Page 2 of Claimed by the Pack

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Cheyenne

Another Friday nightout in Surga. I both loved and hated my new life. Just before I graduated from college with a BA degree in finance and a minor in mathematics, I was offered an opportunity that I couldn't pass up. My father's best friend lived in Indonesia and had houses in both Bali and on this small island called Surga.

Surga was an unchartered island, found by a group of fisherman in the late 90's. The story goes that it was bought by a billionaire who built homes there for the poor and needy who roamed the streets of Bali. He built an entire little town for them, a haven, so to speak. When he died, he left the island to one of its inhabitants with the stipulation that it couldn't be sold, only passed on to whomever he chose to be his heir.

The guy was about 50 years old now and he owned the bar I had just walked into. He was a super nice guy, and a lot of fun, but mostly everyone hung on his every word and every crazy story in the hopes of someday becoming his heir.

Meanwhile the population of the island continued to grow. It was a collection of people who simply wanted to live off the grid, people hiding out from one thing or another and people like me, here for work.

My boss was a contractor and owned a real estate business. He dominated the market on Surga and his men were always busy.

I did the payroll and taxes and things like that. It was a good job and my boss was generous with my wages and benefits. The island was gorgeous. I couldn't have dreamed up a more beautiful place to live.

But at 21 years old, with a chubby build and shy personality, being on an island of 650 people, where the median age is 42...well, it can get a little lonely sometimes.

My two girlfriends and I have a standing date every Friday night for drinks and dancing at a local club called “Park's Place”. Park is the last name of the guy who owns the club and it is always a fun time. My roommate Marta and our co-worker Bonnie are my best friends. They're both slim, beautiful and outgoing and are constantly surrounded by men.

I get hit on sometimes too...usually by a sailor who has been out to sea for too long, or one of the old, married men, looking for a little fling.

I wasn't interested in either.

I promised myself that no matter how lonely I got, I wasn't going to settle. I've spent the past six months on this island, not settling, and not dating. But a few weeks ago, I'd met a man at the club who I now couldn't get off my mind. He was in the bar tonight.

I saw him as soon as I walked in. Of course, I was looking for him. Something about him, beyond the fact that he was drop-dead gorgeous, drew me. He introduced himself to me one night and tried to buy me a drink.

I turned the drink down.

Although I had thus far not had any reason to worry on the island, I was still wary of the possibility of someone slipping something in my drink. It had happened to a close friend of mine in college back in the states. She was raped and never the same afterwards.

He had told me he understood and asked if he could sit with me and talk. There were so many beautiful women in the place, I was confused and maybe a little suspicious about why he'd picked me. He did most of the talking, but I have to admit that he was really good at getting me to open up, more than I would usually to a stranger.

The night ended however, without him asking for a date, or even my number. I was disappointed, but not necessarily surprised.

Oh well..

I saw him one other time and we had just started talking when a man came in the bar, a big, burly man with a beard. He was nice looking too...but kind of scary and dark.

He came up and said something in Ridge's ear and then walked away, like I wasn't even there. Ridge was profusely apologetic and said he had to leave, and he hoped we could meet up again...but still, he didn't ask for my number or a date. Maybe he had a hot girl at home and I was just for conversation. It happened to me all the time. I was a good listener and even in high school, no real threat to the girls the hot guys actually dated. They came to me when they needed to talk, and the hot girls got them the rest of the time.

“I'm going to get us some drinks,” My friend Marta said into my ear. “Grab that table over there in the corner, okay?'

“Sure,” I yelled back.

Bonnie already saw a guy she knew and was huddled close to him, talking. I knew she liked him, but when she first met him he had been in a relationship. He recently broke up with the girlfriend and Bonnie was slowly but surely moving in for the kill. She was blonde, green eyed and a fashionista. I had no doubt she'd soon be dragging him around on her arm, practically begging her to let him do his bidding.

I made my way over to the table in the corner, stealing glances in the direction of Ridge...even his name was cool.

Too cool for me.

I shook off the thoughts in my head and sat down at the high-top table. Forcing myself to focus on anything else, I looked out at the dance floor, watching all the people hug each other, rub up against each other, kiss and sway to the music. A pang of jealousy and loneliness assaulted me just as I heard the deep, baritone, melodious voice say,

“Well there she is, hello Cheyenne. It's so good to see you.”

I turned to look at him.

“So good” didn't even describe the way that seeing him made me feel. Strangely, although I knew very little about him, that pull was ever-present. I'd never felt anything like it before and it confused me.

“Hi Ridge. How are you?” He slid a long leg over one of the tall stools and then he touched me...for the first time. He slipped his hand under mine and the contact was electric. I was staring into his beautiful hazel eyes, but it was hard not to look down.

My whole arm was tingling.

He smiled and a part of me melted as he said,

“Just fine, now.”

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