The Nauti Boys Collection

by Lora Leigh

“I was in a hurry.” Janey shrugged.

  “You never get in too big a hurry for your makeup. Grab your beer. We’ll run upstairs and fix you up, then come back down after the band gets started.”

  Janey grabbed her beer, but she wasn’t so sure about this.

  “Do I look like a hag?” she asked the bartender as Rogue dragged her away.

  “Naw, you look sweet.” He grinned. “Sweet don’t do well in here, sugar.”

  Great. Now she looked sweet.

  “What does he mean by that?” she asked as Rogue dragged her behind the bar and through the Employees Only-marked door.

  “He means you look like a fresh-faced virgin.” Rogue laughed. “Virgins scare men, Janey. Big boys get all kinds of messed up when it comes to a virgin. So we’re going to liven you up some.”

  “That’s a scary thought.” She sighed as Rogue dragged her up the stairs. “Liven me up?”

  She didn’t want to look like a virgin. She didn’t want to act like a virgin. She wanted to have fun. To just be Janey. To let free all the bold, vibrant dreams she had held trapped inside her so long.

  “Make sure you have fun?” Rogue threw her a laughing glance as they entered the small apartment upstairs. “Come on in. I think we even have some decent clothes.”

  Janey looked down at her jeans and blouse. “What’s wrong with my clothes?” she exclaimed.

  Rogue turned back, pursed her lips, and narrowed her eyes. “Janey, haven’t you ever wanted to be just a woman?” Rogue asked softly. “Not Natches’s sister, or Dayle Mackay’s daughter.” She grinned. “Or Alex Jansen’s responsibility?”

  Janey stared back at Rogue suspiciously. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Deny Alex is babysitting you right now,” she dared Janey. “Now, I doubt many people know about it. But I just happen”—she looked her nails smugly—“to be a little smarter than most people. Besides, I overheard a little comment Natches made to Dawg last week while I was out on the docks at a friend’s boat. Something about murder, babysitters, Janey, and Alex. I’m good at the whole two-and-two-equals-four thing.”

  Janey hesitated.

  Rogue smiled back at her. “I’m not asking questions. But a hundred bucks says we have three Mackays and one Jansen that walks in the bar tonight. Now tell me. What do you want them to see? A little girl waiting to be collected? Or a grown woman taking her life back?”

  She craved to take her life back. Or rather, to have the life she always dreamed of having. One where she made her own choices, decided her own destiny.

  Janey frowned back at her. “I’m not a little girl, Rogue.”

  “No, you’re not.” Rogue’s expression hardened a bit. “But that’s how they see you, isn’t it?”

  “How do you figure that?”

  Rogue crossed her arms over the snug leather vest she wore in lieu of a blouse or shirt. “I know Alex, Janey. And I now his habits. He comes in wounded, finds himself a little plaything, and has hot and heavy fun while he’s home before he ships out again. Sometimes he finds a few women to play with. He’s as hard and sexual as any Mackay male. And no”—she grinned—“I haven’t fucked him. But what I know is that this time no one else has either. And I know he’s been staying in that apartment of yours with you, babysitting .” She rolled her eyes. “Since when are you a baby, honey?”

  Janey’s lips thinned. “What’s in this for you, Rogue?” She wasn’t the trusting sort, no matter how much of a baby people wanted to think she was.

  Rogue’s expression turned bitter for the slightest second before it smoothed out. “Because I’ve been where you are.” She turned and moved to the closet on the far side of the room. “I was sweet and innocent and thought everyone was a potential friend.” Long red gold curls moved across her back as she shook her head. “Someone taught me better.”

  She pulled several hangers from the closet and turned back to her.

  “Try these on.” She tossed the clothes to the bed. “You have a few more curves than I do. They’re loose on me, so they should fit. Daddy didn’t check for the correct sizes when he bought them.”

  Janey tentatively touched the short leather skirt and brilliant red camisole. “Your daddy?” She looked at Rogue in shock.

  “I do have a daddy.” Rogue laughed. “I wasn’t hatched, Janey.”

  “But he bought these?” She held up the silky stretch camisole. It would be snug. Scandalous.

  “He knows what I like.” Rogue shrugged. “Get dressed. I have stockings here somewhere. And I know I have heels. Let me find them.”

  Rogue spoke fondly of her “daddy.” How odd would that be, Janey thought. To have a father who bought pretty clothes, provided affection and support. Whatever shadows lingered in Rogue’s eyes, they weren’t because her father didn’t love her. Janey knew from the few conversations she and Rogue had had that the other woman treasured her father.

  As far as Janey was concerned, she herself hadn’t had a father. Or a mother really. She may as well have been hatched.

  She stared at Rogue as the other woman moved into the closet, mumbling about her own clumsy habits.

  Janey looked at the clothes again. The leather skirt was very short. To-her-thighs short at least. It would flash stockings. There would be no way to wear a bra with that top. Could she do it?

  She had dreamed of wearing clothes like this. Of being confident, feminine. A female force to be reckoned with.

  And Rogue was right. Before the night was out, her brother, her cousins, and one irate babysitter would enter that bar. Did she want to look like a child or a woman? Did she want to be herself, or the responsibility everyone else saw when they looked at her?

  Hell no. For once, for one night, she was going to let all that wild freedom, all that need inside her, free. If Alex was going to come looking for her, then she’d make damned sure he found the real her this time.

  “Do you have red heels?” Janey called out to Rogue.

  Rogue popped her head out the closet, her eyes twinkling. “Honey, I have three different shades of red. But I thought you’d go for black.”

  Janey shook her head. “If I’m gonna be bad, Rogue, let’s go all the way.”

  Rogue’s eyes twinkled. “Now you’re talking. And you’ve come to the perfect source, sweetie. Rogue knows exactly how to be bad.” She winked, turned back into the closet, and, a second later, emerged with red shoes to match the top.

  “Red stockings?” Rogue asked.

  Janey shook her head. “Black. Net.”

  Rogue pursed her lips in a soundless whistle. “Oh man. Things are definitely going to get interesting tonight.”

  SEVEN

  When Alex arrived at the apartment, it was empty. He used his key to slip in. The place was as silent as a tomb. On the landing outside, the cat meowed plaintively but wouldn’t come in.

  Alex set the food bowl on the balcony, locked the apartment back up, then rushed to the office. He slipped in there. Checked the restaurant. It was still and silent. No sign anyone was there or had been there.

  Moving back outside, he jerked his cell phone from his hip and punched the sheriff’s number.

  “Yeah?” Zeke answered quickly.

  “Janey’s missing.”

  There was silence for all of two seconds before Zeke let out a virulent curse. “You called the Mackays yet?”

  “That’s my next call. There’s no sign of struggle or trouble, but her car’s still parked outside the office and her cat was waiting on her. Does she have any friends?”

  “Not that I’ve heard of,” Zeke bit out. “Call the Mackays. I’ll get an APB out on her. Shit. Dammit all to hell.”

  The call disconnected. Alex punched in Dawg’s number. He didn’t want to deal with Natches yet.

  “What’s up?” Dawg answered, his voice a slow, easy drawl that almost had Alex wincing. He knew what that sound meant.

  “Janey’s gone.”

  There was silence. “What do you mean, gone?” Dawg’s voi
ce wasn’t lazy anymore.

  “I mean I just checked the apartment and the restaurant. Her car is still here and she isn’t,” Alex snapped, fury burning in his gut. “Get your asses in gear.”

  He disconnected as he ran for his truck. God, where was she?

  She didn’t have friends. He’d watched her in the past week; other than a few business calls, she didn’t chitchat on the phone. No one visited. She worked, she ate, slept, went to bed. She didn’t socialize and she didn’t just disappear.

  Pulling out of the driveway, he called her restaurant manager, Hoyt Napier. The son of a deceased vet, Hoyt was quiet, steady. But he hadn’t seen Janey since work the night before.

  Where the hell could she be? He pulled to a stop at the intersection to the main highway, his hands gripping the steering wheel, his teeth clenched.

  The ring of the cell phone had him flipping it open quickly at the sight of Dawg’s number on the display.

  “Did you find her?”

  “Are you fucking insane?” Dawg growled. “It’s been three fucking minutes. Uncle Ray and Rowdy are heading around the lake to look for her. Natches is already in the parking lot gunning that fucking cycle of his. Someone tell him it’s cold. I’m about halfway down the dock still trying to pull my fucking boots on, goddammit.”

  “And you’re wasting my time why?” Alex pulled into the traffic, his gaze canvassing the sides of the busy streets as he began weaving through the traffic.

  “Because Natches is losing his fucking mind, maybe? Chaya and Crista are heading to Kelly’s car with her. Dammit all to fucking hell. They won’t stay home.”

  “Dawg, I’m not chitchatting with you, dammit,” Alex yelled. “Tell me where to look for her. Son of a bitch, where would she have gone?”

  He could feel it building in him now. Fear. Complete, unadulterated fear. He should have known better. He should have stayed on her ass twenty-four-seven. He knew better than to let her out of his sight.

  “One nutcase at a time, Alex,” Dawg growled. “I already have Natches freaking out here. Don’t join the party.”

  “Get fucked!”

  “Not by you, asshole,” Dawg assured him. “Now, listen up. Janey wouldn’t have gone anywhere with anyone easy. She’d have left something. Anything.”

  “Do you think I don’t know that?” Alex yelled.

  He was losing it. He could feel himself losing control. He hadn’t lost control since he was sixteen years old and nearly fucking killed his father when he came home from school to find Crista running a 104 degree fever and dehydrated.

  “Okay. She didn’t leave anything,” Dawg agreed. “We all said someone’s just trying to scare her. She could have left on her own. Fuck, she’s a Mackay, man, whether you or Natches, either one, wants to admit it. And she’s a woman to boot. Expect the unexpected.”

  “She would have left a note.”

  Dawg snorted, but Alex heard the slam of his truck door and the squeal of tires.

  “Janey hasn’t had to leave anyone a note in her life,” Dawg snarled. “Now, use your damned head. If Janey didn’t leave a light on, she’s safe.”

  “How the fuck do you know?”

  “Because, that was our agreement with her when she moved out from Natches’s boat. She has rules to live by, Alex. Didn’t she tell you?”

  “She would have to talk to me first.” When he found her, he swore, he was going to make her understand his fucking rule.

  “Okay, here are the rules. If she’s forced from the office or from the apartment, she’ll leave a light on. Otherwise, all off. Were they off?”

  “They were all off. Completely. Not even the porch light was left on.”

  “So ninety percent chance she left on her own.”

  “Her car is there,” Alex argued. “She didn’t go on foot.”

  “And that’s why we’re all out running the roads like fucking jackasses right now,” Dawg retorted furiously. “You sure she didn’t have a date?”

  “No. Fucking. Date.” The thought of it had red edging at the sides of his vision.

  Janey, on a date? With another man? He’d have killed the son of a bitch.

  Fuck. Fuck. What the hell was he doing here? What was he thinking?

  “Check the movie theater. Bookstores,” Dawg ordered. “Grocery store. She likes to cook. Crista said she hasn’t been cooking while you were there. She might have decided to. She likes to browse the mall. She could have taken a cab. Janey doesn’t like driving if she knows she’s going to be stopping somewhere to eat. She likes a glass of wine with her meal and won’t risk driving. She takes cabs a lot.”

  Alex disconnected the call. He was getting ready to punch in the number of the cab company when the phone rang.

  “What?” he snapped into the line, expecting it to be Dawg.

  “We have a problem.” Zeke’s voice was almost amused.

  “No shit!” Alex bit out. “What now?”

  “I just talked to Natches. He called the cab company. Driver took her to that bar at the edge of town. You know the one. The biker bar.”

  Alex didn’t say a word. He shut the phone, tossed it to the seat, and executed a U-turn in the middle of town before speeding through the traffic to the bar in question.

  The biker bar. The one where Rogue Walker and her friends kept the town filled with gossip.

  His jaw clenched as the phone rang and he ignored it. Dawg called. Natches called.

  Ten minutes later he swung into the crowded graveled parking lot as the sheriff’s cruiser pulled in behind him. Before Alex was out of the truck, Natches rolled in on his bike, Chaya, Crista, and Kelly pulled in, and Dawg eased his pickup in behind them.

  Alex strode furiously to the door, jerked it open, and stepped into the raucous, smoky atmosphere. He hadn’t taken half a dozen steps inside when he came to a full, hard stop and just stared.

  He swore he swallowed his tongue. He heard Zeke curse behind him. Dawg was chiding Crista over something and Chaya might have been arguing with Natches. All Alex knew, all he saw, was Janey.

  She was incandescent, and it wasn’t that bright red, too-damned-snug, tiny, strapped little camisole top that made her light the room up either.

  Her hair was straight, feathering around her flushed face, her reddened lips. Her green eyes glowed. Her arms were stretched over her head as she and Rogue rocked with some leather-clad dancer on the dance floor, both of them laughing and weaving, swaying seductively as the men around them danced with them. Old, young—they had the whole fucking bar rocking. There were other women on the floor. The women that ran with the bikers, dressed scantily, usually fighting. Not tonight. Tonight, they were dancing, and Janey was in the middle of it.

  She tossed her head, shook her hips, and a vise tightened around his balls. She wasn’t wearing a bra. She better be wearing panties.

  That short black leather skirt flirted with the tops of fishnet stockings, and red fuck-me pumps graced her small feet.

  And she was having fun.

  Alex felt something clench in his chest, tighter than before. His guts felt twisted, his cock was a steel spike throbbing beneath his jeans, and his senses were so fucking scattered he didn’t know how to sort them out.

  He’d seen Janey as sweet, vulnerable. Someone he had to protect from life and from himself. Hell, he’d never stop thinking that. But that was a woman on the dance floor, and every male instinct raging inside him warned him that if he didn’t take what belonged to him, then someone was going to take it away from him.

  Tortured need clashed with the honor he had always demanded of himself. Dark, brutal, the memories of the past filtered through his brain as he watched her.

  He’d almost loved once in his life. At twenty, two years after joining the Army. He was in Germany. His lover was an embassy liaison, and she had died in a back alley on her way home to her apartment. A victim of senseless violence. It hadn’t been terrorists. She hadn’t been a spy; she hadn’t known any secrets. She’d been ra
ped and murdered, and left in a filthy back street.

  And Alex had protected his heart ever since. It wasn’t just terrorism or betrayal that killed. Women died every day. Innocent deaths. Acts of God. In the snap of a finger all the happiness that could build inside a man could be snatched away just as easily.

  He couldn’t let himself love. But he couldn’t walk away from the vision on that dance floor either.

  Her green eyes shimmered between her dark, smoky lashes. Red lips curled with eager fun, not lust. Not invitation. Simple fun.

  She bumped hips with Rogue before they turned and swayed with several other eager male dancers. She was laughing, keeping her distance; she wasn’t touching. She was excitement itself, and he was going to come in his jeans just watching her.

  “Natches, leave her alone,” Chaya was ordering her husband behind him.

  “Dammit, Chaya, they’re bikers,” Natches was arguing.

  “She’s having fun, Natches.”

  Alex swallowed tight. He moved through the crowd, pushing his way past them, and headed to the dance floor as the band slid smoothly into a slow, sensual tune. Janey laughed and shook her head at the men around her, pointed to the bar, and turned to leave.

  He caught her at the edge of the floor. His arm slid around her waist, pulling her against him as she stiffened.

  “Dance with me, Janey.” He lowered his lips to her ear, feeling her soften, feeling her body flow into his.

  Alex turned her slowly, pulled her into his arms, and, staring down at her, jerked her hips to his before he began swaying with her.

  It always amazed him, each time he had her in his arms, how tiny she was compared to him. A good six inches shorter even with heels, her curvy little body fragile against him. His hands cupped her hips, slid to her back. He wanted to crush her against him. Lift her up and carry her away. Touch her. Fill her with the hunger raging, dark and brutal, inside him.

  “I couldn’t find you,” he whispered against her ear. “I was worried.”

  Her hands smoothed over his shoulders, as though she enjoyed touching him.

  “I left all the lights off,” she murmured, letting her body stroke against his, caress him.

  “You didn’t tell me about the lights. And you took a cab.”