by Unknown
She could only imagine what the two detectives thought when they walked in and caught her in the throes of what looked like a passionate kiss with one of Reno’s worst crime lords and her father’s body cooling off a few feet away. They surely thought she and Smitt were celebrating her father’s demise.
It hadn’t helped that Smitt took his time zipping his pants back up or that he slowly turned her to face the Reno Detectives, one arm around her waist in warning, the other hand up her shirt and closed possessively around her left breast and his dick pressed firmly against her ass.
He grinned at the detectives. “I know you cops have a job to do, but as you can see, my woman and me, we got a little thing going on here, a bit of unfinished business, if you know what I mean.”
“Too bad,” one of the detectives snapped, “because we have a thing going on here with Miss Spencer, too. You can go now, Davis.”
Smitt tweaked her nipples, pressed a kiss against her throat and grinned at the detectives. He slowly removed his hand from her breasts. “Be gentle with her,” he said as he sauntered out of the room as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
The knowing leer on the detective’s faces when they turned back to face her, sickened her. It was too late to deny there wasn’t a relationship between her and Smitt. They wouldn’t have believed her, and she wasn’t going to waste words trying to convince them otherwise.
But from that moment, she shot to the top of their list of suspects and to the bottom of their list for respect. And gentle wasn’t in their vocabulary. They grilled her over and over, questioned her about how her father died. By the time they released her for lack of evidence, she just wanted to go home, shower, curl up on the bed and not move for a month.
She wanted to die.
She wanted to explain to the detectives she loved her father and detested Smitt Davis. It was impossible. That was a year ago. Smitt hadn’t tried to touch her since that day, but the threat was always there, unspoken. She knew it was only a matter of time before he decided to make his move.
There was nothing left now of the ranch, but a mountain of debt Smitt attempted to collect from her nearly every damn day.
She swept an irritating curl back from her face and blinked. There was no use allowing depression to get the upper hand. She’d spent the past months in a numbed state of disbelief and shock. Most of the time she felt so lost, it was all she could do to face each day. But she only thought her life had ended. It wasn’t until the day Smitt came and loaded up the horses and hauled them away her world totally crumbled.
Dry-eyed, she refused to let Smitt or anyone see her sorrow, but inside, her heart cracked and tears slipped through the fractures, unseen. Training horses was the great love of her life.
There was never time for anything or anyone else.
Taylor’s injuries forced her to realize life didn’t always go according to plan. She was still trying to gather the threads of her broken life. There had never been time to grieve for the man who had been her idol, the man who guided her from childhood to young womanhood with tender care and loving hands, with great pride in all her accomplishments. The time she should have had to grieve for her father had instead been spent in trying to cope with the pressure Smitt Davis put on her.
Dad!
Her mind snapped shut on the single word. Mixed with her grief was the bitter fact he’d left her and Taylor in one hell of a mess. She couldn’t reconcile the uncharacteristic act of rashness in her mind with the man she knew. It didn’t fit.
She sighed and slid her gaze to the silent cowboy who sipped on his beer. Was it so wrong to want security and love? Maybe not wrong, but she knew her needs now came second to her brother’s.
Taylor might resent the necessity of her help, and he might be verbally abusive, even physically abusive sometimes, but he still required her support. And she would be there for him for as long as he continued to need her.
Sometimes she wondered if she had the strength to carry on.
Taylor demanded nearly every single moment of her time. He drained her of her energy, absorbing it like a thirsty sponge. Most of the time she felt as dry and withered as a corn husk, but it kept her mind from dwelling on their father. In a way, Taylor’s injuries were a Godsend for her.
However, his inability to walk was the least of her problems now. She’d made the grave mistake of allowing Smitt Davis to learn she was selling her mother’s ruby ring today. The ring was the last of the family heirlooms passed down to her from her mother’s side of the estate.
She hadn’t intended for Smitt to find out or to learn that after selling it, she’d be at the casino, but the man was worse than a bloodhound. She wondered if he had spies keeping tabs on her.
Or was he watching her? Following her?
He was everywhere, the grocery store, gas station, and library. No matter where she went, he sauntered in and cornered her, making his demands for payment. He was a vicious, vulgar man and she detested him. He scared her. The thought he might be monitoring her every move chilled her bones and turned her blood to slush.
Grave mistake.
What a horrible cliché. Horrible or not, she knew she’d have to turn over the small amount of money she received for the ring to a person she both despised and feared or he’d simply take it in one form or the other.
She couldn’t bear the thought of Smitt Davis touching her. Somehow, she had to escape the man before he raped her or worse. Until she did, desperation and fear would remain her constant companions.
Her life had taken a wrong turn, and for better or worse, nothing would ever be the same. She needed somewhere to lay her head, someone to hold her and make her world right again. Most importantly, at least to her, she needed someone other than Smitt Davis to be the first…
* * * *
Jace took a final swig of his the beer and focused his gaze on the graceful fragility of the woman’s throat as she swallowed more tequila and grimaced. He grinned at her pixie expression of distaste. If she didn’t like it, why did she keep drinking it?
“Would you like something different to drink?”
She flashed a startled look at him, as if she’d forgotten all about him being there. Damn, she was a killer for his ego.
“No, thank you,” she said primly. “This is working just fine.”
Working just fine?
What kind of answer was that?
He laughed. “I suppose it works just fine if you wanna be numb on your ass and not feel anything.”
“That’s exactly what I want.” She took another hit.
He shook his head. She was more interesting than the beer he was nursing, and damn sure prettier than Duel.
Since those were his other two choices for company, he thought he might as well wait right where he was and let events unfold as they would. Pick her up off the floor when she hit it.
Still, she’d shied away from his touch like a startled filly. Christ, it had been damned hard to let her go, to stop caressing the soft skin on her back, stop touching her hair. It had taken all his willpower to leave those damn combs in place. The simple fact was the combs were still driving him crazy.
He’d never felt this link with a woman before. Never felt this craving to hold and comfort a lost soul. With conscious effort, he averted his gaze and stared at the bottom of his beer mug, but inevitably, his gaze returned to her.
He needed to get out of here.
But he wanted to stay.
Damn it, she intrigued him. The sheen of tears he’d seen in her eyes a few minutes earlier startled him and roused his protective instincts. He was a sucker when it came to little things, defenseless little things that broke easily. Without doubt, she looked as if she’d shatter with no trouble.
He figured life had dealt her one too many blows. There was something in her eyes that looked fragile. He couldn’t help but wonder what had so devastated her. He found himself wanting to offer her solace—but held back, as wary as a lone wolf on the hunt. He didn’t
know anything about her. Maybe he was reading things that didn’t exist, except in his overactive imagination.
Studying her beneath the brim of his hat, it hit him she didn’t fit in this atmosphere of glitter and gaudiness. Her face was practically devoid of make-up, something he hadn’t noticed until now. Silver glitter sparkled in rare flashes across her shoulders and the curves of her breasts like fairy dust across gossamer wings. Except for the faint dusting of glitter, her allure was uncontrived and innocent.
His gaze touched on the slender fingers gripping the tumbler of tequila. Small hands, fine-boned with neat, clean nails polished a sheer, pale pink. Nothing there to grab a man’s attention, he mused, still, a spiral of heat surged through his groin. It was the package, he thought, the haunting, tragic vulnerability that drew a man’s eyes and filled him with hunger, the everything that came together to make the package alluring.
She glanced toward him again. Her lips shaped into a tiny, hesitant smile. The very innocence of the tentative smile punched him hard. He felt as if he’d been kicked in the chest by a wild stallion. He’d seen that happen once to a man, kicked in the chest by a startled horse. The man dropped dead on the spot. He wondered now, at the comparison in his mind, and figured it was apt. He was a goner.
It dawned on him that he was slowly rubbing the area near his heart as though a powerful horse had actually kicked him. With a sharp movement, he dropped his hand to his side, and rubbed his moist palm down the leg of his jeans.
Mine.
The word leapt into his head without warning.
Shit. He was in trouble here.
An acute stab of disappointment pierced him when she returned her gaze to her drink, took one last swallow, then picked up the slip-of-nothing purse. Frowning, he suddenly realized that like a butterfly, she was poised on the brink of flight. If she chose to leave, he would lose her.
He grabbed her wrist as she prepared to abandon the barstool. Her gaze flew to his, shock on her face. “Please,” he said quietly. “Stay. You look as if you need someone to talk to. If I’m wrong, I’ll let you go right now.”
She hesitated. Her fingers gripped the small bag like it was a lifeline. She swallowed hard, then she sat back down.Tears glistened in her eyes before she quickly looked the other way. He wanted to pull her into his arms, had felt desperate to keep her close, but he wondered if he’d made a terrible mistake by not letting her go.
Chapter Five
You’re never gonna win just sittin’ on the fence.
~Cowgirl Quotes
Ace of Hearts Lounge
Friday 10:30 p.m.
Jace settled back on the barstool, relief uppermost in his mind. But he knew he had to do something to make an impression or he was going to miss the opportunity. For the first time in his life, he felt unsure of himself. Unsure of what it would take to snare this woman and hold on to her.
She was like a wounded bird, and like anything hurt, she was wary. He’d have to win her trust before he could win her. Her hopes and her dreams were important to him, as well as her fears. He wanted to talk to her, assure her he meant her no harm.
He wanted to take her away from here. Go somewhere private where they could be alone. But mostly, he wanted to see a smile light up her face. He had the feeling she hadn’t had much to smile about.
And damn it! He wanted to remove those damn combs from her hair and watch it tumble in silken disarray. Untie the straps on the barely-there-dress and watch it cascade to the floor. Then he would draw her tight, little nipples into his mouth and feast until she moaned with a need that matched the storm raging in his body.
He wanted to thrust his hardness inside her, bury himself to the hilt in her sweet warmth and savor his release—watch her face tighten with pleasure, hear her scream his name as she unraveled in his arms.
But if he pushed too hard—too soon—she would fly away like a startled bird.
It was obvious she was unsettled by her surroundings. From the way she kept glancing at her watch, she was evidently expecting someone.
A husband?
He swept a glance over her left hand and saw, with satisfaction, her fingers were bare. His taut body relaxed. No wedding ring. No husband.
That was good.
That was very good.
So who kept her waiting? A lover? The thought sent his stomach plummeting to his toenails. The crushing sensation that had earlier smothered his heart, returned, for damn sure, she wasn’t waiting for him, nor did she appear interested. He took a swig of his beer and frowned. Maybe it was time to hoist the white flag and back off.
A cold shower sounded like a good idea.
He preferred a hot, willing woman.
Neither was available here.
He rose halfway off the bar stool, determined to accept his loss gracefully and make his escape while his pride was still intact. Then he saw her fingers twist the cloth purse in a nervous gesture. His eyes shifted to her face, saw the color suddenly leach away. The pure lines of her face were strained and etched with fear.
Her slender body stiffened as a man suddenly claimed the vacant stool on the other side of her. Shit. She did have a lover.
The man captured her slender wrist with a sudden, brisk movement. His fingers bit into her flesh hard enough to cause her to wince. Jace narrowed his eyes to dangerous slits. Lover? Bullshit.
What in hell was going on?
This was certainly no lover. He took closer note of the man’s face and felt as if been stabbed through the heart.
Smitt Davis. The slimy bastard!
The surge of anger that swept through him as he realized this beautiful, young woman was somehow involved with an animal like Smitt Davis shocked him. He eased back onto the barstool. Maybe he’d just hang around a little longer. Hell, no wonder the woman looked so damn terrified. Smitt Davis was lower than pond scum.
* * * *
Kaycee smothered a soft cry when Smitt plopped down beside her. She discreetly struggled to get free of his imprisoning grip, then gave up. The man didn’t know the meaning of the word discreet.
“Turn me loose!”
Smitt Davis let go so abruptly, she nearly toppled off the barstool.
She bit her lip and flashed the cowboy next to her a look she knew was filled with embarrassment. Thank God, he wasn’t looking at her.
Instead, he was frowning darkly into his beer and completely missed the apprehension she knew flashed across her face.
Her hand shook as she reached for the tumbler and took a fortifying sip of the tequila. It was just as well the cowboy didn’t realize she was in trouble. She needed to get away, take her problems, and deal with Smitt elsewhere, anywhere, besides here.
She didn’t want to involve others in her troubles. And she certainly didn’t want the cowboy to get hurt because of her. If there was one thing she knew without doubt, it was that Smitt Davis was a dangerous man when crossed.
She started to rise from the stool she was seated upon, only to find herself hauled back by the man she detested. Her heart fluttered, then slam against her chest.
“You got something I want,” he said with a leer, “something besides the hot pussy between your legs.”
She swallowed back the urge to gag. The man was an animal. Wrenching her wrist out of his grip, she reached inside the little purse and withdrew an envelope filled with money. He’d left her with no choice but to deal with him here and now. So be it.
Pulling out a neat stack of twenty-dollar bills, she shoved the money toward him. She kept her back to the handsome cowboy beside her, hoping she managed to block his view. She didn’t want him to see or put his own interpretation on what she was doing.
“Take it!” she snapped quietly. “Take it, and leave me alone. I can’t…I won’t…pay you another cent. I want you out of my life. Now.”
He clamped his fingers around her wrist again and twisted, wrenching the delicate bones. “You think you can get rid of me that easy? You’re marked, girlie. My possessi
on. Even the cops know you belong to me.” He eyed the stack of bills on the bar. “You think this is enough?” He bared his teeth in a feral snarl.
Kaycee winced. He was tall and muscular, but he reminded her of a fox, pointy face, sharp fangs, snipping and snapping at her. Thin red hair touched his collar like greasy strings of raw meat. His face bore pockmarks and one corner of his bottom lip looked off-kilter where an inch long scar caused it to draw.
He scared the shit out of her. Worse, she was terribly afraid he’d take his anger out on Taylor if she couldn’t manage to get more money. Biting off the onslaught of words that would surely cause a scene, she struggled to work her wrist free of his bone-jarring grip.
“Let go of me.”
He grinned and tightened his hold. “You want freedom? It’ll cost you. Give me some of that sweet stuff you guard so well or get me more money. Your choice.”
She didn’t want trouble here in the casino lounge. She certainly didn’t want Duel to have reason to regret offering his help. And she didn’t want Smitt to lose his temper and create a bigger scene than what he was already creating.
“That’s all the money I can get,” she said quietly. And silently thanked God for the noisy crowd. “It will have to be enough.”
He squeezed tighter on the bones of her shackled wrist. Her eyes watered. She clenched her teeth to keep from thinking about how he intimidated her or how much worse he could hurt her.
“It ain’t nearly enough, girlie,” he hissed between his teeth. His reedy, frog-like lips rolled back in a thin snarl. “I don’t care how you get it. I don’t care if it takes laying on your back under every shithead who hankers for a ride. You get more of the green stuff or I get the first ride. The others can have what’s left when I’m finished with you. Refuse and I have ways of solving the problem. I’ll fuck you, then sell you to the highest bidder when I’m done.”
He brushed his fingertips against the curves of her breasts, lingering over one nipple to give a slight tug. “Ah, girlie…give me a ride and a taste of your tits, and I might mark the debt paid in full.”