Driving Whiskey Wild

by Melissa Foster

  “Can you stay long enough for a walk? Tink loves to walk around the pond.”

  “My only plans for today have been accomplished. I’m yours for as long as you’d like.”

  “Careful, lollipop. I might never let you go.”

  “YOU THINK THAT’S some kind of threat?” Finlay bumped her hip against Bullet as they walked along his property, tossing a ball for Tinkerbell.

  “Most women would think so.” He took the ball from Tinkerbell’s mouth and threw it across the yard. The pup bolted after it.

  “Maybe if you said you were going to tie them up and chain them to a bed…”

  “Christ, lollipop, you can’t walk around in that outfit and talk like that, or you might end up chained to my bed.”

  She spun around, facing him with a radiant smile and sunlight glittering in her eyes. “I think getting to know your dog is enough of a challenge for one day.”

  He hauled her against him. “Don’t worry, babe. I’m not into feeling trapped, and I’d never want you to feel that way, either.”

  He lowered his lips to hers, and then Tink’s snout pushed between them. He reluctantly pulled back and took the ball from her mouth, tossing it away again—farther this time. “I think my girl’s jealous.”

  “I would be too, if you had your lips on someone else.” She took his hand, and they continued to walk around the gardens. “How long have you lived here?”

  “A few years. I stayed in the apartment above the auto shop for the first few months while I pulled my shit together. Quincy and Jed live there now, and Tru stayed there before them. It was too confining for me, and sleeping out on the balcony got old real fast. I spent a lot of time at the bar instead of going home. Then one day I was out for a ride and I saw this place. It was in foreclosure, and I got it for a song. There’s lots of room for my bikes. Room to breathe.”

  She glanced up at the house.

  “It’s not what you’re used to lollipop. That dollhouse you live in is mighty nice, but I’m a barebones kind of guy. Give me a mattress and some fresh air and I’m good.”

  She pressed herself against his side as Tinkerbell barreled toward them with the ball in her mouth. “Do you sleep outside?”

  “On occasion, but my place is so open, I don’t usually feel too closed in.”

  She seemed to think about that as he tossed the ball again.

  “Well, you sure lucked out with the gardens. I’ve never seen a yard like this.”

  “It was pretty much all dirt when I moved in.” He steered her across the yard toward the pond, hoping to avoid talking about why he had such elaborate gardens.

  “Then you must have an amazing gardener.”

  “My father was, before his stroke.” Biggs had suffered the stroke while Bullet was away on tour, which added to the guilt Bullet wore like a lead coat.

  “So, he did this? Dixie told me he suffered his stroke while you were in the military, but you said you bought this place afterward. Does he still garden? I know he walks with a cane and the stroke hindered his speech.”

  As much as he didn’t want to appear weak in Finlay’s eyes, he wanted her in his life, and he knew that meant he had to be completely honest. His chest constricted with the thought of exposing so much of himself, but he’d already ripped open so many wounds in her presence, he told himself this was just giving her a birds’-eye view of the wreckage.

  “Not really. Even though I didn’t come home until months after I was discharged, I was still pretty messed up when I got back to the harbor. I hate labels, but there’s no escaping PTSD. It really screwed with my head.” He filled his lungs with crisp air, watching Tinkerbell roll around in the grass. “Back then flashbacks hit hard and nightmares came often. I was with my parents one afternoon, and my father asked me to clean up my mother’s gardens. I was a mess, Fin. I was angry and out of control, and it didn’t matter that I’d served my country; I felt like a fucking failure. I told you I’d waited to enlist because I had to watch over my brothers and sister, and then I had the crushing weight of trying to figure out what that really meant. By the time I enlisted, I had gotten into trouble and brought some bad shit down on my father and the motorcycle club by infiltrating the wrong territory outside of the harbor. I was young and stupid, but I knew I had to get my act together. Being away when my old man suffered his stroke messed me up even more. There I was, overseas, years later, still torn over where I really belonged, and…”

  He swallowed the confession that he’d only shared with Bones. The event that had led to his medical discharge. But when he gazed into Finlay’s compassionate eyes, he couldn’t keep from sharing his innermost secret with her.

  “You already know about the terrible shit that goes on in wars. I was in the middle of my third tour, and when you’re in the thick of it, you don’t question or sit around and wonder how to get out from under the shadow of it. Your only focus is surviving and making sure your brothers in arms make it out alive. Even the fact that you’re doing it for a bigger purpose gets lost when you see men you’ve fought with, laughed with, given shit to go down.” A bead of sweat formed on his brow, and he swiped at it with his forearm.

  “You don’t have to share this with me. I don’t want to ruin your afternoon.”

  “Babe, you’re here. Nothing can ruin today.”

  She leaned her head against his arm, and it eased the tension in his chest.

  “Anyway, one of the guys went down. He was bleedin’ real bad. Like, so much I knew he didn’t have time to wait for the medics to come to him. I threw him over my shoulders.” He motioned to each side. “I held one leg over my left shoulder and his chest pressed to my right, and I hauled ass trying to find a medic. I didn’t feel the bullets when they hit me. When I finally went down, I twisted so the guy I was carrying landed on my chest. There was blood everywhere, and I was pumped with adrenaline. I didn’t know I’d been hit. My only thought was to save the other soldier. I spotted a medic and pushed to my knees, threw the injured guy over my shoulder, and made it a few more steps before collapsing. He had blood pouring out of his wounds, and when I laid him down, that’s when I saw the new wound in his chest. I was leaning over him, holding his hand, telling him we’d get him out of there, to hang on. Jesus, I would have given my own life to save his. That’s when I realized blood was pouring from my chest, where the bullets had gone through me, and hit him. He said all sorts of things while I tried like hell to stop the bleeding in his gut and legs, his chest. He was so fucking brave all the way to the end, telling me to save myself. I held him against me as he took his last breath. I’ll never forget the feel of that, and then everything went black.”

  His heart hammered against his ribs with the memories, and he steeled himself for a flashback, but the words still came, and the flashback remained at bay. “I woke up in a military hospital, thrashing and trying to get back to the field. In my head, that’s where I belonged. That’s all that mattered. But I had taken a lot of fire, and they wanted to notify my family because they weren’t sure I’d make it. I told them I’d sue their asses if they contacted anyone before I was dead. My family had been through enough with my dad’s stroke, and we had lost my uncle, who ran the auto shop, after that. By the time I was hit, Bear had been running both for a few years, and Dixie was helping him. My father had gone through physical therapy, and their lives were finally stable again. They didn’t need the stress of not knowing if I’d survive, or of caring for me if I ended up too fucked up to function.”

  “But what if you’d died? They wouldn’t have been able to say goodbye.” Tears slid down Finlay’s cheeks.

  “I know my family loves me. I wanted them to remember me strong, not in a hospital bed, riddled with bullet holes.”

  “But you were alone through all of that?”

  “Yeah, but it was no big deal.” He wiped her tears and pressed his lips to hers.

  “It was a very big deal.” She wrapped her arms around him, holding him so tight he shut his eyes aga
inst his own emotions. “I hate knowing you went through that alone.”

  He remembered what she’d said about her late boyfriend, and guilt consumed him. He shouldn’t have told her, shouldn’t have made her sad.

  “Hey.” He tipped up her chin and kissed her again. “I was fine, Fins. Fucked up, slammed with PTSD, but I was okay. And I wasn’t alone the whole time.”

  He took her hand as they walked beside the pond, needing to move. “Once I healed enough, I called Bones, who hooked me up with a buddy of his, that therapist I mentioned the other night. And a few months later, when I felt like I had my head on straighter, I came home. All my family knows is that I took a few bullets and suffered from PTSD. They didn’t need to be saddled with the rest. But being home was hard. It stirred up all those old confusing feelings, and I learned firsthand that PTSD was a damn nasty competitor. It came out of nowhere at times and sucked the life out of me, which is why I have these gardens.”

  He glanced across the yard at the burgeoning gardens and paths, remembering how cathartic working with his hands had been, and after he felt more like himself, how focusing on the bar had also helped him heal.

  “My old man had me out in his gardens day and night, teaching me everything he knew. He told me it was to help out my mother since he could no longer use both hands well enough to do the things her garden needed. Bear would show up, and he’d spend hours with us.” He laughed with the memory of the two of them out there on their knees, shooting the shit while they weeded and mulched flowerbeds. “I was too messed up to realize it until later, but Biggs used gardening to get me out of my own head enough to help me heal. And Bear? He’s so damn empathetic, he couldn’t heal from my wounds until I did. Talk about a reason to get past my shit…”

  “And you still don’t call yourself a hero,” Finlay said, watching as Tinkerbell trotted toward them with the ball in her mouth.

  The pup plopped down on her butt in front of Finlay and dropped the ball. Finlay picked it up, holding the slobbery ball by her fingertips. Bullet put out his hand.

  “No, I can do it. I’m not afraid of dog slobber, just dog bites.” She pulled her arm back, and as she released the ball—and Tink took off running after it—Bullet realized it was flying directly toward the pond.

  “Tink!” he hollered, but the dog was already in the air, front and back legs extended as she dove for the ball. Bullet hauled ass into the water, vaguely aware of Finlay calling after him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “I’M SORRY. I didn’t know she couldn’t swim,” Finlay said as Bullet trudged from the pond with Tinkerbell in his arms, his clothing and boots drenched.

  “She can swim just fine,” he said as the pup lavished him with kisses. “But she freaks out in the water and cries, paddling around in circles. She only goes in after a ball or a stick.” He set Tinkerbell down on the grass, and she immediately shook off the water, showering Finlay with stinky pond water.

  She gasped as the dog did it again, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Tink,” Bullet said harshly.

  Tinkerbell barked and leaned against Finlay, soaking the skirt of her dress. “It’s okay,” Finlay reassured him. “I’m the reason you’re all wet, so it’s only fair that I’m wet, too.”

  The pooch went paws-up on Bullet’s stomach, panting happily.

  “I think she had fun,” Finlay offered as Bullet huffed out a breath and Tinkerbell dropped to all fours.

  “I’m sure she thinks it’s a game, but we’re all going to stink. I need to bathe her.” He whistled and pointed to the house. “Tink. Home.”

  The dog took off running.

  “Can I help?” Finlay asked.

  Bullet tugged off his boots, dumped out the remaining water, and pulled off his socks. “You sure? While she freaks out in bodies of water, she loves showers and baths, but you’re going to get soaked.”

  She looked down at her wet dress. “I think I already am.”

  “Then you won’t mind if I do this.” He began pulling off his shirt.

  Finlay saw it as if in slow motion. The drenched cotton slid up his slick skin, revealing ripped abs and sticking to his muscular pecs. He shifted and his lats flared as he tugged it over his head, leaving him in only a drenched, form-fitting pair of Levi’s and bare feet. Gosh, she loved a man with bare feet. Bullet’s feet were big and masculine, like the rest of him. He held the shirt and his wet boots in one arm and reached for her with the other.

  His cool, hard chest pressed against her as he captured her lips in a passionate kiss. His body slid against her, getting her wet from the inside out. He made one of those appreciative sounds that sent sparks through her veins, and when their lips parted, the air rushed from her lungs.

  He pressed a firm kiss beside her ear and said, “Come on, sweet thing. Let’s get my other girl cleaned up, so we can get nice and dirty.”

  His arm circled her waist, but her legs had forgotten how to function. He gave her an inquisitive glance, and understanding dawned on him, as evident in the slight narrowing of his dark eyes. His hand moved lower, squeezing her bottom, wreaking more havoc with her, and for some crazy reason, her mind reeled back to last night, when she’d heard the clink of his heavy belt buckle—which was now gleaming just below his navel—on the hardwood floor.

  He chuckled and bent at the knees, lifting her up with one arm around her thighs.

  “Bullet!” She shrieked with laughter.

  Tinkerbell bolted toward them, barking, making her heart beat even harder. She didn’t look like she was going to stop. Bullet took off running toward the house with Finlay over his shoulder, and Tinkerbell was right beside him, her dark eyes locked on Finlay. When they reached the back of the house, Tinkerbell went down on her front paws, her butt up in the air, wiggling excitedly, and Bullet lowered Finlay into his cradled arms. He pressed his lips to hers, laughing right along with her, and it was the most wonderful sound she’d ever heard.

  “I really like your laugh,” she said as he set her on her feet.

  Bullet turned away, but not before she saw a flicker of something that looked like embarrassment flash in his eyes. Tinkerbell licked Finlay’s leg. She reached down to love her up as they followed Bullet to an enormous outdoor washroom behind the garage. It had three walls made of the same type of weathered wide planks as the rest of the house, and a wooden deck for a floor. There were two showerheads, one up very high, obviously installed just for Bullet, and one about a foot to the left of it, much lower, clearly made for Tinkerbell. Two tree stumps served as tables, atop which sat two bottles of shampoo, one for dogs and one for humans, along with a bottle of body wash. There was a utility sink and a deep counter just inside the wall to the right and, she noticed, there was no door. The washroom overlooked more gardens and vast grassy lawn.

  Tinkerbell ran around the room whimpering and pawing at the faucet.

  “See?” Bullet said. “She loves this part.” He opened a door above the sink to a cabinet built into the wall and pulled out a couple of towels. He set them on the counter, eyeing Finlay with a seductive leer. “You might want to take those sexy boots off.”

  “Good idea.” She sat down on the edge of one of the stumps and began unlacing her boots.

  Tinkerbell plopped down beside her, and Bullet knelt before Finlay, silently taking over. He set her foot on his leg, holding her gaze as he unlaced the boot. After unlacing each hook, he slid his hands along her thigh, making her breathe a little harder. She wasn’t used to being with such a virile, sexual man, and as he touched her slowly and purposefully, like they had all the time in the world, and looked at her like nothing else existed, his desire invaded her, making her wish she was touching him. He removed that boot and her long, frilly sock and pressed a kiss to the top of her foot, then gently set it on the floor.

  Tinkerbell whimpered, and in her peripheral vision, Finlay saw her cock her head, her ears perking up.

  Bullet lifted Finlay’s other foot and repeated his sens
ual efforts. She clutched the edge of the stump. The gnarled bark dug into her fingers, which was good, because he was making her so tingly she was afraid she’d go numb.

  He set the boot and her sock aside and scooted forward, between her legs, gripping her outer thighs. His strong hands pressed into her flesh, making her acutely aware of how close his thumbs were to her very needy privates. Finlay’s pulse skyrocketed as he went up on his knees and leaned forward, his beard tickling her skin as his lips touched her cheek.

  Tinkerbell’s head tilted the other way, and she pawed at Bullet’s arm. But Bullet’s eyes never left Finlay’s. Her mouth watered for another taste of him.

  “Ready to get wet, sweet thing?” he asked in the gravelly voice that sent heat between her legs.

  “Yes” fell from her lips as she leaned forward and took the kiss she’d been dying for.

  Her arms circled his neck as he pulled her legs around his waist and sank back on his heels. Passion stormed through her, releasing all her inhibitions. She kissed him rougher, fisted her hands in his hair, her tongue delving deeper into his mouth, and he was right there with her. She tore her mouth away to taste more of him, kissing his cheeks, his beard, his neck. Then she lowered her mouth to his shoulder. His skin was hot and cold at once. It tasted salty and rugged. Bullet grabbed her bottom, holding her tight as she ground against his arousal.

  Tinkerbell’s paw swiped at them, catching Finlay’s arm and startling her back to reality. They both drew back, a hot current running between them as Tinkerbell pawed at Bullet.

  “You’ve turned me into a nympho,” she whispered, as if Tinkerbell might understand.

  “No, babe. We’ve awakened parts of each other no one else could ever touch.”

  She pulled him closer, hugging him to her, and spoke against his neck. “Then I never want them to go to sleep again.”