Alpha Me Not Read Free

stretched an arm to the coatrack and grabbed a denim saddlebag from a hook, adjusted the purse’s strap, snatched keys from a china saucer, and announced, “’Kay, cowboy. Let’s rustle.”
    “Huh?” He knew what she was about, but playing possum would get them halfway to where he wanted. “Care to explain?”
    “Let’s have dinner and establish a truce. But it’ll have to be quick. I have to study for a test tomorrow.”
    “No problem.” He folded his arms and leaned on the door frame. “You might want to grab a jacket. When the sun sets—”
    “For cripes sake. I’m an adult, not a child. And you sound exactly like my brother.” She twisted back and snatched a denim jacket from a chair. “Terri said I was not to bug you about your occupation, but that I’d get a kick out of it. So what is it exactly that you do for a living?”
    Fuck, she deserved to be spanked. Hard. He imagined those high ass cheeks pinkened and hand-imprinted, and salivated. “I’m a mercenary.”
    “Huh? Really?” She rounded on him after pulling the door shut. Got right up in his face. “You really are, aren’t you? Hen’s feathers. A mercenary.”
    “Yeah. Well, that’s all you’ll get from me on that front. Have you eaten at Mama Maria’s?” He shortened his stride when they began walking down to the main road.
    “What do you mean that’s all you’ll say? That’s not fair. I mean, how often does a gal meet a real mercenary?”
    “Once in a lifetime. And that’s it. No more going there. Back to Mama’s—you really haven’t ordered anything from them? And you’ve been living here for two weeks?”
    “Three days. I signed the lease two weeks ago, but Terri had to put stuff into storage, and then there was a mix-up with the keys.”
    “Mix-up?” He resisted the urge to curl an arm around her narrow waist and cup her butt, feel the muscles flex into his palm.
    “Terri’s flight got rescheduled, and she left the keys with Mr. Arnold, who fell and broke his hip.” She gave a slight head shake, and her glossy hair twirled over his bicep.
    Maybe he could talk her into doing a little whip and tickle action with those silky strands later.
    “Long story. Not worth it, believe me. Suffice it to say, I moved in on Thursday. And no, to answer your first question, I’ve not had the pleasure of eating at Mama Maria’s.”
    He’d run into a roller-coaster conversation maze. “Mr. Arnold?”
    She waved a hand. “Told you. Not worth it. Terri says Mama Maria’s is a treasure. She said you could OD on the aromas and that the plating is incredibly inventive. And that no one does a better osso bucco. I love osso bucco.”
    Joe hadn’t gotten past the dreamy, semiorgasmic expression on her face when she said the word love , and that was applied to food. What in heck would her expression be when she said I love your cock? Blood rushed to his balls.
    She looked fantastic, and she smelled wonderful too—spicy, musky, and sweet, with a hint of tomatoes. His dick stiffened, and he clenched his jaw and willed the wayward organ flaccid. He prided himself on his discipline, on his ability to control his sexual urges, and he never sported an unwanted boner. Never.
    “Do you eat there often?”
    “Almost always when I’m in town. I’m not much of a cook. Mama’s is what a mom-and-pop restaurant’s supposed to be. Warm and friendly with mouthwatering, home-cooked food.”
    “Real home-cooked?” She turned to meet his gaze.
    “From scratch. The sauce, the pasta. Everything. Mama is one of those old-fashioned Italian matriarchs. Rules the family with a velvet fist.”
    Her forehead creased. “Don’t you mean iron?”
    “Nope. Velvet. You’ll see what I mean after the first five minutes. How’d you end up renting Terri’s place?”
    “It was a real stroke of luck. She was searching for a house sitter, and I needed a cheap place to live. It’s a bit of a pain being so far from the university, but the bus service is