlier.

  But she couldn’t escape the fact that there was lust in his eyes. No doubt about it. Just because she hadn’t seen it in a few years didn’t mean she didn’t know what it looked like. What about that? The reminder only triggered more images. Naked, hot, sweaty images of sex with an incredibly sexy stranger had her body heating, tingling with sensations. She nearly whimpered in response. Her mother was right; she was just like her dad. Cursed with an overactive libido from puberty on. How ironic was it that the only man she ever loved was never all that interested in sex.

  You’re just making it harder on yourself, Jaimee, she silently admonished herself.

  She refused to buy in to the self-pity and instead fought to turn her attention to her workout. She replaced the weights, picked up her water bottle and moved to the leg machine. Even though it was dry, she wiped down the bench, just to be sure. The last thing she needed was the flu or a cold or some other nasty disease. She lay down on her stomach, changed the weight from sixty pounds to twenty, hooked her heels on the padded bars, gripped the handles and turned her face to the side.

  She drew her heels toward her backside and began the first set of ten reps. The pull, the burn, let her know she was being productive. At the same time she struggled to ignore an altogether different sort of pull. She closed her eyes, clenched her teeth against the disturbing sensation and concentrated on her breathing. When she opened her eyes she found herself looking at two very muscular, powerful legs and she forgot to breathe.

  Her thought processes went from surprise to embarrassment to annoyance when her natural assumption was that his presence meant exactly the same as the other muscle-bound male patrons of the gym. Personal trainers in training that saw her as their next project. Dammit. That was it. She’d had it. Anger, bitter and cold, drove away the heat of her lust. Good, she needed to use her common sense, for God’s sake. She’d be damned if she’d lay there and let him humiliate her like the others had. Hell no, he had no right. None. She dropped the weight with a crash and rolled up to sitting position then stood as tall as she could.

  “Okay, go ahead and get it out of your system so I can go back to my workout.” She tried for cool anger as she scowled up at him, hoping he didn’t notice the thread of pain in her voice. Damn, he was pretty. In spite of her fury and mortification, her fingers itched to reach out and touch him.

  “Whoa! Calm down.” His voice was so deep and dark. It rumbled through her and gave her goose bumps.

  “Calm down?” Her eyes narrowed.

  He frowned back at her. “Look, your technique is excellent. I just came over here to ask who was training you and…”

  The indignity made her grit her teeth in frustration. “No, you look. I don’t have a trainer. I don’t want a trainer. I just want to work out without some moosehead coming over to tell the fat girl what she’s doing wrong.”

  There went that slow smile again. He arched a brow, folded his big sinewy arms over his bare chest and silently stared down at her—with condescension, no doubt.

  “What is it with you guys anyway? You big muscle-bound oafs think you’re all God’s gift to women.” She couldn’t seem to stop herself as she pointed up at him now, barely resisting the urge to poke him in his well-defined, rock-hard, pierced-nippled chest. “You think every woman, especially us full-figured ladies, are just praying you’ll come give us a pathetic second of your precious time to instruct us on how we can be more appealing to you. Well let me tell you something, mister. I didn’t ask for your attention, nor do I want it. You don’t buy my club membership, my meals, or anything else for that matter, so I don’t see how my workout choices or the size of my ass are any of your damn business.”

  He just stood there with that arrogant smile on his face, watching her, as if she were an amusing puppy.

  “Why are you just standing there smiling at me like that? Why don’t you scurry back to your rat hole and leave me alone?”

  “I’m smiling because I find it humorous that you’re all hot and bothered over your preconceived notions that I think a certain way about you based on your outward appearance. When all the while you’ve judged and sentenced me on the basis of my own.”

  She stared at him for a moment and bit her lip. She had gotten carried away and it irritated her that he was right, and worse, he knew she knew he was right. She could see it in his rich brown gaze that was once again traveling over her body. Much to her surprise he reached out and gripped the bottom of her baggy sweatshirt and yanked it over her head in one smooth move. There she stood, with her mouth hanging open, in her sweaty purple leotard that clung to her body. Her full breasts were flattened to her chest and spilling over the low neckline, her hard nipples obvious against the damp cotton/spandex material, baggy sweatpants rolled down over her wide hips, revealing her pooch stomach and her round hips. Heat crawled up her neck and she balled her hands into fists, then quickly crossed her arms over her breasts.

  “Much better.” His murmur was almost a moan. His smile spread into a toothy grin then he winked at her, turned and walked away with her shirt and disappeared into the men’s locker room.

  Nearly everyone had paused or stopped what they were doing to watch. The two Barbie-like blondes on the stepping machines whispered to each other and giggled. Her first instinct was to hightail it out of there but she refused to give in to it. There was no way in hell she was going to let that man, the Barbies or anyone else screw with her newfound confidence or her workout. With steely determination she took a deep breath, lifted her chin and went back to working on her upper thighs.

  An hour later she was pulling on her jeans and baggy blue Tigger T-shirt. She blow-dried her hair and pulled the unruly mass up into a banana clip. Guilt pricked her at the way she let the stud have it. He had certainly put her in her place, which for some reason she found thrilling. That wasn’t setting well with her either, and she just wanted to forget about it.

  The whole weekend stretched out ahead of her and she had a lot to get accomplished before it was over. Lesson plans, however, would wait until Sunday night. Tonight she wanted to get home, have dinner and crawl into bed with a good book. Which in a way was sad, considering it was only five something on a Friday night. Times like this were when she really missed Brent, even though were he still alive they would probably just watch a movie on TV. She missed the companionship, the comfort of having someone else in the house. Tennis shoes tied, sweaty workout clothes stuffed in the duffle, she headed out of the locker room with a heavy sigh.

  The beat of the workout music thumped through the building and the gym was crowded. Thankfully, she was on her way out. Lana, the bouncy aerobics ins
tructor smiled and waved as she walked by the wide window and Jaimee waved back. Her smile was still in place as she pushed open the glass door and walked out into the warm night.

  “Nice smile.” There he was, the stud, propped up against a column, exuding virility like he was posing for a centerfold. He’d changed into light blue jeans that hugged his narrow hips and clung to the healthy bulge behind the fly as if he were poured into them. The jewel tone blue shirt worked beautifully with his bronze skin, especially with the sleeves rolled up and the two top buttons left open to reveal his throat. He was hot, and that voice of his had a way of reaching out and touching her in all her private areas.

  “Where’s my shirt?” she asked quietly, not quite achieving the coolness she was going for as her smile faded from her lips.

  “I tossed it in the trash.” He pushed away from the column and stepped toward her.

  “Unbelievable. You owe me a shirt.” She stared at him in disbelief. “You had no right to do that.” She turned to walk away, then paused and spun around to face him again. “Why did you do that?” Her voice was a bit higher than she had intended it to be but she’d never been so angry.

  His brows arched and he leveled her with his piercing gaze. “You were hiding.”

  For a moment she just stared at him with her mouth open, incredulous at the man’s audacity. She couldn’t believe her ears. The unmitigated gall!

  He took a cautious step toward her. “The sweatshirt was unnecessary. Your face was beet red, you were too hot.” His lips curved slightly as he placed one long finger against her chin, closed her mouth, then let it fall away. “And, you were hiding,” he repeated softly.

  Oh man, that one insignificant touch left her quivering inside. More would probably kill her. What a way to die. Argh! What was she thinking? Focus, Jaimee, she admonished herself.