The Nauti Boys Collection

by Lora Leigh

  It wasn’t that he had left her there. He had believed she would be safe, she could forgive him for that. No, she was angry, she was hurt, because he hadn’t left with so much as a “see you later.” She could have died believing he had felt nothing for her.

  It was the betrayal that hurt. When he needed her he hadn’t wanted to accept that she would be there for him. He hadn’t told her the full details of what he was doing and why he was doing it. He hadn’t shared his feelings for her. He had just left her there. He could have died, been arrested for whatever, and gone from her life, and she wouldn’t have known she was any more important to him than the grass under his feet.

  Because he had lied to her. He had let her think he was simply using her, when she had known, known to the bottom of her soul that he cared.

  “Rogue?” her mother spoke her name softly. “When you’re young it’s very easy to let pride get in the way of what’s most important in your life. Don’t make that mistake.”

  She turned away from her mother’s compassionate gaze and swallowed tightly. Was it just pride?

  “He lied to me,” she whispered. “He left me, denying he cared anything for me.”

  “And if he hadn’t come back?” her father asked. “If he’d died, Rogue? He was looking out for you.”

  She fought the tears that would have fallen. “He just left.”

  “And perhaps he had no other choice,” her mother said gently as the limo turned into Somerset and headed for the old town center where her new apartment was located. “Men aren’t always as logical as they think they are. Sometimes, Rogue, it’s up to the women who love them to point that out to them.”

  “And sometimes it takes a good swift kick,” her father drawled in amusement. “Your mother has delivered a few of those over the years.”

  She stared out the window, her throat tight with unshed tears as she fought the pain that never seemed to ease, the chill that she swore went clear to her soul.

  God, she missed Zeke. She ached for him.

  “Rogue.” Her mother touched her arm gently as the limo pulled into the back lot of the restaurant. “Perhaps you should just talk to him.”

  She saw the Tahoe then, the sheriff’s emblem emblazed on the door as it opened and Zeke stepped out.

  He was dressed in jeans again, that damned badge hanging on his belt. He wore boots and a gray cotton shirt. The sun blazed around him, making his eyes appear more golden, his expression more imposing as the car drew to a stop.

  “Just talk to him, Rogue,” her father suggested gently then. “It doesn’t hurt to talk.”

  The chauffeur opened the door and she stepped out slowly, aware of the door closing behind her and seconds later the vehicle pulling away.

  Zeke leaned against the front of the Tahoe, his arms crossing over his chest, his expression imposing.

  “Took you long enough,” he growled, his voice dark, deep. His face was almost haggard. He looked as bad as she felt, as though the world had crashed in upon him as well.

  She pulled her keys from her pocket, turned, and moved for the steps of the apartment.

  Was he following her? She could feel him behind her, watching her. She felt like a rabbit beneath the regard of a hungry wolf.

  She saw him as she turned up the steps. He was behind her. Far enough away that she could tell he was deliberately keeping distance between them.

  “Is the investigation over?” she asked as she shoved the key into the door and stepped inside.

  “It’s over. They rounded the final members up the night after Jonesy was killed. They have all the evidence they need to lock them up for a damned long time.”

  Rogue nodded. “From what I’ve been hearing they didn’t have much of a chance for success anyway. A bunch of crazy old men looking for a war.”

  “That about sums it up.” His voice was clipped, cool as he stepped into the apartment behind her and closed the door. “But these crazy old coots were smarter than you’d think. And more dangerous.”

  She nodded. Yeah, she’d heard that, too. They’d killed a lot of good men and women and been responsible for even more deaths over the past thirty years.

  “How’s Gene doing?” she asked.

  Zeke blew out a hard breath. “It’s been hard on him. He didn’t even know Cammi was seeing the Walker boys. It shook him up, realizing she was hiding it from him. Makes sense why she ran off to her sisters after they were killed though. She was devastated.”

  “She loved them?” Rogue turned and stared at him from where she stood in the living room.

  “She cared a hell of a lot anyway.” He shook his head, his expression heavy. “She wasn’t aware anyone was looking for her. She thought Joe had killed Jaime and then himself, because of her. Gene’s taking care of her though. That’s the important part.”

  That was the important part, Rogue agreed. Like her father had tried to take care of her, and she had refused to allow it. Her family had gathered around her, giving advice, offering their support, and nothing helped the pain; no one could ease it.

  She stared back at Zeke now and swallowed at the lump of pain in her throat. It had been so long since she had felt his arms around her. So many nights she had cried into her pillow, aching, hurting.

  “Do you hate me, Rogue?” he asked then, standing before her, tall and so very arrogant, as though he were daring her to strike out at him. As though he expected it.

  “Would you hate me?” she asked him.

  She had wondered over the past week if she was right or wrong in how she felt. Should she punish him, or should she simply love him?

  He grimaced heavily. “I’d paddle your damned ass if you pulled something like that on me,” he finally admitted. “But son of a bitch if I would let you go, Rogue. There wouldn’t have been a night that I wasn’t trying to get into your bed anyway.”

  “I can’t paddle your ass,” she said, her voice thickening with the emotion clogging it. “What am I supposed to do, Zeke, wait until the next time you’re worried for me, scared I’ll be hurt, and you do it again? How do I know when you’re committed to me rather than your fears of losing someone?”

  His jaw clenched furiously. “You sound like Shane now. He hasn’t spoken to me since he found out what had been going on the past ten years. He’s pouting in Louisville like a child because I didn’t tell him before he left on that trip what was going on.”

  “Because you could have died while he was gone,” she snapped. “Because he loves you, Zeke. How do you think it makes us feel? To know you’d push us away so damned easily?”

  “That I’d protect you?” he growled back. “I’d hope you’d understand how important you are to me. God, Rogue, do you think I wanted to die knowing if I had told you how I felt that you would have grieved worse? Or if I was arrested and charged for a murder I committed as a child, do you think I wanted you to hold on to me when I didn’t have a future to give you?”

  “And that’s acceptable?” she cried. “Fine, Zeke, let’s turn the table. Would you accept it?”

  “Fuck no!” he yelled back. “You’re mine, damn you. No matter what.”

  “My God, listen to you.” She was in his face, almost nose to nose, anger beating a ragged tattoo in her veins. “Listen to how arrogant you are! Why should I accept it? Why shouldn’t you belong to me, too, Zeke? Do you think for one damned minute I’ll only take you when you’re safe? God, what is that, a weekend out of the fucking year?”

  His eyes narrowed. “You’ll take me, period, every damned day of the year,” he snarled back. “Fine, I was a fucking fool. I was stupid. I was a dumb-fuck hick that loved his woman enough to want to protect her. So shoot me.”

  “Give me the gun.” Hands on hips, arousal and anger firing in her blood, she yelled the words back at him.

  It flooded her now. The long nights without him, the anger that he would stay away from her without telling her he loved her. That he would wait until she was angry, until she wanted to kick him, before
admitting it.

  “You little hellion.” Amazement darkened his gaze and filled his face. “You stubborn little witch. You won’t even say you love me, will you?”

  “Why should I?” A pout formed on her lips as she whirled away from him. “Why should I tell you anything?”

  If she thought he was going to let her get away that easily, she was wrong. She had hoped she was wrong. Prayed she was.

  Before she could take the first step he wrapped an arm around her waist, picked her up, then strode through the apartment. Straight to her bedroom and to the bed.

  “You will say it,” he promised her, his voice filled with arousal and demand now. “Before you get out of this bed, I promise you, you’ll say it.”

  Rogue swiped the hair from her face, leaned up on her elbows, and watched him undress. He tore at his clothes. Buttons ripped from his shirt, his boots were tossed to the floor, his jeans, underwear, and shocks taken off in one swipe. When he stood before her, all dark flesh and raging arousal, Rogue swore she lost her breath.

  His cock was furiously engorged, the wide crest flushed dark and throbbing as his fingers circled the thick shaft and pumped it with several slow, erotic strokes.

  “Undress,” he ordered, his voice rough, his eyes dark.

  “You’re getting awful bossy,” she murmured, though she rose from the bed as she watched him carefully.

  She didn’t just tear her clothes off. She bent her knee and pulled off first one shoe, then the other and let them drop to the floor. Next, with slow, exacting movements her hands gripped the hem of her light sweater and she pulled it over her head, finally shaking her hair free as his groan whispered to her.

  His expression was intent now, his face flushed. Golden brown eyes seemed darker, more predatory as her fingers went to the snap of her jeans.

  The metal closure came free easily, the zipper rasped open, and seconds later she was pushing the denim from her legs and standing before him in nothing but the wicked black lace of her thong and bra. As he watched, her hands lifted and she cupped the swollen mounds of her breasts before flicking open the plastic clip of the bra.

  “God, I’ll have a stroke before you get those panties off,” he groaned hoarsely. “Could you try to hurry, baby? Control isn’t something I have a lot of right now.”

  She smiled. Let him suffer then. He deserved to suffer for what he’d done to her. Just a little bit.

  “I should worry about your control?” she asked, her voice soft, deliberately sensual. “Really, Zeke. I’ve suffered a week now. Where have you been?”

  His eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t even talk to me when I called, Rogue.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe I didn’t want a phone between us, Zeke. Maybe I wanted you. And you weren’t here.”

  She shivered as she let her fingertips trail down her stomach and imagined the touch of his fingers against her. Calloused, rough, warm.

  “You are treading a very thin line, sweetheart,” he rasped.

  “Are you going to handcuff me, Sheriff?” Her fingers dipped beneath the elastic of her thong, her breath catching as her fingertips grazed her clit.

  The look on his face was sexy as hell. Dark and primal. She wondered how long it would take him to break that incredible control of his.

  “Damn, you’re gorgeous,” he breathed out as she trailed her fingers back to her breasts and whispered a touch over her nipples.

  “Am I really?” She smiled back at him. “I’m a little short.”

  “That’s what they make those damned high heels for,” he breathed roughly. “Rogue, sweetheart, we’re reaching critical here.” His hand tightened on his cock. “Take the panties off, baby.”

  “You take them off.”

  It was a dare. It was a challenge. And she should have known better. She would have if it hadn’t produced exactly the reaction she wanted.

  He was across the distance in two short steps. His fingers curled under the band of the thong and pulled. The material ripped away from her with a hiss of a sound. One arm went around her back and he lifted her, dragging one leg over his hip as he turned to the bed.

  The heavy crest of his cock was poised at the entrance to her pussy, pressing against her as he laid her back along the bed, spread her legs wide, and lowered his gaze to watch.

  It was so damned sexy it should be illegal. Rogue watched, too. Watched as the bare folds of her sex parted and the blunt, dark head of his erection began to press inside her.

  Heat seared her from the inside out. Pleasure whipped through her body, centered at the point of penetration, and then sizzled over her flesh. Her clit throbbed, and she swore if he didn’t hurry she was going to orgasm before he was even seated fully inside her.

  She was desperate, on fire. Her hand pushed down her abdomen again and her fingers found the straining nub of her clit as Zeke jerked against her.

  “God, that’s fucking sexy,” he groaned as she touched herself.

  His hips shifted and a cry left her lips as he sank deeper inside her. The erotic stretching was sheer bliss. The little bite of a burn, the stroke of rapture. Rogue’s back arched with the sensations, her head dug into the mattress.

  “There, baby,” he breathed out, his voice rough, the muscles in his abdomen flexing as she watched him pull back. “Ah God. You’re so sweet. So tight and hot.”

  Her finger raced over her clit as he began to move inside her. Deep, heavy thrusts that had her hips writhing as she masturbated to the swift tempo he was creating.

  It was exquisite, heated. Bliss.

  “More,” she begged, watching as his cock pulled free, glistened with her juices, then shoved inside again with a hard, hungry stroke.

  Rogue could feel the sensations gathering inside her, the tight knot of heat in her womb, the throb of her clit, the racing of her blood, and the ache in her nipples. They were growing, signaling the approach of her orgasm as she tried to push that steady ascension faster. She wanted it now. She wanted to explode in his arms, wanted to scream his name.

  It was more than just the pleasure, more than just her approaching orgasm. Zeke was here in her arms, in her bed. She stared up at him, memorizing the arousal-heavy planes and angles of his face, the perspiration building on his corded, muscular shoulders.

  Arching in his arms, she felt the warning thunder in her veins, the burst of almost violent sensation as his hips twisted against her, thrusting heavily, stroking, building the pleasure inside her, and she wondered if she could survive. If she’d live through the cataclysm racing for her.

  She saw it as it exploded. Blinding lights, the pulse and throb of her vagina around the heavy thrusts inside it. The stretching burn, the need, the desire, and finally the blinding, soul-shattering explosion that had her screaming his name, twisting in his arms, and melting in completion.

  “Zeke. Oh God, Zeke. I love you. I love you.”

  He couldn’t leave her again. She couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t stand to see him walk away, to see him face danger alone, not knowing she loved him, not knowing that when he came back, she would be there. No matter what.

  Her hands jerked to his face, clasped it as he jerked above her in his own release. Their eyes met, melded.

  “I love you,” she cried huskily. “Don’t you know, Zeke? Whether you loved me or not, I’d die for you.”

  His golden brown eyes flared with heat. His expression twisted in pain, in remorse.

  “I love you until I can’t breathe for needing you.” His voice was jerky, panting. “God, Rogue. I live for you.”

  He shuddered against her; the feel of his release spilling inside her, the press of his body against her, it was completion. It was where she was meant to be.

  This was the dream. It went past the little deceptions he had played upon her, it went past the anger and the hurt pride. It overrode their fears. Here. In Zeke’s arms, Caitlyn Rogue found a home.

  EPILOGUE

  One year later

  It was the party of the yea
r as far as the Mackay Marina and its inhabitants were concerned as the owners of the marina hosted the reception for the Pulaski County sheriff that finally tied the knot with the rogue that stole his heart.

  The bride was exquisite in an off-white medieval gown. The groom was debonair in his black tux. The best man, Somerset’s chief of police, Alex Jansen, stood with the matron of honor, his wife, Janey Mackay Jansen.

  The tables that had been set up beneath the canopy erected just for the event were filled. But the main attraction, even for the bride and groom, were the three exquisite Mackay daughters that had been born to the Mackay cousins in the past year.

  All girls. Their daddies held them close and glared at the guests who laughed, because they couldn’t believe the notorious Mackay cousins had all gotten payback quite so good.

  “Yeah, those girls are going to be wilder than the wind,” one guest remarked. “Can’t you just see Natches at fifty, hobbling on his cane to keep up with that girl of his?”

  His daughter, with a head full of thick black hair tipped with gold and curious green eyes, stared up at her daddy with a spark of mischief already.

  “What about that Dawg,” another guest ventured. “A daughter. Oh man. I can’t wait to see the shenanigans those girls get into.”

  Dawg growled.

  “Bet me ole Rowdy’s girl ain’t the wildest,” another guest dared. “He was always the quiet one of the bunch. You know he was the ringleader.”

  The guests laughed, looked at three perfect little girls with black hair and green eyes, and felt a smidgen of compassion for the former bad boys of the county.

  Three Mackay girls. Cousins. Gorgeous and already confident of their place in the world.

  Yeah, give it another twenty years and the Mackays would be the talk of the town again. The Mackays, and the friends that backed them. The Nauti Boys would one day become the Nauti Girls.