by Kaliana Cole
“There’s a creek there. You realize she’s gonna have a few too many and drag me fishing, don’t you?” Marley grimaced. “And if I have a few drinks with her, I certainly won’t be reporting back.”
“That won’t be necessary. It’s just important that she gets it off her chest. See, no betrayal involved at all.” He could see the cogs turning as she examined his proposal from every angle. “I’ll sweeten the deal. How would you like one full night where Andy can’t run and hide?”
“That sounds too good to be true.”
That’s because it was, but Jory held his tongue. “Please, Marley?”
“Oh, all right! I was going out there on Thursday night anyway. I’ve got Friday off to recover. You’re not shitting me? I get a full night to work on Andy?”
“I guarantee you will have his full and undivided attention.”
“Okay! I’ll do it.”
“Thanks, Marley. You have my undying gratitude.”
“I’ll settle for that until you come through with the goods. I’m only doing this because I know you love her, Jory.”
“I thought you were doing it because I can give you Andy.”
“That, too. Now get out of here so I can get some sleep. I’m on night shift tonight.”
“You’re a gem, Marley. Don’t let Andy tell you different.”
* * * *
“It’s just like fishing, Marley. You need the right bait to catch the right fish. See this corn kernel?”
“Yeah. Don’t go putting that hook through your finger now.”
“I’m going to throw it out there, and the only thing I’ll be pulling out is a dirty old carp. That way I can club the fuck out of him and throw him up on the bank.”
“I notice you said him.”
“Anything I get to bash the shit out of is a him. Anyway, where was I?”
“Bait, carp, men, fishing. Hell if I know.”
Jory chuckled quietly on Pete’s verandah. The sound of voices carried clearly up from the hole in the stream where the two increasingly intoxicated women fished a hundred yards away. The water wasn’t deep enough to worry about them drowning.
Bailey was three sheets to the wind, and Marley was catching up fast. He’d known when he asked Marley to come out that they would end up fishing. Bailey inevitably migrated toward water when she’d had a few drinks. At least it was too shallow to go swimming.
Pete sat on the opposite side of the small table. Cards were spread out between them, but they had given up even the pretense of playing when the whiskey-soaked ramblings coming up from the creek had turned vastly entertaining.
“It has gotta work with men, too. I’ve been using the wrong kind of bait. I’ve been catching all the good, wholesome stuff with only a bit of fight in it. I don’t want that.”
“You don’t want Jory?”
“I didn’t say that. What I’ve been getting from him just ain’t enough, so I’ve changed baits. Moving out has stopped him shearing the damn line off every time I think I got him.”
“Yeah, you’re just so deprived, getting shut up with orgasms.”
“Sarcasm does not become you, Marley. You so need to get laid. You’re really grouchy now.”
“So do you, or you wouldn’t be trying to find the right bait to catch the right Jory. That doesn’t even make sense to me. There is no way I’m driving home. Pass me the bottle.”
“Open another one. This one must have a hole in it.”
Jory checked his watch and whistled softly. The two of them had gone through a half-fifth in two hours. He hoped Bailey opened up soon, or they were going to pass out before he found out anything useful.
“So what’s really going on, Bailey?” Jory could have kissed Marley right then.
“I was in a bad way when I got here. I’m sure you know. You would have read Doc’s report. You always do.”
“Yeah, I never talk about it, though. But yes, I do know.”
“I went looking for what I wanted from Jory and ended up caught up in some psycho’s deluded revenge. Now I’ve finally got Jory, but he won’t give me what I need. He’s holding back from me. Out of guilt or some kind of misplaced concern for me, I don’t know, but I won’t stand for it anymore.” Her voice rose with indignant fury, “He’s got ’til the weekend. If he doesn’t rise to the bait, I’m going to march into the Kat and ask who is man enough to do what Jory Raines won’t.”
“Ouch! That’s gotta smart.” Pete’s voice was a low rumble. “And that’s my cue to make myself scarce. Don’t let either of those two drown, will you? Or sleep outside. It’ll be pouring by breakfast.”
“Bailey will be lucky if I don’t drown her myself.”
He couldn’t believe she had said that. If she knew he were here, he’d know she said it deliberately to wind him up. But neither of the little drunkards had any idea he was lurking about.
Offer herself up at the Kat?
Over his dead body.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and punched in some numbers.
“Deputy Calhoun.”
“Andy. There’s a bit of a problem over at Pete’s place. Unlicensed fishing, drunk and disorderly, I’m sure there’s some trespass involved somewhere.”
“Clean up your own mess, Jory. I’m not wrangling a drunken Bailey Verne for love nor money.”
“Oh, I’ll take care of her. There’s five-foot-ten of green-eyed brunette I’m not going anywhere near, though.”
“Oh shit.” He could almost see Andy covering his eyes and rubbing his temples with one big hand. “How bad is she?”
“More than half-full of good whiskey and bad manners. She’s talking about driving home.” Technically true, just missing the “not” part. Jory smiled at the groan coming through loud and clear. “That’s it. I’m gonna lock her up for the night. Sit tight. I’ll be there.”
A smile curled his lips as he put the phone back in his pocket. “I was hoping you’d say that.” Just like that, he had kept his side of the bargain with Marley. One night of Andy’s company coming up. She probably hadn’t imagined steel bars between the two of them, but he had fulfilled his part. He knew he was being devious, but left to their own devices, Andy and Marley would be still getting around like schoolkids with crushes when they were old and gray. The sooner Marley and Andy ended up together, the better. They were made for each other.
A few spots of rain fell on the roof, and Jory decided to go and rescue the drunks before they drowned or passed out in the rain.
He wandered down to the cottonwoods growing along the stream, eerily bathed by the moonlight peeping out between the gathering clouds. Oblivious to the rain, they were singing something about “California blondes” and flying. It took him a while to work out it was Gary Allan’s “That Ain’t Gonna Fly” being belted out with a lot more enthusiasm than skill.
Bailey’s husky voice sunk right to his bones, but he held himself aloof. She was going to learn her lesson, but not while she was full of enough whiskey for ten men. Something touched his head as he stepped under a branch, and it took a moment to work out it was someone’s shirt. God, almighty, they’d started getting naked! He hoped Andy got here before Marley lost the black bra and panties she was down to. Bailey’s bra was white, and she wore her cutoffs, probably because the little brat had nothing on underneath.
He needed to announce his presence now or never.
“Evening, ladies.”
“See. Told you I’d catch a dirty old carp.” Jory gritted his teeth as Bailey looked about. “Where’s that club I had, Marley? Can you help me throw him up on the bank?”
“Come on, brat. Get out of the rain. You, too, Marley. Up to the barn.”
Bailey put her hands on her hips and stood her ground. “I’ll stand in the rain if I want to, Jory. You won’t be telling me what to do anymore.” Her curls were dark and damp, sticking to her face here and there. Her nipples stood out in bold relief, casting shadows in the moonlight.
Jory didn’t break his stride. He grabbed
Marley’s hand and kept walking straight toward Bailey. He dropped his shoulder to her midsection and collected her in a fireman’s carry on the way. He was eternally grateful he kept himself in shape as he dragged one and carried another squirming woman up the hill to the barn. The curses coming out of Bailey were enough to blister the paint off the walls as he dropped her to the ground beneath the awning.
Ignoring Bailey’s volatile ranting, he took Marley to her vehicle and made her sit on the hood of her zippy little four-by-four. “You, stay there. Andy is going to be here in a minute. Give him hell.” Jory gave her a peck on the forehead and went back to where Bailey was sitting on the ground. She was looking a little green around the gills.
“Jory?”
“Yeah, brat.”
“I think I’m gonna be sick.”
He let out a resigned sigh. “Come on. I’ll hold your hair for you.” He guided her into the small but neat bathroom beneath the apartment-like loft. It wasn’t pretty.
Chapter 9
Jory finished work around two on Friday. He had a definite spring in his step despite only getting a few hours sleep.
Bailey had taken some getting up the stairs to Pete’s loft and pouring into bed. As soon as she had emptied her belly, the spark had returned, belligerent and provocative. It had taken every ounce of his self-control not to turn her over his lap and spank her senseless for even contemplating the thought she had voiced about going to the Kat. But he knew where that led.
A belligerent and provocative Bailey, he could handle. Add horny to the mix, and a saint wouldn’t have a chance in hell of practicing restraint. Jory had never aspired to sainthood.
Bailey had been testing the capacity of the hot water system to its limit, lying in the bottom beneath the balmy stream when Andy had arrived. It had been quite entertaining watching him try to get Marley into the back of his cruiser. That woman had an arm span of damn near six feet, and she had used it to her advantage, groping and rubbing up against the big deputy shamelessly. Andy had taken her away in cuffs and not much else. The black lace bra was trailing behind his car when he left, a lewd decoration hanging from the door seal.
He knew he would be hearing about that the next time he ran into Andy. Calhoun needed a shake-up anyway. He let the scars he’d gotten in the accident control his life. Not once in four years had he shown any interest in a woman. Marley chased him harder than ever, but Andy wanted no part of the young, beautiful woman. He’d said repeatedly she was too young, too fresh, and too damn naïve. Words Jory had echoed regarding Bailey. He’d been a fool.
He’d gotten home around one in the morning, only leaving when Bailey had fallen into a fitful sleep and was no longer a danger to herself. He hoped she’d pay with a hellacious hangover, but she’d cleared her stomach of alcohol and she had always been sickeningly resilient. She had probably bounced out of bed around eight, cooked a big greasy breakfast, and hooked into her day.
Smoke trailed lazily from Pete’s chimney, but his truck wasn’t parked in the carport next to the house when Jory swung in the drive. He’d gone home and set up a few last details and showered. He felt fresh and energized, ready to take on whatever the little brat threw at him. But she was in for a rude shock. This time it would be her taking whatever he threw at her. She wanted it all? Tonight she would get it all, every last depraved thought that had ever crossed his mind.
He’d made arrangements to ensure her safety. Timed calls from Cal to check up on her. It was a strategy the Keenans insisted on from the most trusted members who were permitted to take subs off the premises. The sub must talk directly to their failsafe at the allotted times. Code words unknown to the Dom that signified “all okay” through to “under duress, come and get me” had to be exchanged.
Cal had been amused but cooperative when Jory had asked him to take on that responsibility with Bailey. He’d laughed and asked whether he was supposed to check up on Bailey’s health or his. The world was chock-full of comedians.
He pulled the Jeep up beside the barn. The double doors were wide open, letting the afternoon sun stream in. Even over the sound of the motor idling he could hear the loud thump of music, banging and clanging and the neck-ruffling stop-and-start squeal of a grinder. With that much noise, Bailey couldn’t be feeling the slightest bit delicate. He stepped out and leaned against the door of the barn, watching Bailey work. She had Nickelback blaring through the stereo system, a far cry from the country and country rock she had listened to at his house.
She was bopping around, lost in the music as she worked. The piece clamped in the vise looked like a bootjack from profile view, the kind where you stepped on one end and used the other to lever your boots off.
The grinder cut out, and she laid it on the bench and pulled the protective mask off. Her gloved hand went to the piece as the other swung the vise handle and released it. She gave an exultant little nod of satisfaction as she held it up and inspected it from all angles. Jory chuckled in pure mirth.
Over the last couple of weeks he had watched her turn out all sorts of items. A beautiful coat rack for Pete with a naked woman silhouetted across the top. Trivets with intimately entwined couples worked on them. Even a metal sign Emma had commissioned for her laundry-door entrance where her men snuck inside, a rip off of one she had seen elsewhere—“If you ain’t God or Toby Keith, take your damn boots off!” All fun, loving pieces, but Bailey had returned to her earlier motif.
The bootjack was a large erect cock. You put your foot on the mushroom-shaped head and hooked your boot off in the cleft between the balls. The vein decorating it looked alarmingly familiar. It was more than enough to make a man wince in pure instinctive reflex. She just loved putting dicks in places where they were going to get trodden on.
She picked up a remote without turning around and muted the music. “I know you’re there, Jory. I can feel your eyes.” She put the bootjack down on the bench and started clearing up. “If you have only come to look, you can turn right around and head back the way you came.”
“Oh, I’ve come to do a hell of a lot more than look, baby.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. Been there and done that. You haven’t got what it takes, Jory. We both know that.”
Talk about a red rag to a bull! Jory didn’t move from his perch against the door. The only thing that moved was his cock. It grew and lengthened at the challenge she threw down. The rest of him knew damn well she was baiting him, just trying to get a rise out of him. Well, it had worked, but she wasn’t looking for that kind of rise. “I’ve got what it takes, baby. It just ticks you off that I won’t do it. You’re an impulsive, hedonistic little brat, and it pisses you right off that I won’t succumb to the same madness.”
“You got part of it right, Jory. You do piss me off.”
“Tell me that if I stripped off right here, right now, you wouldn’t have your hands on me in five seconds flat.”
“I like your body just fine. That’s never been in dispute. It’s that iron-clad self-control I have no time for. You’d strip, I’d lose my mind, and afterwards we would still be in the same shape. It wouldn’t accomplish a damn thing.”
Jory lifted his brows.
“Well, okay, it would scratch the itch, but nothing more. What I want, you won’t give me.”
“You’re going to get it all right, brat. So much of it you won’t know what way is up. You’ve got five minutes to shower and change. Unless you’d prefer to be stripped and hosed off right where you stand. I think you would be able to bottle that sweat coming out of you, it smells like pure ninety proof. It wouldn’t bother me none to have you naked in the Jeep all the way home. Andy’s got a speed trap set up just up the road. It would probably make his day, too.”
He watched the emotions play across her narrowed indigo eyes. Disbelief, suspicion, and the barest glimmer of hope. He held her gaze through it all, daring her to take a chance. He saw her chin lift and kept his elation to a slow curl of his lips. Bailey couldn’t resist a dare, nor a ch
ance at his old body again. And that was more gratifying than he had ever imagined.
She didn’t speak. She just left a trail of boots and clothes all the way to the bathroom. The last view he had was of her lightly tanned ass disappearing around the corner. He sucked in a breath and prayed he would have the balls to follow through. She was getting everything she had asked for tonight. Absolutely everything. There would be no holding back. He’d let her have him at his worst and see just how committed she was. He had a feeling that “red light” would get thrown at him within the first hour.
He tossed his phone to her five minutes later when she came out wearing nothing but a challenging look. He grabbed a jacket off the peg. “Put this on and get in the car. Call Callum on the way—speed dial three. You and he have some details to work out.
“Don’t question. Just do,” he cut her off when she made to talk.
The side of the conversation he could hear was amusing as hell. Bailey was incredulous at having a minder for the night. He pitied Callum having to explain the necessity of it. He chuckled outright when her incredulous “you want me to say what?” reached his ears. Cal would be milking this for every drop of satisfaction available. Bailey blistered his ears as she gave Cal some very detailed instructions about what he could do with his safe phrases and hung up. The woman had no sense of self-preservation.
“I’d be nicer to Cal if I were you, brat. He’s your only hope of salvation tonight. The only one who is going to come riding to your rescue when you can’t handle it.”
“Yeah, right. I can call you off with a word.”
“You just keep telling yourself that, Bailey.”
She was silent until he pulled up in front of his house. “If you’re playing with me, Jory, I’m going to use your balls as a bootjack.”
“There’s only one way to find out, brat. Are you game?”
“Hell, yeah.”
As he thought, no self-preservation whatsoever. He walked inside and held the door wide.
Indigo eyes flew to the collar that still sat on the table where she had left it. “You haven’t earned the right to put that back on me, Jory.”