TroubleToysTemptingCowboys

by Jennifer LaRose

  The mere second the tip slipped completely inside, her muscles constricted, gripping him wonderfully tight. His teeth clamped shut.

  “Oh God. Oh God,” she cried, clutching the sheet in her fists. “Deeper. Go deep.”

  “Don’t move, Tiff. Christ, don’t move.” He hadn’t regrouped yet and wasn’t ready for any movement. Well, mentally he was, physically she wasn’t, and he loathed the thought of hurting her. “Loosen up, darlin’,” he said, clenching his jaw. He reached between her legs and stroked her clit, bringing forth a new trail of moans.

  She grinded her pussy onto his finger. Her rectal muscles relaxed. Each forward and backward thrust of her hips aided in shoving his cock deeper until it was completely embedded in her ass. The moan spilling from her throat was one of total surrender. He grabbed her by the waist and held her steady while her body adjusted to his width.

  When her insides slackened the hold on his dick, he partially withdrew, slowly, an inch at a time. But her needs surpassed his tenderness and she bucked her ass hard, shoving the globes against his pubic bone until his entire cock disappeared back inside her yielding tunnel.

  “Jesus, this is…” she whimpered, grinding her butt cheeks into his groin. “Damn it…ahh…fuck me.”

  The heat and clenching and contracting and tightness were too much. Way too much not to oblige her pace. With a deep throaty groan, he rammed her, giving what she needed as a climax simmered in his balls. Sweat poured down his spine, and while watching his cock plow in and out of her ass, he intensified pressure to her clit. The bud swelled. After giving it a final stroke, he shoved his thumb into her pussy.

  She shattered. “Ahh. Harder, Brock. Fuck me harder.”

  Her vaginal walls squeezed his thumb, her ass clutched his cock, and during the most primitive moment of his life, he held her hips still, plowed deep, and exploded with a loud, raspy growl.

  After he withdrew from her body, he backed up and gently stretched her legs out on the bed. She rolled onto her back and relaxed, displaying a content smile. He lay on his hip beside her and kissed the tip of her nose. “I’m not sure if this is the proper time to say this,” he said, gazing into her eyes.

  Her smile and expression lit up. “Yes?”

  “From what I gathered from your earlier phone conversation, I reckon you agreed to a party?”

  The brightness faded from her face, and her brows scrunched as if disappointed in what he had to say. She shook her head. “Nan scheduled a business meeting.”

  “Sorry for eavesdropping, but I couldn’t imagine you doing one properly without all of your supplies.”

  “Thanks for watching my back,” she said with a sigh, closing her eyes, and tilting her face toward the ceiling. “I’ll explain everything to Nan on Friday. She’ll let me borrow what I need for future appointments.”

  Using his arm as a pillow, he laid his head down and gazed at her profile. Pieces of hair clung to beads of perspiration on her forehead. He reached forward and removed them, setting them where they belonged.

  Damn, she was the most beautiful, compassionate individual he’d had the pleasure of meeting. What she did for those kids fell beyond the call of duty. Whenever she spoke of them her entire face glowed, and he could damn near hear her heart pound.

  And to trust him enough to partake in the most intimate part of her body no other man had ever had the pleasure of gracing… It said a lot without saying anything at all. He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “Tiff, I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

  “You didn’t.” She turned her head and looked into his eyes. “Thank you.”

  “For?”

  “Your willingness to take me places I’ve never been.”

  “It’s my pleasure.” If his heart had wings, he imagined it would’ve taken flight. Maybe it was leading to love after all.

  Chapter Eight

  “Duck,” Tiffany yelped with a pat to the top of Chester’s red curly locks. Moving forward, she patted Tyler’s buzzed head. “Duck.” And then after one more step, she patted Dana’s petite brown noggin. “Goose,” she screeched then took off in a barefooted trot. Giggling, Dana jumped up and chased her around the circle of kids.

  The remaining children burst into laughter. “Run! Run, Miss Tiffany. Hurry!” Just as Tiffany approached the vacant seat on the ground, Dana poked her in the back.

  “Ah-ha, Miss Tiffany, I got you, you’re still it,” she squealed, darting around Tiffany’s legs and plopping down in the open spot.

  “I guess I am.” Eighty percent of the time when Tiffany played, she purposely remained it. That way, all of the kids were afforded a chance to be the chosen goose. Otherwise, the younger children were usually overlooked by the older ones.

  Three remained before she’d complete the full circle. As she started patting heads, the outside door opened and Mr. Silvan, accompanied by the aide Amanda and a man dressed in jeans and collared shirt, stepped into the yard. And it wasn’t just any man. Her stomach sank.

  Mr. Silvan motioned for her presence with a wave of his hand.

  Responding with a nod, her heartbeat pounding against her ribs like an animal trying to bust through its cage, she picked up her shoes and glanced down at the children. “I have to take a break. This time, Owen is going to be it, okay?” she said while slipping the high-heeled pumps on her feet.

  As she crossed the lawn to the building, the children’s laughter faded. Her pulse increased, throttling her temples and thumping inside her ears. Dear God, what did Detective Gowen want? She hadn’t been blessed with his presence in over a month. She preferred it stay that way.

  He greeted her with an outstretched hand. “Good afternoon, Ms. Stoler.”

  “Detective.” She returned the quick handshake before dropping her arm at her side.

  “Can we talk inside?” he asked, nudging his head at the house.

  She glanced at Mr. Silvan, who suddenly looked twenty feet tall, and she dragged her bottom lip between her teeth.

  Silvan acknowledged her silent question with a nod, one brow raised high above the other. “Amanda will stay outdoors with the children.”

  Detective Gowen opened the door and followed Tiffany inside. Standing at her back intimated the heck out of her. Her heart continued making one hell of a ruckus. Could he hear the erratic beat? “I hope you’re here with good news, Detective,” she said over her shoulder.

  “Unfortunately, not today.”

  She halted. Her knees shook. Slowly she spun around, telling herself to breathe. “Are you going to arrest me?”

  “No, but I do have more questions.”

  “I’ve already told you everything I know about Mr. Woodenhaven.”

  “This isn’t about your neighbor. Tell me what you know about Trevor Malone and Ginny Duncan.”

  Jesus, God! “I don’t…I’ve only…” She swallowed hard, skimming his eyes before dropping her gaze to the floor. “I don’t know Ginny, and I met Trevor only once while presenting a party demonstration.”

  “He had multiple pictures of you—“

  “Pictures?”

  “On his cell phone. I assume they were taken on the evening mentioned.”

  “Honestly, I don’t remember much of that night. I drank too much alcohol.” Christ, it would hound her for the rest of her life. “But I guess it’s possible.”

  “You don’t remember riding the mechanical bull?”

  Holy fuck, everybody knew. She solemnly shook her head. “No, I don’t, but I was told that I did.”

  “The pictures verify it.” The detective removed a folded index card from his shirt pocket. “Do you recall selling him a bottle of massage oil—” He unfolded the card and studied it. “Named Deep Passion? Before you respond, let me just say it’s labeled by the company you work for.”

  She chewed the inside corner of her mouth, and closed her eyes for a brief three seconds. “I don’t recall the actual sale, but yes, he’d ordered it.”

  “Have you ever heard of the d
rug fentanyl?”

  “No.”

  He stuffed the index card back into his pocket. “Sometimes it’s used on a patch that a person wears, much like those to stop smoking. Instead of Nicotine, the fentanyl is slowly released into the blood through the skin for pain relief. It’s also administered by injection as a pre-op anesthetic.”

  She batted her lashes. “I don’t understand.”

  He lightly took hold of her elbow and walked her into the reading room adjacent to the foyer. “The toxicologist discovered a large amount in the oil,” he stated, then paused as if awaiting a response.

  She sat down on the edge of a chair. “So, what is it you’re not saying?”

  “It can be fatal if too much is absorbed through the skin.”

  “Okay. And?”

  “In the case of Trevor Malone and Ginny Duncan, that’s exactly what happened. They slipped into a coma and died.”

  “So you’re saying the oil killed them?”

  “Not the oil, the fentanyl someone added to it. This has evolved into another murder case with your name written all over it, Ms. Stoler.”

  She jumped to her feet. “I don’t fill the bottles, Detective. They’re shipped to me tightly sealed. I just pack them in a bag and deliver them to the appropriate parties.”

  She rubbed her temples and sat back down. “Does this make me a person of interest in this case too?” She glanced up just as he nodded. A hot queasiness sickened her stomach. “What am I supposed to do now?”

  “If you haven’t already hired an attorney, now may be a good time.”

  She’d already hired one, but hadn’t spoken to him since the initial consultation. They’d scheduled an appointment for next Thursday at five o’clock. Could she wait another week? Anxiety might kill her before then. “Yes, I have one. In the future, will you please not seek me out at work? I don’t need any more problems.”

  “Ms. Stoler, you’re at my mercy,” he said sternly as if reprimanding a child. “We follow my schedule. Whether you’re at work or in the shower, you’d better be available when I come calling.”

  With eyes nearly bursting out of their sockets, she nodded.

  “I can haul your ass to the station and throw you in jail right now. Would you prefer that method while I finish conducting this investigation? Work wouldn’t be an issue then, would it?”

  Still speechless from his outburst, she shook her head.

  “I’ve previously made you aware of the consequences.”

  Yes, unfortunately, she remembered quite clearly.

  “Don’t force me to resort to that extreme measure.” He turned and walked down the hallway, his boots thundering against the tile.

  When the front door closed behind him, she stared at it. Simply unbelievable. Could things get any worse? If he’d enlightened Mr. Silvan on the purpose behind the visit, then yes, they definitely could. What should she do? If she had a gun, she’d blast the unlucky black cloud out of the sky that’d been following her around so she could reclaim her freedom. It felt as if her life didn’t belong to her anymore, as if someone breathed down her neck while watching her every move. Although, if that were the case, they’d see her innocence.

  Standing on shaky legs, she straightened her suit and returned to the backyard. Most of the children were romping around the playground while Amanda helped Tyler cross the monkey bars. Mr. Silvan stood in the exact spot he’d been in, watching the kids. Tiffany stepped beside him, wiping sweaty palms on her skirt.

  He crossed his arms at his chest and glanced down into her eyes. “If you’re in some type of trouble, it’s your responsibility to come forth with it,” he said, taking on a sudden heel-to-toe rock, intimidating the hell out of her.

  “Yes, I know.” She tore her gaze free. After a minute of silent nerve-gathering, she decided to spill her guts, just in case Gowen apprised him of the situation. She’d already experienced that man’s wrath. She didn’t want to witness Mr. Silvan’s too. She inhaled deeply, released the air slowly then explained the entire scenario, starting with her supplemental job.

  He unfolded his arms to place a consoling hand on her shoulder. “As far as the nature of your part-time work, what you do on your own time is your own business. It does not jeopardize your job here.”

  What a relief not having to hide it any longer. That’d been weighing heavily on her conscience for a long time. “Thank you for understanding.”

  “I’ve heard about the murders in the newspaper and on the news. I’ve also heard the police have a person of interest. What I haven’t heard until now, is it that it’s you. Unfortunately, you cannot work here until you’re cleared of all charges.”

  Oh no! Her eyes bulged. “But I haven’t been charged.”

  “You’re currently under investigation for felonious activity, which violates your contract. You’ll be placed on immediate suspension.”

  “Without pay?”

  A sympathetic expression filled his eyes. “Unfortunately. When you’re cleared, your pay will be reinstated and you’ll be given retroactive wages from the date of suspension.”

  That could be months. Or years. Tears bubbled in her eyes. “Can I work the remainder of the day?”

  “No. I have to follow protocol and remove you immediately from the premises.”

  “Can I at least tell the kids goodbye?” she asked, squeezing her hands into fists, fighting the tears.

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Tiffany. I have to cut ties between you and the children this instant.”

  “Doesn’t my innocence mean anything to you?”

  “To me personally, yes. You are wonderful with the children and should be commended for doing an exceptional job. However, I don’t make the rules. And,” he said in a stern voice, “I certainly don’t break them.”

  She glanced at the playground and said a silent good-bye to each child. After blowing them a kiss, she turned and walked inside the building.

  This was not happening. No way in hell could this be happening. Losing her job over murder suspicions? Mr. Silvan referred to it as a temporary suspension, because once her name was cleared, she could begin working again. How would she survive without her paycheck? Her livelihood was now in jeopardy. Her apartment. Her car. Oh, Christ, her car. She’d worked too damn hard making payments to have the finance company turn around and repossess the damn thing.

  By the time she entered her office, her shoes were slapping the floor, the tears had dried up, and she was downright pissed. “Thank you, Detective Gowen, for seeking me out at work,” she said to the empty room. Like he couldn’t wait until she arrived home to question or interrogate her, or whatever the hell he called it. Harass was more like it. What gave him the right to barge in to her place of employment, accuse her of tainting massage oil, then stomping off like a spoiled kid? If he came to arrest her, fine, but that wasn’t the case. If he hadn’t shown up throwing his weight around, Mr. Silvan wouldn’t be aware of the situation, and she’d be on the playground right now playing duck-duck-goose with the children. The children. Dear God, she was going to miss them horribly.

  After removing her purse from the desk drawer, she shut down the computer, glanced at the office a final time, turned off the light and left the building.

  But she didn’t climb in her car and drive home. Nor would she drive to Brock’s. She wanted nothing more than to cuddle in his protective arms, listening to his heartbeat while he held her close, but she needed to take care of a few things first.

  Instead, she jumped in the driver’s seat and drove straight to the police station. She needed to say some things to the detective. Better yet, she hoped to put him on the spot as he’d done to her. What’s the worst he could do, hand her a citation for disorderly conduct, or disturbing the peace if she talked too loud? Those little misdemeanors didn’t compare to murder charges. Not that she planned on spazzing out or anything. If he hadn’t returned to the department after leaving the shelter, well, she had his number.

  Luckily, h
e was just walking across the parking lot toward the building when she pulled in. She stopped and rolled down her window. “Detective, I need to talk to you.”

  He appeared shocked at her presence, but rather than deny her the opportunity, which was a big possibility, he pulled up his sleeve and consulted his watch. “I can give you ten minutes.”

  Fine. She placed the car in park and jumped out, slamming the door. He looked over his nose at the vehicle then at her.

  “First of all, I want to thank you for getting me suspended from my job.” Surprisingly, he kept silent, which indicated he was willing to let her continue even though she finger-pointed. Honestly, she realized it would happen sooner or later when the case went to trial, if the case went to trial, but she harbored so much anger right now she needed a target.

  She folded her arms and stepped closer. “And I want to know why you’re trying to pin these murders on me without solid proof?”

  He sauntered to her car. And he actually had the audacity to lean against the front fender with his ass partially resting on the hood.

  “The fact is, Ms. Stoler, the murder weapon, your kitchen knife, was found inside property belonging to you, which just happened to be inside the victim’s home.”

  “Let me guess, my fingerprints were all over it.”

  He nodded.

  “Of course they were, it’s my damn knife. And you think I’m stupid enough to leave fingerprints on it then drop it into my case after having killed someone? I told you my case was stolen. Why didn’t you and Officer Wilson check my apartment door for tampering?”

  “You failed to report any theft prior to the incident. It appeared improbable.”

  “But not impossible. While you’re building your case on assumptions against me, a murderer is on the loose. When does common sense come into play?” She ran her fingers ruthlessly through her hair. “And what about this fenton stuff?”

  “Fentanyl,” he corrected.

  “If you can’t buy it over the counter, then I can’t get it. Subpoena the pharmacy records or something.”