Untamed Hunger Read online

  Untamed Hunger

  A Paranormal MC Shifter Romance

  By Lee Mae

  Copyright ©2017 Lee Mae

  Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this ebook are products of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  Untamed Hunger

  He’s a wild and dangerous shifter on a motorcycle. She’s a feisty full-figured waitress trying to rebuild her life. Both have something to hide; neither is willing to let go.

  Can two people with so many secrets ever learn to trust again?

  Warning: This novel contains mature content intended for readers 18 years of age or older.

  Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  1

  “Jillian. He’s here,” Keri said in a stage whisper. One that was loud enough for the entire diner to hear.

  She knew exactly who Keri was talking about. And, without turning around, knew exactly he’d be doing - swinging one long, lean leg over the counter stool at her station. It was the same motion he used to climb onto his motorcycle and sexy as hell. After sitting down at the counter, he’d grab a menu, even though he always ordered the exact same thing, which was coffee. Black. Then he’d run a hand through that ebony, thick hair of his, and hunch his shoulders while glancing down at the greasy plastic in his hands. Whether he was really reading it or it, it didn’t really matter. He only ordered coffee.

  A shiver of anticipation ran through her and she briefly closed her eyes, as she thought about what came next.

  It always took her breath away.

  She’d stop in front of him, pad and pen ready, and he’d look up at her.

  The first time it happened, she felt like she had when she’d been a little kid and had gone ass end over the handlebars of her bike, landing hard on the pavement. It had taken a small eternity to draw that first painful breath, afterward. She’d believed she was lying dead in front of old Mrs. Perkin’s house and just knew her mom was going to kill her for it. She’d almost forgotten that feeling until looking into his blue eyes for the first time. They were the color of the ocean, and just about as deep. For several seconds, she’d been unable to breathe, much less ask him what he wanted to order.

  “Jillian…your guy is waiting,” reminded Keri in an amused voice.

  She shook herself, and shot her a dirty look.

  Amused, Keri winked, giggled, and flounced her way to the other end of the counter.

  She approached him, knowing now to breathe in, before he looked up. “Ready to order?” she asked with a smile.

  He’d been coming in since Monday, and she’d said the same thing, exactly five times. Mentally, she kicked herself. Was it so hard to think of something, anything, other than that?

  He looked up at her, and the blue eyes did their magic. “Coffee, please. Black,” he replied, returning her smile.

  Trying to appear competent, she nodded, then made the effort to write something on her pad. The word might have been coffee.

  He reached to put the menu back, but it slipped out of the metal holder on the counter. She reached for the menu at the same time he did, and his fingers brushed against hers. What happened next hit her like a tidal wave. Images flashed in her mind: teeth, claws, dark orange, and black fur.

  She staggered back, and the menu hit the floor with a slap. Stunned, she looked at it lying there, as if it was responsible for what she had seen.

  The front door jingled, and more customers walked in, startling her back to reality. Turning, she stumbled away from him. Her knees were weak, her breathing all messed up again.

  He was like her.

  A tiger shifter.

  “You okay?” Keri’s hand on her elbow startled her, and she blinked at her friend.

  “Um, yeah. Lost my…footing. Slipped. I’m fine.”

  “Okay. You had me worried there for a second,” Keri lowered her voice and smirked. “Let me guess. He wants coffee? Black?”

  Nodding, she made it to the coffee pot and grabbed a cup, her hand trembling and her mind racing. Either she was slipping, or he knew how to block who and what he was from the rest of the world. Including anyone that might pose a threat.

  She was almost certain that he had no clue she was a shifter. It was the first thing her Alpha had taught her - to mask everything that might give away her true self. With humans, keeping that secret was a piece of cake. With other shifters, it was a whole different story. But, over the years, she’d gotten pretty damn good at it.

  But why, suddenly, was she able to sense who he was? Had he dropped his guard accidentally, or on purpose? Gotten lazy, made a slip?

  Or did he think he was the only shifter around?

  Her brows drew together. The guy was more questions, than answers. She shook her head and poured his coffee, slopping only a little into the saucer.

  “Here you go.” She set the coffee in front of him, and hesitated, wavering between walking away, and the overwhelming urge to ask him who the hell he was, and why he was sitting at her section, day after day.

  But before she had the chance, all hell broke loose.

  2

  “What the hell’s wrong with the coffee here? Why do you have to go out to get it?”

  Gunner glanced over at his boss. Reece was sitting on the edge of his wooden desk, heavy brows drawn together, holding a dirty carburetor from a Harley in his hand. The desk behind him held an assortment of tools, rags, and other motorcycle parts in various stages of disassembly. Gunner wondered if Reece ever did any work in the shop. Every time he’d gone looking for his boss, he’d find him here, perched on the edge of his distressed, beat-up old desk, and tinkering.

  “I go out for coffee because this…” Gunner held up the half-full glass coffee pot which swirled with inky liquid. The smell of burned coffee mixed and mingled with the years of accumulated oil, grease and sweat permeating throughout the shop. “This is not coffee. We have motor oil that’s thinner than this.” He set the pot back on the burner.

  “You know, Gunner, if you weren’t such a good mechanic…” The older man shook his head.

  Gunner grunted. “If I weren’t such a good mechanic, what? You’d throw me out?”

  Reece gave Gunner a rueful smile. “Yeah, I know, I’d still be stuck with you. You’re family.”

  “Which is also why I put up with your shit,” Gunner countered, smirking.

>   Used to his cockiness, Reece waved a grease-stained hand in Gunner’s general direction. “Go then, so you can get your ass back and do some work. We have three new bikes in for work. One of them is for Malone, and I don’t want that slacker Grady working on it.”

  “Got it.”

  Gunner left the shop, striding down the sidewalk. The mid-morning sun was warm, the breeze carrying just a hint of spring flower scents. He drew a deep breath, wishing, not for the first time, that the diner was far enough away to ride his Harley. But a half-block didn’t warrant taking it out, as much as he wanted to. He’d done it once, and felt foolish. It had taken longer to park the damn thing, then it did to ride it over. He decided to take it for a spin after work, when the sun was setting. It would have to do.

  Betty’s wasn’t the only diner within walking distance, and the coffee certainly wasn’t the reason he went there each day. He could have even done without the coffee, but wasn’t about to give up his daily fix of the waitress who worked the breakfast shift. Coffee was the only excuse Gunner could come up with for going there.

  He’d wandered in one day, sat at the counter, and grabbed a menu out of habit. When the female voice asked if he was ready to order, he’d looked up, and lost the power of speech.

  She’d taken his breath away. Blonde hair and curvy. Really curvy. And those curves had been in all the right places.

  But it was her eyes that had taken it to the next level. They were gray, a shade bordering on silver, a ring that was almost black circling the iris. She’d held Gunner’s gaze, and he’d seen her pupils dilate. Even though he’d been tongue-tied, apparently some of his charm wasn’t lost on her either.

  “Coffee, please. Black.” He’d managed to get the words out, that first day, and then she was gone, off to fetch it. He’d watched her walk away. Tried not to stare. Gave up, and then gave in. Ten feet of that view was worth the price of a crappy cup of coffee.

  He’d kicked himself and every day since, for not coming up with something original. Hell, even just something else.

  Women didn’t do this to him. Why did she?

  Women—and motorcycles—were his vice. He’d dated more women than he could remember. Even loved a few of them. One more than he’d care to think about.

  But this girl, Jillian, according to her nametag, did something else to him. She confused him. Scrambled his brain and his body. Every nerve, and fiber of his being, tingled when she drew close. He became breathless, tongue-tied, and if that wasn’t bad enough, hornier than all hell.

  It was the same today. The breathless anticipation. The buildup, as he watched her work behind the counter. Gunner couldn’t take his eyes off her. He loved the feminine, graceful slant of her neck and the profile of her gorgeous face. Her up-turned nose, and those long lashes. Coming or going, she was stunning.

  Her back was to him as he sat down, but he knew she sensed his presence. Even without the other waitress’s announcement, Jillian knew he was there. Behind her. Waiting.

  “Coffee, please. Black,” he’d told her, for the fifth time. Like a dipshit. He groaned inwardly. He’d had another line ready but had forgotten it.

  She smiled and it was enough to fluster him. He fumbled the menu, while trying to stick it into the ridiculous metal holder on the counter. They both reached out at the same time and that’s when their hands touched. In that instant, he knew exactly what she was and why his reaction to her was so severe.

  She was like him.

  A shifter.

  A young one, but clearly capable of masking herself, and doing a pretty damned good job. Or he’d just been too overwhelmed by the curves and the eyes that he’d missed it completely before.

  She came back with his coffee and hesitated afterward. He almost thought she was going to say something and had held his breath in anticipation. But then the bell jingled above and someone walked in. Jillian looked toward the doorway and the expression on her face became a mask of shock and fear.

  “Are you okay?” Gunner asked, straightening up.

  3

  The bell above the door distracted her for a split second. She looked up out of habit, and the question she’d finally formed, the question for the mystery man at the counter, died on her lips. The trembling she’d felt, the sweet, hot excitement caused the guy with the blue eyes, was replaced with a surge of adrenaline. And a healthy dose of fear.

  Adrian was here. That could only mean one thing.

  He’d tracked her down, and had come to take her back to the clan. And that was the last thing she wanted.

  “Are you okay?”

  She was vaguely aware the guy at the counter was talking to her, but his voice was just a distant rumble. Every sense she had was focused on the man standing in the doorway. She took in the three-piece, custom made Italian silk suit. The pristine white shirt. And, even though she couldn’t see his shoes, she knew they were also handmade. Probably from the hide of some rare animal, and costing more than what she made a year in tips.

  Eyes locked on Adrian, who hadn’t yet noticed her, she sidled down the counter, and almost made it to the swinging doors to the kitchen. But then he saw her.

  Their eyes met, and she saw in that instant that he just might not be so interested in taking her back. The look of recognition, quickly followed by pure black rage. It definitely told her that Adrian would rather take her out back, and get rid of her slowly.

  Piece by piece.

  It shouldn’t have surprised her. She had, after all, left him at the altar.

  Her feet suddenly rooted themselves to the floor. Fear wound its numbing fingers around her body, as he took a step in her direction.

  Run, she told herself. Get out of there.

  But, she couldn’t move.

  Adrian bellowed her real name angrily, his voice cutting through the clatter and din of the diner.

  Everyone stopped to look at him. In that moment of silence, she could hear her own heartbeat and the sound of her breath as it passed through her parted lips.

  Still pinning her with his eyes, he began moving toward her and all she could do was stare. At the last minute, however, his path was blocked by the guy sitting at the counter, who now stood facing Adrian.

  “If you have some kind of problem, you’d better think twice about dealing with it in here. You’re upsetting the other customers.” The guy’s voice was low and controlled. It radiated a power that surprised her. It didn’t hurt that he had a couple inches on Adrian. And that was bad. Adrian was vain about his height as it was.

  Adrian glared at him. “Like I give a fuck. And who the hell are you?” The edge to his voice was razor-sharp; she recognized by the pitch that he was close to losing it. With Adrian, that usually left someone—usually her—bloody and bruised.

  “I’m nobody. Just a guy trying to keep you from a mistake that you just might regret.”

  Adrian barked out a cruel laugh, then tried to push past the guy, who stopped him with a firm hand to the chest. He looked down, his face darkening. “Take your paw off my shirt, you stinking animal. She’s mine and I’m not leaving without her.”

  The stranger did remove his hand from the white shirt, only to grab his expensive tie. The crazy thought, that the deep blood-red silk was one of Adrian’s favorites, flashed through her mind.

  The guy jerked it hard, pulling Adrian forward. She almost didn’t see what happened, but the loud crack of bone against bone, along with Adrian dropping to the floor, told her he’d given Adrian a hard head butt.

  Before she could recover, the customer vaulted over the counter, landing lightly a few feet from her.

  “Come on,” he said, staring down at her. “Let’s get you out of here before your friend comes too. It’s obvious that he wishes you harm.”

  Stunned at the turn of events, she just stared at him.

  Noticing her inability to communicate, he grabbed her arm and dragged her through the swinging doors into the steamy, and chaotic kitchen.

  Glen, the fry co
ok, gawked as they ran past, holding a spatula in one hand, like some bizarre greeting, the eggs burning on the grill.

  They burst through the back door into the alley. She blinked in the bright sun, momentarily disoriented. Then the full weight of what just happened crashed down and she sagged against the dingy cinderblock wall, knees as rubbery as the diner’s lunchtime Jell-O.

  “You really shouldn’t have done that to Adrian. Really,” she mumbled.

  “It was obvious that he was about to start some trouble in there. Why are you afraid of him?”

  She shook her head, hands resting on her knees. Fainting seemed an imminent possibility, but probably not the wisest move, considering the situation.

  “It’s complicated. You should probably leave before you get hurt.”

  He leaned down on one knee. “Don’t worry about me. I can definitely take care of myself, if you haven’t noticed. It’s you I’m worried about.”

  She looked up at him. “I suppose you can, being a shifter, and all.”

  For the first time, the guy’s cocky façade cracked, and he blinked at her. “Since when did you know?”

  “Just today.” She held up her hand. “When we touched.”

  “That’s when I realized the same thing about you, too,” he replied.

  She suddenly stiffened and her ears tingled. Over the noise of the diner’s exhaust fan, she heard the unmistakable bellow of Adrian’s voice calling her name.

  The guy’s head jerked around; she was pretty sure he’d heard it, too.

  Panicking, she stood up straight. “I can’t stay here. He’s not going to go away peacefully. I could use your help. Um, what the hell is your name, anyway?”

  “Gunner Hastings. Is your name really Jillian?” He pointed to the nametag, now hanging askew on her uniform. “He called you Claire.”

  She glanced down, yanked it off, and pitched it into the dumpster. “That’s my real name. Claire Emerson.”