Curves For The Lone Alpha (A Big Girl Meets Bad Wolf Romance) Read Free

the cabin. My
teeth were chattering and my legs felt like they were about to give way, but I
just wanted to get inside and lock the door before the wolf came back.
    The bike got louder as it drew closer. It was the noisy
hammering of what my father referred to as a “real” bike, not the smooth
mechanical purr of “imported crap”. There were a couple more cabins a few miles
down the road and I expected the noise of the engine to start fading as it
passed, on its way to one of those. I was wrong. Instead the engine cut out
right outside the door.
    For the briefest moment I thought it might be Mitch. That
he’d come back to me, but that made no sense whatsoever. He’d burnt his
bridges, he wasn’t coming back and he wouldn’t be caught dead on a motorbike.
    My stomach clenched in fear. What had I been thinking coming
out here all alone? A demented biker serial killer, all beard and tattoos,
could take all weekend to torture me and feed me to his giant pet wolf and no
one would even miss me until I didn’t show up at work on Monday. Even then
they’d probably just assume I was in hiding. Ashamed to show my face after the
abrupt termination of my engagement.
    Oh God ... he might not even kill me. He could take me
back to his secret rape shack, lock me up and wait for me to go insane. I doubt
it would take very long.
    When the inevitable knock at the door came I had to bite my
lip to keep a squeak of terror from escaping. I just stood in the middle of the
kitchen. Dripping wet and naked except for a towel around my shoulders.
    “Hey... hello. Hello?”
    I just stood there. As if he’d forget I was here if he
couldn’t sense movement. Never mind the fact that there was a pickup in the
drive and all the lights were on. My first thought was that he didn’t sound like a serial killer, but any security that afforded me was long gone by the
time I decided that the ones who didn’t sound like a serial killer were
probably the ones who never got caught.
    Just a minute . I mouthed, but didn’t say it out loud,
as I made my way across the floor to the bedroom to grab an oversized
nightshirt and pull it on over my still damp body.
    If there’s one thing that scares me more than serial
killers, it’s the idea of someone I don’t know seeing my big pale body in all
its naked glory.
    There was another knock.
    “I’m sorry about intruding like this but it’s uh... serious
official business.”
    “Oh if it’s serious official business , by all means come
on in and let the torture commence,” I muttered to myself.
    “Right... I’m heading around back.”
    Oh shit. Around back . I’d left the patio doors wide
open. At least the front door was locked and had a security chain.
    “Wait... wait... I’m coming. I was just... something,” I
said.
    I almost slipped on the wet floor as I headed to the front
door and, chain in place, opened it a crack.
    Why hello there handsome.
    OK look. I probably sound like a bit of a hypocrite with all
this self pity and my completely rational fear of hillbilly serial killers on
motorbikes, but Mr. Serious Official Business was seriously cute. I’m not the
kind of girl who’ll just lay back and spread them at the first sign of stubble
and a square jaw, but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate hot manliness when I
see it through a crack in a chained door.
    “Ma’am, uh hello Ma’am,” he said.
    The accent  was kind
of cute and suggested he was a very long way from home.
    “Is your husband here?”
    “No it’s just...”
    For a second I was going to tell him that I was all alone.
As if I had been rendered stupid by some primal need to inform a handsome
stranger that I was alone, newly single and currently available even if it
meant letting them know I was defenceless.
    “... my boyfriend. He’s asleep in the bedroom. It was a long
drive and he’s sleeping... in the bedroom... on the bed.”
    The man at the door swore under his breath then paused, his
brow furrowed.
    “You