Rescue Bear (P.O.L.A.R. Series Book 1) Read online

  He was some kind of magic man, though. When he stepped into the living room, he had the bottle of vodka in one hand, but he also had a bag of chips in the other—family size. The chips were exactly what I needed. He raised his eyebrows when my stomach growled and tossed them onto the couch beside me. “When’s the last time you ate?”

  I ripped into the bag and shoved a handful into my mouth, suddenly ravenous. “I don’t even know. A day or two.”

  “What?” His scowl of disapproval spoke volumes.

  I didn’t need his approval, I told myself. I just needed food.

  “What’s the story, Megan? Are you in danger?” Right on cue, his eyes traveled to my upper arm. When I followed his gaze, I saw the fingertip bruises from Dylan. The longer sleeves on my T-shirt had covered them. Greg’s didn’t. “Who…”

  I shouldn’t have been so gratified to see the fury on Roman’s face. I didn’t know him. Yet, I felt warmed by the angry expression he wore on my behalf.

  “Your husband?” His voice sounded a lot like a growl.

  “It’s not what it looks like.” I took the bottle of vodka and downed a swig. “We own a business together and we were arguing… I bruise easily.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Dylan. Dylan Pratt. We own Pratt’s Photography on the north side of Main Street.”

  Roman’s eyebrows raised. “I know the place. I walked by a few days ago. I’m guessing it was your husband I saw there. Why didn’t he close up the place properly?”

  I opened my mouth to lie for Dylan, as I’d done hundreds of times, then stopped. Roman didn’t know us. I had no reason to lie to him, and maybe I was just sick of making excuses. “He refused. He doesn’t do manual labor. He leaves it to me. I have a bigger build than he does, so he figures it’s easier for me.”

  Roman’s eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his skull. He snatched the vodka from my hand angrily and took a long pull himself before nodding to himself like he was making sense of things. “He told you that, did he? That you’re bigger than him, so it’s easier for you?”

  Mortified, I scoffed. “No! No, that’s not what I meant.” And there I went making excuses again. “It’s just, well, I am bigger. And stronger, so I do that stuff. He hates physical labor so he handles the office work.”

  Roman muttered something under his breath. I couldn’t quite hear what he said, but it sounded an awful lot like he was calling Dylan a pussy.

  Roman focused smoldering eyes on me. “You’re not bigger or stronger than I am.” Those seven words spoken aloud raised my core temperature to sizzling. The corner of his mouth twitched. “Are you?”

  I couldn’t look away from him. I needed to look away. Wild, frizzy curls, chip crumbs on my fingertips, vodka on my breath, I was a mess and I knew it. Look away, Megan. My eyes didn’t cooperate. My voice was barely a whisper. “No, I’m not.”

  Finally, he shrugged and turned to set the vodka bottle down. Spell broken. Clearing his throat, he ran his hands down his face. The hint of stubble matched the golden blonde of his buzzed hair. “No, you’re not.”

  I swallowed audibly and shoved more chips into my mouth. I had to get away from him. He was doing something to me that made no sense. Maybe I was ovulating or something.

  “So, where is your small husband?”

  Suddenly, the house shook with a hard wind gust, and I dropped the bag of chips and held onto the couch with both hands, chip crumbs and all. “Are we safe here?”

  “I won’t let anything happen to you. You’re safe.”

  Why his words relaxed me, I didn’t know. A man—even a buff, muscled one like him—who could confidently say he was no match for a hurricane was a little over the top egowise. Deciding it was time to step away from the chips, I glanced down at Greg’s couch, covered in greasy crumbs, and winced. “I’ll have to pay to have his couch cleaned.”

  “I doubt they’ll notice your crumbs over the animal print.”

  I reached for the vodka bottle and took another pull. Roman had asked me a question and I could tell from the intensity of his gaze that he wasn’t going to just let it drop unanswered. “Dylan evacuated in time. He’s inland, somewhere.”

  Roman’s jaw dropped. “He left you?”

  I gave a tight little laugh. “Yeah, you could say that. In more ways than one.”

  “What kind of man leaves his wife to fend for herself in a hurricane?!” Roman began pacing the floor, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. He looked like he was ready to go out and find Dylan just to beat the shit out of him. He shook his head at me. “You almost drowned. You were underwater when I reached you, not breathing, seconds from the point of no return.”

  “Yeah, thank you for rescuing me, by the way.” I leaned back into the couch, finding it incredibly comfortable. The vodka was hitting me a little harder than I’d meant it to. Still, I was sober enough to know that, now that I’d begun the story of why and how he found me in the water seconds from death, I had to say more. “Yeah, Dylan left. I had to close up the house and the shop myself. By the time I finished securing things, it was too late to get myself to safety.”

  “So, you tried to go home?”

  I nodded. “And the east side of the island was already flooded. It’s really my own fault. I should have known better. I should’ve boarded everything up days ago and given myself time to evacuate. I’ve never been this irresponsible before. It all just…snuck up on me.”

  “Dylan better hope Matilda carries him out to sea.”

  11

  Roman

  I was going insane. Megan had leaned over and was peacefully sleeping on the couch. It was as though she wasn’t bothered at all by the story she’d just dropped at my feet. Her husband was a dick. Worse than a dick. A cowardly, sniveling, lowlife dick. Maybe it bothered me more than it should have, but I couldn’t stop fuming. I wanted to rip out of my skin and find the motherfucker and maul him to shreds.

  Her arm had nasty bruises from him. She’d nearly died alone because of him. I was going to make him pay for hurting her. He’d also pay for making her think it was her duty to assume a masculine role as though her size was a good excuse for him to not step up as a man. Her size was quite perfect in my opinion, and she was all woman.

  I paced around the house, listening to the storm until I was ready to scratch my own eyeballs out. That way, I wouldn’t have to be faced with the constant sight of Megan, the thin boxer shorts she wore riding up ever so slightly. Even those boxers were pissing me off. They belonged to Greg. Not me. I wanted to pull them off her and find something of mine to drape her in. Not his. Fuck Greg, the guy from high school. And fuck her dick of a husband—I wanted to rip that asshole to shreds.

  The eye of the storm has arrived. It should be calm for about fifteen minutes. Want to make it here while you can? Serge sounded strained, even in my head. It was a tense situation not just for me, apparently.

  Maybe. I’ll let you know.

  I was looking down at Megan. She was stunning. Even with her hair curling in every direction and potato chip crumbs dusting her mouth, she was beautiful. She deserved more than she was getting. I may not have known her well, but I knew that much. She was sweet and loyal, despite her husband not deserving her loyalty.

  She groaned and grew restless. Her hands balled into fists on her lap. Her forehead scrunched, her expression was unhappy, and she pursed her lips. Dreaming of something unpleasant, she mumbled in her sleep and then grunted.

  I didn’t like seeing her unhappy, even in her sleep. It bothered me and it bothered my bear. I was already reaching for her when she mumbled her asshole husband’s name and frowned even deeper. My bear growled and I squeezed my eyes shut, needing a second to get him under control, to get myself under control. I didn’t know what it was about the woman that had me so agitated, but I was ready to tear up the place in anger over her mistreatment.

  “Megan, wake up,” I spoke her name gently, not wanting to scare her. Her eyes fle
w open, and when they focused on me, a light smile lifted her lips, and I fought an intense yearning, wanting so badly to draw her back against my chest that my arms ached.

  Husband. What the fuck?

  “The eye of the storm is coming. We can safely make it to my office, if you want.”

  She sat up and rubbed at her eyes. “I want to check on my house.”

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  “And the business.”

  “I don’t know if we’ll have time for both.” I looked at my watch and thought about it. “Maybe, if we’re fast and the water allows it. Otherwise, we’ll get to your house and either bunk there or go on to my office. The rest of my team is there, waiting out the storm.”

  “Your team?”

  I shrugged. “I work at the lifeguard station at the southern end of the island.”

  She nodded, like something made sense to her finally. “That’s why you’re so good at swimming. Okay. When do we go?”

  For whatever reason, I felt uncomfortable lying to her. P.O.L.A.R. was a clandestine league, though. I didn’t have the authority to reveal what we did or who we were just because I thought she was pretty and I was inexplicably attracted to her. “Soon. Does Greg or his wife have any shoes you can wear? Tennis shoes or something that lace up tightly?”

  “I can look.” She arched her back and reached her arms up in the air in a stretch. As she did, the hem of the shirt came up, revealing a sliver of stomach. I swallowed audibly, and she jerked it back in place and stood up. “Sorry.”

  I had more to say to her, more to ask her, but it wasn’t the time. It’d never be the time for what I wanted to say. She was married. I kept my mouth shut and forced myself to look anywhere but at her.

  When she returned a few minutes later, her limp was not as severe as before. “His shoe size is a 10. I don’t think they’ll fit you. And I’m pretty sure his clothes won’t.”

  I looked down at the towel I was wearing and bit back a laugh. “I don’t need shoes. Will they be too big for you?”

  Her cheeks went so red I could see the blush even in the shadows of the house. “No. You should know I have big feet. You held my foot in your hand.”

  I frowned. “Size is relative. They aren’t big to me.”

  She looked like she wanted to argue, but instead she just slid her feet into the shoes and laced them up tight. When she was finished, she stood up and looked around. “I’ll leave a note for Greg. I’m sure he’ll understand that we had no choice but to come in.”

  I didn’t give a fuck about Greg. I didn’t want to say that to her and make her think I was an asshole, though. What’s the word on the eye?

  You better hustle. Dmitry paused. I suggest you avoid the office unless you want a giant fucking headache. Serge and Hannah are bickering because he won’t stop freaking out about her safety. You’re better off weathering Matilda head on.

  Copy that.

  I went to the door and slowly opened it. Sure enough, it was eerily silent outside. No rain, no battering wind. I glanced up and found myself gazing up at a beautiful, starry sky. “We’re in the eye. Come on.”

  “My house is on East Beach.” Megan raced up behind me, looking over my shoulder to see what I was staring at. “Wow. That’s so strange. But cool.”

  I didn’t disagree. “Come on. We’re going to have to swim. I’ll go ahead to make sure there aren’t rip currents.”

  “Wait, what if there are?” She grabbed my arm and shook her head. “Maybe we should just stay put. You don’t have to do this for me. We can stay here and both be safe.”

  I looked down at her, the woman who thought she was big, and wanted to kiss her more than I’d ever wanted to do anything in my life. Was she worried about me? “There’s no need to worry. I’m an incredibly strong swimmer and well trained. Lifeguard, remember?”

  As she stared up at me, I watched her eyes travel to my mouth.

  A gust of wind pushed at my back and I snapped back to reality. She cleared her throat and let go of my arm. “Just…be careful.”

  I wagged my eyebrows at her, wanting to relax her a bit. “We’re in the eye of a hurricane, woman. Telling me to be careful is moot at this point.”

  She grinned at me, I saw just a flash of her true beauty, and then we were off.

  12

  Megan

  Traveling in a hurricane was no fun. The trip to my house took so long that by the time we got to my porch, I felt like Matilda was right behind us, ready to strike up again any second. Sunkissed Key had already taken a beating, from what we’d seen, and she wasn’t done. My house, fortunately, seemed to be okay. Some damage to the roof was evident, but it wasn’t anything I wouldn’t be able to fix myself.

  As soon as we were in the house, I realized a few things right away. Every gust of wind sent the place rocking as though we were on a boat. More than that, I noticed what I’d somehow failed to notice that morning. Things were missing.

  I went from room to room, checking for damage and creating a catalog of the missing items. When I got to the bedroom and looked into the closet, my stomach sank. Dylan’s side was empty. All his clothes and shoes were gone.

  I sat on the edge of my bed and stared at the empty half of the closet. When had he packed his stuff? How had I not noticed? I’d moved into the guestroom, but shouldn’t I have noticed him packing and leaving with his things?

  “Megan?”

  I glanced up and found Roman staring at the half-empty closet, too. I sighed and tried to quickly bury the feelings that were threatening to surface. I wasn’t even sure what they were, but I didn’t want to have my emotions explode in front of Roman.

  I stood up and wiped my hands on Greg’s boxers, like that would wipe away the shock. “Everything seems in order here. Do you think we have time to get to the shop?”

  He shook his head. “It’s already starting up again.”

  I turned my back to the closet and nodded. “Okay. That’s fine. I’m going to put on dry clothes and…I’ll find something for you to wear, too.”

  Like magic, the towel had stayed around Roman’s hips through the trip, but it was soaked and riding so low that I was getting a view of what I was pretty sure was the top of his “down there” hair. And those abs…whew. Danger zone. I turned to the closet and ran my hands through my hair.

  “I’ll find you something.”

  Roman chuckled from behind me. “I don’t think you’ll have anything big enough. Maybe another towel?”

  I glanced back at him and shook my head. “I don’t think I have towels big enough, either.”

  He flashed me a cheeky grin and wagged his brows again. “A sheet?”

  I looked down at my bed and nodded. “Yeah, a sheet would probably do it. Okay, that’ll work.”

  My door closed, and I glanced back to see he’d gone. In just the glow of a vanilla-scented candle, I stripped and changed into a T-shirt and a pair of yoga pants. I kept my back to Dylan’s side as I flipped through clothes, searching for something for Roman.

  The man was just…too big. He had to be close to seven feet tall and so broad chested that there was no way anything I had, even my bloat clothes meant for heavy-flow days, would fit him. I pulled an old baseball cap over my hair and went back into the bedroom.

  The idea of giving Roman a sheet from our bed made me cringe. Dylan had slept with someone else on those sheets. Washed or not, I didn’t want their filth anywhere near Roman. Instead, I went into the guestroom and took the flat sheet off the bed I’d been sleeping in. I told myself that it didn’t mean anything, but the idea of a sheet that had touched my body wrapped around his bare skin sent a wicked shiver through me.

  Downstairs, Roman was in the kitchen, staring into my darkened fridge. There was nothing in there. Nothing fresh anyway, but he’d managed to find a lone beer. The wet towel hanging around him was even lower and I could see the top of his ass.

  “Sheet. I…I brought you a sheet.” I turned away from the view and stammered. “It
’s from my bed.”

  The sound of the wet towel hitting the ground set my blood on fire. Roman was naked behind me and I could see him, in all his glory, if I just looked over my shoulder. I kept my eyes closed just in case I was tempted to try. He wasn’t mine to look at. Why I was feeling so much like a hormonal teenager, I didn’t know.

  When we were leaving Greg’s, I had this feeling that he was going to kiss me. And I wouldn’t have minded. Thankfully he didn’t actually try. Why I would have been willing to let him kiss me, I had no idea. I was married. Even if Dylan had left me.

  That reality helped dampen my mood. My husband left me. He’d also taken things from around the house that weren’t his. Artwork, every TV, the home desktop computer. When had he had time to take the TVs off the walls? It made no sense.

  Again, I had more anger than sorrow. I had half a mind to find him and rip into him about what he’d done. Rip him apart—that’s what I wanted to do if I was being honest with myself. I may have spent several days in denial, avoidance of the mess that was my marriage, but I was ready now to face the reality that my husband was a lying, cheating piece of crap who’d left me and I wanted to repay him for it. I also wanted to not give a shit about what my family would say and not give a shit about what it would feel like to be plunged into divorcehood.

  “You want to talk about it?” Roman’s deep voice was so close that I felt the vibrations in my chest.

  He must have read my expression. I shook my head. I knew that if I opened my mouth, I was going to lose it. Whatever I was feeling was going to fire off like a missile and I didn’t trust myself. I needed to think about everything a little more before I put any of my thoughts out into the world.

  The house swayed harder and I gasped. “Greg’s house didn’t sway this much.”

  Roman put his hand on my shoulder and lightly squeezed, a comforting gesture, or it should’ve been. Instead, warmth radiated down my arm and chest in ways it had no business doing. “We’re okay. Different construction, probably. It stood up to the first half of the storm, it’ll stand up to the second half just as well.”