Fyre, Raven - Blind Man's Bluff (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Raven Fyre

  * * * *

  When Rachel shut the door to Chloe’s bedroom behind them, Chloe slumped to the mattress and lay back, staring up at the ceiling. Rachel joined her and assumed a mirrored pose.

  “Why is he here?” she whispered. He, of course, being Jackson, which went unspoken between the like-minded siblings.

  “Hello? Did you not see that protective little gleam in his eyes?” Rachel asked sarcastically. “He was ready to jump on his horse and charge into battle, sword in hand. All for you, sister dearest.”

  Chloe couldn’t help the giggle that floated out. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Okay, then, how about the way you were looking at him? All dreamy-eyed and melting. What happened yesterday? I leave you with him for a few minutes, and you have him wrapped.” She smacked a palm to her forehead. “The great and gorgeous Jackson Sawyer brought to his knees by my big sister.”

  “Oh, stop,” Chloe insisted. But the hummingbird wings were back and fluttering up a storm in her belly. “He stayed and had coffee, a sandwich, that’s all. Then he left me his card with his number and told me, us, to call—day or night—if we needed anything.”

  “That’s all? You’re sure?”

  Chloe rolled to her side and propped her head in her hand. “Jesus, Rache. The man’s a god, but I did manage to restrain myself when the urge hit to climb Gram’s table and rip his clothes off.”

  “So, you are interested.”

  “I’m breathing, aren’t I? Who could resist all those muscles and those eyes? And, damn it, when he smiles, my insides go up in flames. But he’s your boss, and I wouldn’t dare jeopardize that for the world. Besides,” she said and shoved off the bed to change clothes, “I don’t have time to worry about whether or not he’s interested in me. Nor do I have the time for even a casual affair.”

  “Oh, he’s interested. And you work too hard.”

  “I have to.”

  “When’s the last time you got laid?”

  Chloe slipped into the modest black dress and presented her back to Rachel for zipping up. “Ah, too long to remember? Thanks, by the way, for bringing it up.”

  She fluffed her hair then grabbed her earrings off the dresser. She worked on the tiny silver hoops as she stepped into her heels, wishing all the while she could’ve gone without the thigh highs. They were extremely sheer, but they were black, and in this heat and humidity, any added layer was too much. She was itching and sweating already, just thinking about the graveside portion of the service.

  “So, hook up with him.”

  For a minute, Chloe couldn’t talk for laughing. “We’re not teenagers, Rache. I’m not hooking up with some semi-stranger and having sex just because he gets me all hot and bothered. And could we not discuss this now? Today of all days?”

  “Today’s the best day, Chloe. We’re alive, and that’s the miracle. And Jackson’s not a semi-stranger,” Rachel defended, ignoring Chloe’s request to let it go. “He’s…like a brother.”

  “Please, do not put that sick idea in my head.”

  “Oh, pooh with you, Chloe. That’s not what I meant, and you know it. He’s big and strong and gorgeous and protective. I’d hook up with him in a heartbeat.”

  “And what about Paul? You two looked rather cozy earlier. He’s been here every night since I’ve been home. Haven’t you gone well over your one-month rule?”

  Rachel studied the carpet as if the seventies-era purple shag had recently been fashioned into fascinating crop circles. “He’s…different.”

  “Oh, Rachel, honey.” Chloe’s heart melted as she pulled her baby sister close. “You really care for him.”

  “I do. I really think I do.”

  “He certainly seems nice. A week’s not the best indicator of that, I suppose. And there’s been so much going on, the stress, all the neighbors flowing in and out of here…We haven’t had much opportunity to talk, just the two of us. But he looks at you as if you put the stars in the sky.”

  “You think?”

  Chloe gave her a tight squeeze and let her go. “I know. Now, how do I look?”

  “So sad. I hate black. Even for evening. But it’s just this one day. At least the heels are sexy.”

  They weren’t meant to be. Sexy wasn’t the image she wanted to portray for today’s occasion. And what did she mean by sad? Chloe would love to know. They were going to a funeral, for God’s sake, not a cocktail party. What did Rachel expect, a slinky, red, strapless number? Not in this lifetime, Chloe thought. Letting it ride, she decided instead to watch Jackson’s reactions more closely.

  She had her suspicions he was interested, but charging in like her white knight?

  Clearly, Rachel, sweetheart though she was, was delusional.

  Chapter 3

  “I appreciate you waiting,” Chloe said.

  Jackson and Paul had been sitting on the sofa, and they both stood at the sound of her voice. Jackson took her hand and tucked it over his arm as he drew her out to his SUV.

  “You look beautiful,” he told her and pressed a kiss to her temple.

  She swallowed hard and tried to keep her knees from knocking as she slid into the passenger seat. She’d experienced full-on, lip-devouring, sloppy, tongue-thrusting kisses that had made her fight off yawns of boredom, yet the sweet, simple gesture was nearly her undoing. “Thank you.”

  He drove them the three short miles to the church and parked under the shade of one of the grand old oaks near the side entrance. Then he took her arm again and escorted her into the vestibule.

  Pastor Simmons and Mr. Forrester, the director from Radney’s Funeral Home, were primed for her arrival.

  “Ms. Rezner,” Mr. Forrester greeted. “If you’ll come with me.”

  Jackson gave her hand a squeeze as if to let her go, but she suddenly, strangely, needed his strength. With pleading eyes and voice, she asked, “Could you…Would you mind, terribly, coming with me?”

  He looked relieved, as if he wasn’t thrilled about letting her go it alone. “Yes, of course.”

  They followed the director to the front of the small church, where the gleaming mahogany casket was waiting. A grand spray of white roses blanketed one end, and larger wreaths and arrangements were mounted on tall, slender, black tripods that lined the pulpit area.

  With purposeful movements, Mr. Forrester carefully opened the head end of the casket before stepping back and blending into the woodwork in the way that all people in his profession seemed to have perfected, as if he were a chameleon.

  Her first thought was how peaceful Gram looked, like she was sleeping. They’d done a doozy of a job with her hair, teasing it more than she would have liked. At least the makeup wasn’t too overdone. Gram was a hardworking, plain-cut sort of woman. She’d never cared for fussing over her appearance. And really, in Chloe’s humble opinion, Gram had possessed a timeless sort of beauty that needed no adornment.

  “Excuse me,” Jackson whispered. “I’ll only be a moment.”

  She nodded and instantly mourned the loss of his hand on her arm, his firm side nestled to hers, the spicy scent of his aftershave, and the starch of his shirt, fresh from the dry cleaner’s. Somehow, she took the two steps forward alone and white-knuckled the rim of glossy wood.

  The lining was a cloud-like baby blue, the pillow beneath Gram’s silver-streaked dark hair a pearly white.

  Rachel had helped her choose the flowery print dress, with its muted purples on a creamy background. It buttoned at the neck where the crochet trim met, and Chloe acutely felt the loss of not being able to send her off with Grandpa’s gift. But there was the Bible tucked under her crossed hands and the worn golden band on her left hand. Those meant more, she supposed, in the grand scheme of things.

  The warmth of Jackson’s hand at her elbow had her glancing over at him, and she smiled thinly.

  “Good thing she can’t see what they’ve done to her hair.”

  Oh, God. There was so much affection in his tone. She just might have to kiss hi
m. Not here, of course. But soon.

  “You needed these,” he said and pressed a small, weighted, black velvet drawstring pouch into her clammy hand.

  She loosed the bunched fabric and poured the contents into her palm. She could only blink in stunned amazement. “Gram’s pearls.” Tears welled in her eyes, and he pulled a linen handkerchief from the inside pocket of his suit. “Oh, God. I was doing so well.”

  “It’s okay.” Pressing his lips to her temple, he reminded, “You’re entitled.”

  Chloe swiped at her cheeks. Then, with trembling hands, she laid the beaded chain of tiny, creamy pearls over her Gram’s hands and the Bible beneath them as if it were a rosary. “Oh, Jackson…I can’t thank you—”

  “Shh. None of that. Let’s sit for a minute before you collapse.”

  She let him drape his arm around her shoulders and draw her over to a pew, resisting, just barely, the urge to crawl right on up in his lap. He would’ve allowed it, she was certain. He would have wrapped his arms around her and rocked her and let her weep and blubber like a baby. He’d even given her his handkerchief.

  Honestly, who still carried a real linen handkerchief anymore?

  Jackson Sawyer was the epitome of a true Southern gentleman at heart, layered in sinful hunk. Was there any more appealing combination?

  * * * *

  When the cramped, small church started to fill up and everyone tried to vie for a spot near Chloe, eager for a word or to give a compassionate moment of comfort, Jackson played guard dog—of the pit bull variety. Effortlessly, he kept them at arm’s length and made her get off her feet as much as possible. Rachel and Paul slipped in and worked their way up front to sit with the two of them, increasing their united front against the well-meaning yet monopolizing community of friends and neighbors who’d come to pay their respects.

  The service dragged on for what seemed like an eternity as Pastor Simmons opened the floor for any who wished to speak. Chloe tried to be gracious. Some of the stories were touching, some were humorous, and each of them proved the mark Gram had made on their little spot of the Alabama map. But her head was pounding, and her throat was dry.

  Rachel passed her a mint, and she nearly wept in gratitude.

  They moved to the cemetery behind the church and the crater of earth that had been lined in bright green, grassy faux turf. Then finally, after several prayers and placing roses on the casket, they ended up full circle in Gram’s house. Chloe and Rachel began pulling platters from the fridge and setting out plates and utensils.

  Jackson pulled her aside briefly to introduce his brother Tyler. Tall and equally handsome, Ty Sawyer was a slightly leaner, athletically toned version of Jackson with dark brown hair he kept in a clean-cut style. Not quite military short, she decided. He looked like more of a runner, a quarterback, perhaps, while Jackson could’ve been a defensive tackle. They shared the same easy smile…

  Funny how it did nothing to elevate her pulse or trip her heartbeat.

  “Looks like you’re holding up well,” Tyler commented. “The service was lovely.”

  “Long-winded, perhaps,” Chloe said, smiling thinly. “Thank you for coming. Please promise you’ll take home a casserole or twelve?”

  He chuckled, grabbed a glass, and poured iced tea. “Single guys,” he wagged a finger between himself and Jackson, “never turn down home cooking.”

  “Right now, I’d kill for a fast food burger. It probably sounds ungrateful and unhealthy, but the neighbors keep funneling in food by the cooler loads. The fridge is packed. The freezer’s busting at the seams…Bless you.” She accepted a glass from Jackson and took a good, long sip of iced tea. “Speaking of which, what you did, Gram’s necklace…”

  Jackson took over unwrapping a tray with olives and cheese. “I told you, don’t waste the breath. You couldn’t very well let her go without it.”

  “Still,” Chloe insisted. “I spoke with Bonnie, by the way. Thanks to you. Again.”

  “Glad to help.”

  Jackson carried the tray, and Chloe followed with another. “Not surprisingly, I have another favor. But, um, well, could we talk about it later?”

  Their fingers brushed as they placed the trays on Gram’s oval dining room table, sending zings of electricity through every fiber of her body. Their gazes met and held, and the implied intimacy of later was palpable between them.

  Oh, boy.

  Chloe cleared her throat and finally tore her eyes from his when he graciously agreed.

  * * * *

  Later turned out to be much, much later than Chloe had bargained for. Jesus, they’d had to all but shove several stragglers out the door. And then they’d had to clean up. Exhausted, Chloe kicked off her shoes and flopped down on the couch, propping her aching feet up on the coffee table. No longer shocked at Jackson’s insistence on lending a hand—no matter if it was to wash dishes or run the vacuum—or hanging out until the bitter end, she simply accepted the glass of wine he offered as he joined her.

  “Bless you.”

  “Shift this way, and give me those feet.”

  Too stunned to disobey, Chloe wiggled so that her back was reclined against the arm of the couch and her tired little puppies were resting on his muscular thigh. Paul had decided to take Rachel for a drive, get her out of the house for a while. The TV was on one of those all-news networks with the volume turned down, providing low, ambient noise for the otherwise empty house.

  “Oh, dear, sweet Jesus,” she murmured as he began to massage her arches. Magnificent…She’d never in her life realized the erogenous potential of her feet. Her feet, for Christ’s sake.

  He laughed and skimmed a hand up her leg, under the hem of her dress. For a second or two, her heart stopped. Her eyes went round as spotlights.

  “Better without them, don’t you think?”

  Think? Her brain was working on mush-mode. How the hell did he expect her to think with his fingers brushing along her inner thigh? The pulsing of her mound was in perfect rhythm with her racing heartbeat. She swallowed hard and sat mutely by as he deftly, slowly divested her of one lace-trimmed stocking. Next, he hooked his fingers under the lacy edge of the other and rolled it down and off.

  Returning to task, he lightly worked his magic along one heel, near her ankle. “Rachel’s taking tomorrow off, and I know you said Bonnie called, but you should take another day or two to rest. Today had to be grueling.”

  “Hmm. God, you have amazing hands.” Her lids drifted shut on disturbing thoughts of how amazing his hands would feel on other parts of her body. Tingles, wonderfully naughty tingles, slithered up her legs to ripple through her pussy. It was truly an effort to concentrate on anything other than those hands on her skin. But needs must…

  “Ah, about the other favor…Some things have come up—”

  “The business with the bank, your Gram’s loan.”

  “Right. It’ll be cutting it close, but I can get a refund on my classes for the upcoming semester as long as I call my advisor first thing in the morning. Thing is, I need something more than waiting tables, and I needed it, like, yesterday. We can hold out for a month or so, but I won’t have Rachel worrying about losing this place.”

  “Isn’t there something you could do with the nursing experience you have?”

  “At this point? Maybe Thomas Hospital would let me work in billing. Records. Or maybe triage for the ER. I’d still make more in tips.”

  He let out a heavy sigh, eased her feet off his lap, and stood. The abrupt move, the break of contact, startled her back to full awareness. “Jackson?”

  “Let me just lend you the money, save you interest.” He walked to the TV and shut it off manually. “We’ll work out payments you and Rachel can afford.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Damn it, Chloe.”

  Where was this anger coming from? His handsome face was contorted into a scowl.

  “Forget I asked. I’ll start scouting the classifieds. Hell, maybe I’ll drive into Perdid
o and buy a lottery ticket,” she tossed out rather dispassionately.

  “Look,” he said and scooped a hand through his hair. “There’s one thing I can offer you. But it isn’t for the faint of heart.”

  Intrigued, she coaxed, “Go on.”

  “One of the clubs Ty and I own—it’s a very exclusive, very secretive sex club. You could pull down a grand a week, easy. Maybe more. But you’d be doing things…Well, let’s just say your Gram would not approve.”

  “You’ve got to be joking? Have I been living under a rock?” she shook her head at the notion. “Gulf Shores, home of some kind of kinky, underground sex club?”

  “Sex On The Beach. Our clients’ backgrounds and medical histories are rigorously screened. If they can afford the membership dues and our hourly rates and pass the drug screens, the blood tests, then you know you’re getting the crème de le crème of sexual partners as far as safety goes.”

  Chloe tried to put it into context. “So, these insanely wealthy clients are willing to pay for…what, exactly?”

  “Anything. Everything. And everything has a price. You can earn as little or as much as you like. I’d say ninety-nine percent of our clientele are men. That rare one percent of women, they’re usually wives of the male clients who get off on watching. Others are looking for threesomes. And, yes, that goes both ways. We offer a safe haven for consenting adults to indulge their fantasies.”

  Oh. My. Jesus.

  “You’re trying to scare me off,” Chloe accused.

  “Not at all. Just laying it all out there. Full disclosure. Some men want a woman who’ll take it rough. Others want to be on the receiving end of erotic punishment. Our rooms cater to every imaginable palate. Bondage, toys, you name it, we have it or else we’ll get it.”

  “And this is legal?”

  He shrugged. “Loopholes. You’d be an employee of the club. The money changes hands, and the club takes a cut then cuts you a check. Or, in your case, I’m perfectly willing to make this a cash-only endeavor.”