The Cougar and the Wolf

Table of Contents

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

About the Author

Stratton Wolves: Book Two

The Cougar and the Wolf

Mina Carter

September 2012

Published by Summerhouse Publishing. Copyright, Mina Carter. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.

Summerhouse Publishing

http://summerhousepublishing.com

Editor

Chris Stout

Cover Artist

Mina Carter

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Chapter One

 

“Fuck it!"

Today was obviously not her day. Or yesterday, or the day before that. In fact, this whole freaking
month
hadn’t been her month. With a sigh, Kristen Mann tucked her dyed red hair behind her ears and glared at the smoke trickling from under the hood of her car.

Leaning back against the door, she ferreted about in her pocket for her cell phone. How fucking clichéd could it get? Single woman broken down on the side of the highway, needing help? She scowled as she pulled the phone from jeans that felt spray-painted on thanks to the heat and swore as she snagged a nail. Fucking extensions. She’d be glad to be rid of them now that she wasn’t filming. The hair extensions were already gone, thank God, leaving her hair swinging against her neck in a riot of curls.

Along with the hair, she was free of the layers of makeup and the ridiculous wardrobe the last movie, a sci-fi romance, had required. Forget the out of this world costumes of other franchises, the director had wanted ‘Bigger, darling, and better. Out of this
universe!

Which meant Kristen had spent most of the last month with what amounted to a jewelled colander on her head, avoiding the octopus hands of the film’s male lead, Todd Stone.

A veteran of the film industry, and
the
sex symbol for the last decade, under the smile and charm Stone was a letch. Pure and simple. She’d lost count of the times he’d grabbed her ass, or tried to grope her breasts as they were filming. Each day had become an exercise in avoidance, and within a week she’d become a master at standing just out of reach, or getting objects between them. It had turned into a game with the other actresses on set, those playing her character’s retinue of hand-maidens. A book was run over who could get the best block in on Stone, with points awarded for inventiveness and actually getting the guy to squeak on set when his hand, or other appendages, were crushed.

But there were times when she couldn’t avoid him. She shuddered, recalling the incident at the end of filming when he’d managed to trap her alone in her dressing room. His hot breath on her neck, the thick bar of his cock pressed against her ass as he whispered.
“Come on baby, let me show you a good time.”

She hadn’t been interested to start with. Stone was just too slick and polished, a product of the relentless Hollywood machine. She’d been even less interested when he’d ground his cock against her ass and followed up with,
“I’ve heard all about you, you’re a dirty little girl, aren’t you? I’ve been looking forward to this.”

She knew what he was referring to. Twice divorced, her first has been from a domineering agent who’d tried to control her and her sky-rocketing career. Ex-husband number two was a wanna-be actor who’d latched onto her coat-tails until she’d seen what he was after. They’d both seen what Stone was seeing: the sultry, sensual on-screen persona that was nothing like the real woman beneath.

Unfortunately most people only saw ‘Krystal Kerr’ the siren. So far she’d been named in at least two high profile Hollywood divorces and linked with the break-down of a politician’s marriage. The first two she could kind of see, since she’d worked with the two actors, even if they’d never met socially. Since the third was a woman she’d never met, and Krystal had never given any indication of being that way inclined, she had no clue what was going on there. Probably a slack day in the news room.

She closed her eyes as the anger she’d felt then rolled through her again.
“It’ll be real good, I promise.”

Hiding her fury, she’d turned, all sultry-like and slid her hand between them to cup his balls. Instead of the fondle he’d obviously expected, she tightened her grip, yanking upwards to hiss into his face. “
Never
touch me again. Or I’ll perform a little surgery via acrylic nail, understand me?”

The look on his face had been priceless. Like a guppy out of water as he struggled with the twin assaults on his person and on his ego. When she’d let him go, he’d scuttled off and sulked for the entire wrap party. As a result the female cast had a blast and got drunk without being worried about Stone cornering one of them. Kristen had won the pool by unanimous decision, but donated it all to the local animal shelter. She had more than enough money. Her fee for that film alone was a ridiculous amount.

Some of which she really should have spent on a better damn car. She cast another glare over her shoulder at the smoke now starting to peter out and sighed. It wasn’t the car’s fault. She’d walked onto the first car lot she’d seen and picked it purely on colour. The bright yellow had appealed to her inner child and even though it screamed ‘look at me’ she didn’t care. No one would be looking for world-famous screen siren Krystal Kerr in a second hand motor driving across country, so she figured she’d be safe.

Safe from media attention, maybe, but not from acts of God, mechanical breakdown or normal attention. At least no one knew exactly where in small-town America she was from, so she wasn’t likely to find paparazzi on the doorstep when she arrived.

Brought back to reality, she smiled and gave a thumbs-up as another vehicle slowed down, the driver leaning out of the window with a look of concern on his face.

“Yeah, woman broken down…I got it, thanks bud,” she muttered to herself behind the smile, holding up her cell phone and indicating the billboard she’d pulled up in front of.
Roberts and McLachlan,
it read in big, bold letters.
Tyres, services and breakdowns a speciality.

“Please be open,” she muttered as she punched the number into her cell. Within seconds the call was answered, the male voice on the other end sounding older but very polite as he quickly took her details and location. Relief filled her as she hung up. Someone in a tow-truck would be with her shortly. The last thing she wanted was to make Kelli have to come out and fetch her, especially since she was a day earlier than she said she’d be.

Friends since childhood, they’d kept in touch over the years via phone and email but this would be the first time Krystal had actually seen Kelli in the flesh for around five years. It hadn’t mattered though. As soon as she’d emailed to say she needed a break, to get away from it all, Kelli had responded instantly wanting to know when she was arriving and assuring her that she and her husband, Max, would be delighted to have her stay as long as she needed to.

Max Daniels. Oh my, she hadn’t thought of him in years. Tucking her phone back into her pocket, she couldn’t resist a smile. Kelli had always had a thing about Max, but she’d never been able to see the appeal herself. But then, both Max and Kelli were werewolves and Kelli had assured her that, for a wolf, Max was like…Brad Pitt, Tom Cruise and every other Hollywood heart-throb rolled into one. Yeah, right. She’d seen the real thing up close and personal and it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Plus, she didn’t like the smell of wet dog.

No wolves for her, thank you very much.

The roar of an engine approaching made her turn around and a broad smile curved her lips as she saw the unmistakable outline of a tow-truck heading her way. There was a God. At this rate she’d be able to have a hot bath and a large glass of wine in her hand within the hour.

She reached into the car for her purse and turned as the truck pulled up, kicking up a cloud of dust from the baked dirt.
Roberts & McLachlan
was emblazoned on the door, yellow bright against the green bodywork as the door opened and a pair of denim-clad legs emerged, heavy boots hitting the dirt as the owner jumped down from the cab.

Big boots. Very big boots. What did they say about the size of a man’s feet? That it was a spoiler to the size of ahh…other equipment? She reigned in her enthusiasm, remembering that the guy on the phone had sounded positively ancient. No doubt his partner was as well. Her long neglected libido might need a hunky mechanic coming to her rescue, but practicality demanded that her rescuer actually be good at his job, rather than just look good.

The door slammed shut and her gaze made a leisurely journey up the denim. Long, lean legs with nicely muscled thighs led into lean hips and a narrow waist. Her breath caught as she moved upward to a chest barely contained in the black skinny fit t-shirt up to a face she’d have expected to find on set rather than in the ass-end of beyond.

“Fuck me…” she breathed. She’d walked right into a jeans commercial.

* * *

Whatever Kyle Roberts had expected when the call had come through from his uncle, it hadn’t been to rescue a living legend. Life had taken on a surreal edge when he’d driven up to the breakdown just outside town to find Krystal Kerr, or someone who looked very much like her, leaning against the side of a bright yellow sedan as though she was just waiting for someone to shout ‘Lights, camera, action’ or whatever it was they shouted.

Taking his time putting the truck in park, he let his gaze linger. It
was
Krystal Kerr. There was no mistaking the long, long legs, or that stacked figure. Not a stick insect by any stretch of the imagination, she had the sort of figure a classical screen siren would have envied and then some. A body that made a man feel like dropping to his knees in worship. A sultry, perfect face with lips he’d spent many a spare moment fantasising about. Mostly what they’d feel like under his, what they’d taste like as he ravaged them with kisses. What they’d look and feel like wrapped around his cock…

“Fuck.”

Shaking his head, Kyle brought himself back to the present and opened the door. What the hell a world famous actress was doing calling for breakdown recovery out here in the middle of nowheresville he had no idea, but he didn’t intend to keep her waiting.

Dropping the few feet to the ground, he slammed the door shut and strolled over. Shoving a hand into his overlong hair, he grimaced. As usual it was a freaking mess.

“Hey there,” he smiled as he approached, aware that his six four frame tended to scare some females. Seemed he was always slouching, or standing with his feet apart to minimise his appearance and the perceived threat level. Something the wolf buried deep inside chuffed at in disgust. What the wolf wanted and keeping customers happy tended to be two different things. Since he relied on his job to keep a roof over his head, he sternly told the creature to be quiet and tried his best, charming smile on the vision in front of him. “Understand you’re in a spot of bother there?”

Fuck, she was gorgeous. He’d seen every film she’d been in, had seen her in wide-screen, high-definition at the cinema, close enough to see the threads of silver in her dark grey eyes, but nothing prepared him for the impact of that silver-laced gaze as she settled it on him.

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