His Trust Read online

  His Trust

  Collin & Mia (Savage Hope Duet, Book 1)

  C.M. Wick

  Christa Wick

  Contents

  Book Description

  1. Mia

  2. Collin

  3. Mia

  4. Collin

  5. Mia

  6. Collin

  7. Mia

  8. Collin

  9. Mia

  10. Collin

  11. Mia

  12. Mia

  13. Collin

  14. Mia

  15. Mia

  16. Collin

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  Also by C.M. Wick

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2019 by Christa Wick

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, this book and any portion thereof may not be reproduced, scanned, reverse-engineered, decompiled, transferred, or distributed in any print or electronic form without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Participation in any aspect of piracy of copyrighted materials, inclusive of the downloading and obtainment of this book through non-retail or other unauthorized means, is in actionable violation of the author’s rights.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, media, brands, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and registered trademark owners of all branded names referenced without TM, SM, or (R) symbols due to formatting constraints, and is not claiming ownership of or collaboration with said trademark brands. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is purely coincidental.

  Published by Evergreen Books Publishing

  Copy edits and line edits by GBI Author Services

  Proofreading by Rosa Sharon

  Cover design by Violet Duke

  Previously published as Smoke & Curves, 1 & 2 by Christa Wick (c) 2013.

  Book Description

  * Book 1 of 2 in the Savage Hope Duet *

  He thinks I’m a corporate spy.

  Me—plump, boring Mia James. Yes, I omitted an advanced degree on my resume, but being overqualified to be able to pay rent wasn’t how I was going to start my newly single (okay, newly dumped) life.

  Do I regret doing it? Seeing as how I got a junior secretary position in my field, for the private military company run by billionaire badass CEO Collin Stark no less, I’m going to go with ‘no.’ No regrets here. Which is what I basically tell Mr. Stark when he starts questioning my motives.

  Did I mention he’s an ex-Army interrogator? Or that he’s too intense to put into words? While it’s obvious he doesn’t trust me, that’s probably a good thing. Because something tells me if that hot, hardened man were to ever fully trust a woman, his intensity level over her would be...off the charts.

  * * * * *

  She thinks I haven’t noticed her all this time. Hell, I’d have to be missing both a brain and functioning balls to overlook the quietly enigmatic woman who’s clearly too smart and skilled to be working in any entry-level capacity for me.

  I don’t want to believe Mia’s capable of corporate espionage. But given the evidence, it’s hard to think otherwise. Not that I seem to be capable of a whole lot of rational thought when I’m around her. She’s my own curves-for-days kryptonite—which just makes her that much more dangerous.

  Is it possible my enemies planted a woman in my company to seduce me (in the most awkwardly tempting way possible)? In the past, I would’ve said no way in hell. But after getting a taste of just how hot Mia can burn, I’m starting to see it’s definitely possible…and damn worth it, either way.

  * * * * *

  NOTE: While this is the Collin Stark (CEO of Stark International) mentioned throughout the Savage Trust series, the events of his story actually takes place prior to Wrecked, Scarred, and Frayed. Be advised that Collin and Mia’s story is a two-part 80K word duet. This is Book 1. Book 2 takes place six months after the end of this book, and as such, the books need to be read in order.

  The Savage Hope Duet

  His Trust (Book 1)

  Her Heart (Book 2)

  Previously published as Smoke & Curves, Books 1 & 2 (c) 2013, and previously part of the Undeniably His bundled collection (c) 2013, revised throughout with freshly added content, changed/different story scenes, and a new extended ending.

  1

  Mia

  Returning from the mail room with the day's last post, I froze in front of Janice Green's desk. In her late fifties, with a six-year history as the senior executive secretary to the CEO of Stark International, Janice exemplified grace under pressure. Right then, however, she looked like a heavily sedated deer facing an oncoming freight train.

  Janice and I both reported to Collin Stark, the CEO and majority shareholder of the company he had founded a decade earlier. Looking at the building's façade and understated logo, few people would suspect the company was responsible for the safety of the heads of state all over the world. Or that the reason why Stark International was in such demand in the highly competitive world of private military security was because Mr. Stark wasn't above going in guns blazing for any client, any job. Literally. As in, he’d be the one in tactical gear leading a hostage rescue himself.

  Given all that, accordingly, he held each of his employees to equally demanding standards.

  Retribution for screwing up was immediate.

  Since Janice wasn't loading her personal belongings into a cardboard box with building security glaring over her shoulder, the screw-up—if there was one—had to be me. The new kid on the block, Stark had promoted me to working below Janice in his office a month prior. All total, I had less than half a year of service at Stark International.

  Getting fired wasn’t an option for me financially; I was barely making ends meet as is.

  Running a quick mental inventory of my projects, I searched for anything I might have missed or misdirected. Nothing suggested itself. Janice only entrusted the most menial tasks to me during my training phase. If the quality of my work wasn't at issue, then there was only one thing left. The one thing I was really hoping wouldn’t come back to bite me in the ass.

  My resume.

  I started to roll my lips, a bad tell that got the better of me whenever I became nervous, which didn’t happen often considering my highly uneventful life. But when my anxiety went up, the speed of my blinking inevitably did, too. That, coupled the blushing I couldn’t seem to control when I even thought about Mr. Stark, I had to look guilty of first degree everything.

  Gulping, I tried to center my energy while telling myself I had nothing to worry about. I didn't make up any jobs, any education or inflate any grades or academic honors. Nothing I adjusted on my resume was done to make me look better.

  It was the exact opposite, actually.

  To make myself look less qualified in my last round of job hunting interviews, I omitted the fact that I had finished both my undergraduate degree and master's. In this tough job market, overqualified people did it all the time.

  And it worked, too. I was able to get an entry-level job I wouldn’t have been considered for otherwise.

  That said, something told me Mr. Stark would not see things my way. The man was a complete hard-ass when it came to, well, everything, really. He would undoubtedly view an omission as a deception, since I’d intentionally left those facts out. Uncompromising when it came to anything that caused him to question whether he could trust a person, he was every inch the kind of man who valued honesty and loyalty above all else.
Fail him on one or the other and his wrath would be nothing short of obliterating.

  We’d all seen it happen in one form or another, the stories about him almost legendary.

  At this point, I’d advanced from rolling my lips to downright chewing at them as I stared over at the polished steel doors led into Mr. Stark's inner sanctum, the same doors Janice had just exited looking like she’d just witnessed some of Mr. Stark’s icy fury firsthand.

  The fact that the entire building hadn’t been buzzing all day about something meant that whatever was going on was either a very personal problem or still restricted to the CEO's office.

  I had noticed Janice being reluctant to even meet my eyes all day. Now I knew why.

  Standing, Janice shouldered her bag and gave me a tight smile. "Mr. Stark wants to see you in his office."

  My stomach dropped, but with a threat to surge back up just as quickly and splatter the contents of a late lunch across Janice's tidy desk. "Did I do something wrong?"

  Ignoring my question altogether, she said simply, "Don't make him wait." Lips pressed tightly together, she added with dooming finality, "Good luck, dear."

  With that, she vacated the floor, leaving me to my fate. Still holding the mail I’d brought back from my last mail run, I moved to the double doors, my hand poised to knock when I heard the lock disengage. Of course. The entire building was wired with security cameras. From his desk, Mr. Stark could monitor every camera at Stark International, as well as live feeds from operations around the world.

  My stomach did another flip as I pushed against the heavy steel and stopped just inside the doors. With my boss’s ruggedly intense attention wholly focused on his computer tablet at the moment, I had a few seconds to study his expression for clues.

  He didn't appear ready to blow a gasket. Of course, he didn't actually blow up at people, he iced them out. Still, maybe I was over-reacting, letting my fertile imagination run away with me. It could be a late fax or a dropped email, something relatively small for which I could plead for mercy.

  His laser-like focus directed at his work, there was no hint of mercy in the way he held himself. If he hadn't just let me into the room, I would have sworn he had no idea I was there. Of course, that was part of his game and he was a master at it. A former military interrogator assigned to special operations, he had carved out a billion dollar company at the tip of a long, sharp knife after leaving active duty with eight years in service.

  Volumes on military strategies, psychological warfare and interrogation strategies crowded the wall-to-wall bookshelf behind his desk. Cleaning crews weren't allowed in the office. As the junior secretary, that task fell to me, so I had read the title of every book on his shelves. I even borrowed copies of a few from my neighborhood library and had recently finished reading the Kubark Counterintelligence Manual.

  I tallied up all the skilled interrogation tactics he was using on me already—making me wait, letting me squirm in my own skin while I imagined the worst, acting like I didn't exist. We were at Confidence Down/Fear Up if I correctly remembered the manual's contents.

  Honestly, if I weren’t feeling ready to puke my guts up, I would’ve smiled or laughed at his textbook techniques. As it was, however, knowing that I was about to see his honed skills in action had me fearing the worst.

  "Let’s cut to the chase, Ms. James. Do you like your job?"

  As he spoke, he continued to study his tablet, not me. One finger moved along his touch pad then he clicked on something. I thought I detected a slight stiffening of his jaw as I delayed answering, but I was a good twenty feet away from him and his face usually looked hard as granite, so I couldn't be sure.

  When his gaze cut in my direction, I quickly answered. "Y-yes, Mr. Stark. Very much so."

  He looked away, his attention re-focusing on his work. "Then put the mail down and stand in the corner."

  "Of cour…" I stopped my auto-reply and stared at him in shock. Wait—was he serious?

  I was twenty-six years old for crying out loud—barely a year younger than he had been when he started the company—and he wanted me to go stand in the corner like some little kid caught sneaking a slice of cake or refusing to do homework?

  Clearly, we’d moved onto the jackass segment of the interrogation strategies.

  My dignity under attack here, I felt my attitude slowly move from worried to angry.

  As if sensing my rising ire, he shot a pointed gaze at me again, his dark blue eyes like burnished steel lasers piercing my skin. "I don't like liars, Ms. James. Do as I ordered now or security will help you pack your things so you can get the hell out of my sight."

  That effectively fizzled out my anger. Looking around the room, I surveyed the four corners of his office to see which one I could stand and not feel totally humiliated.

  Again reading me like an open book, he offered in a clipped tone, "The corner by the couch will do."

  I closed my eyes and asked myself if keeping this job was worth obeying such a demeaning order.

  It was.

  Not my current position, per se, seeing as how I wasn’t doing a whole lot in terms of showcasing my years of education. But Stark International and I were a good fit otherwise. If I could just get Mr. Stark to trust me with a bit more responsibilities, I was certain he’d see it, too.

  "Now, Mia."

  Decision made, I put the mail down and walked to a different corner than the one he’d suggested—my pride demanding I rebel in that one tiny way at least.

  Shortly after I was in position, staring at the wall, when I heard the lock on his office door engage. I winced but managed to hold deep inside me all the little sounds that wanted to escape.

  Soon, a soft whirring noise started up that I recognized as the mechanical slide of the heavy drapes closing. Meanwhile, the lamps in the room began switching off one by one until the space's illumination was no better than twilight, everything doused in near darkness.

  I waited then for what seemed at least fifteen minutes, the room completely silent except for my breathing.

  Isolation like this was a play straight from Kubark's manual, meant to mess with a person’s head. The closing of the drapes and the slow shutting off of the lights one-by-one were a far cry from an interrogation cell for sure, but it was effective, with a style and flourish befitting a former special ops leader capable of playing the kind of mind games Collin Stark was.

  The man was quickly becoming the biggest jerk among the many jerks and assholes my life seemed to be littered with.

  Though I couldn’t be certain if he was still even the room given how deathly silent it was and given my inability to see anything but the wood paneling just inches from my face, the nerve endings in my skin could practically feel the man’s eyes on me.

  Thankful for the darkness now, I kept my composure as he silently studied me from where ever he was in the room. While I knew he was surveying me closely to look for squirming, twitching, or tensing on my part—and indicators of nervousness, guilt, and likely a dozen other things he was trained to look for—all I could think about was what he was seeing in the process.

  Thick hips, wide ass, plump thighs, and overly bountiful breasts.

  The heels and too snug skirt I had selected that morning suddenly felt like they were magnifying even the smallest movements, making me feel like I had ballooned to three times my already plus-sized size.

  I was torn between wanting to cry a little bit and curse my head off at him. He had me right where he wanted mentally, seeing as how the discomfort I was currently enduring was by my own choosing. That made it so much worse and the bastard knew it. I had been given a choice and opted to do this, to stand here in the corner instead of get fired on the spot.

  At last I heard the creak of his chair and the slide of a drawer. My body tightened, my hands curling into fists.

  I immediately felt my extremities start to shake while he remained as patient as a panther in the jungle.

  Five more minutes passed b
efore I heard another sound.

  His footsteps echoed loudly in the large office as he approached me. He didn't stop a respectable distance away when he reached me, either. He kept propelling his muscular body forward until his hips pressed against my backside, the sudden heat of his flesh making me realize my skin had grown cold.

  "Don't jump, Mia."

  The command confused me until his hands came up around my head and a folded band of fabric brushed against my face. I drew a sharp breath in as the blindfold tightened and his fingers worked to tie a knot. His hips pressed against me, my bottom molding around a hard center bulge that made my knees weak.

  As frightened and worried as I was, I couldn't ignore the ever-increasing attraction I felt for the man about to interrogate me. Worried, frightened and aroused was probably not the trifecta of emotions he had planned.

  "You left something off your resume, didn't you?"

  I jerked after the minute long silence, my bottom reflexively squeezing at the still hard mass pushing against it. "Y-yes."

  His hands dropped to cradle my hips. When he spoke again, his mouth hovered next to my ear, his warm breath curling against my flesh. He had to lean into me to do it, the size of my ass making it impossible otherwise. Feeling the hard press of his rigid flesh between my cheeks, I squeezed again—and wanted to die on the spot.