The Wicked Horse Boxed Set (+Wicked Bond [5])

by Sawyer Bennett

  "Come on. His office is this way," Cat whispers, reaching back for my hand to pull me toward the stairs.

  I immediately place my palm against hers, but ask, "Why are you whispering?"

  "I don't know," she rasps back with a giggle. "I guess because I'm not sure if I'm actually breaking and entering, or not."

  "Let's assume not and talk in our normal voices," I prod her. Although she's cute as fuck doing that, it's also setting me on edge a bit, making me feel like we shouldn't be here, and I'd rather take the optimistic route that we are definitely allowed.

  Cat had assured me there was no full-time staff who lived in the house. While Samuel employed a chef, housekeeper, and an attendant for his personal needs, none of those employees lived in residence. As far as we knew, Kevin was still back in Jackson, probably never suspecting Cat would come here to search the house. Richard was probably oblivious to everything but we didn't know that for sure. Cat decided not to reach out to him, mainly because she figured he wasn't going to help her. He may not have any clue what Kevin was doing from Jackson, but then again, he might have full knowledge. We'd never know, so why alert him any further that Cat was questioning the validity of the will?

  Now, it certainly can't be helped she let Kevin know she was questioning it, but we're sort of banking on his ego and his complete underestimation of Cat to keep him happily in the dark. So if we're lucky, he's probably on a fishing trip right now on the Snake River. Cat says that's one of the reason's he goes to Jackson, and if there's a God above, maybe he'll fall out of the fucking boat and drown.

  Cat leads me up a curved staircase done in deep mahogany to a large second-floor landing. Hallways branch left and right... entryways into the wings of the house.

  "My room was that way." She points to the right, and then back to the left. "Samuel's that way."

  I find it interesting she referenced her room in the past tense. Not sure if that's because she doesn't believe this house is hers or that she doesn't intend to come back here regardless. I'll ask her about that later, but for now, I follow her straight ahead from the landing to a set of double doors that she pushes open to a huge office.

  It's what I would expect of an egomaniac, billionaire hotelier. Expensively paneled walls, luxurious silk rugs, ornately carved desk, and the faint musk of cigars in the air.

  "Samuel spent a lot of time in here," Cat murmurs in a grateful tone as she drops my hand and walks in. Glad he spent time in here and not bothering her, I'm sure.

  She heads straight for his desk and pulls back the massive leather chair on wheels so she can sit down in it. Turning to a side drawer, she pulls it open and starts rifling through. I walk up to her and stand behind the chair to the side, watching her progress. She pulls out a thick pack of stapled papers and hands them to me, saying, "Our pre-nup. The will trumps anything in the pre-nup as best I can remember, but we should take pictures of this as well."

  Before we came in here, we agreed we wouldn't take any documents with us. Our main goal was to verify if the will cutting Cat out existed, and to look at the current will if we could find it. Because there's not a copier in Samuel's office, we'll have to take a picture of each page with her iPhone.

  I hold the pre-nup without looking at it. I don't care what deal Cat made with her devil of a husband. I only care about her not getting screwed over right now.

  "Bingo," she shouts with glee and pulls out another thick document. She lays it on the desk, and I step in closer to look at it over her shoulder. It's titled "Revocable Trust Agreement and Pour-Over Will".

  "Quite a fancy name for a will," I mutter.

  She nods. "Trust agreement... will... I'm assuming they're just different names for the same thing; how to distribute his estate."

  Cat starts to skim through it, her finger sliding down the page as she scans and flips pages.

  "Kevin is the trustee, but I knew that. Just means he'll administer the estate. Blah, blah, blah, blah," she says as she breezes past paragraphs entitled Debts & Expenses and Administrative Powers of Fiduciaries. My eyes actually start to cross when her finger stops and she says, "This is the paragraph."

  I lean over closer and see the word Residuary. Cat reads out loud, "Upon my death, I direct my trustee to transfer five-million dollars to my wife, Catherine Lyons Vaughn. Pursuant to our pre-nuptial agreement, she will have no ownership rights or interests in any of my real property at the time of my death, with the exception of the house in Jackson, Wyoming. I further direct my trustee to ensure transfer of title and deed of said property to my wife."

  "Did you know that was in his will?" I ask her.

  She nods. "Not the exact details, but he told me he would leave me with enough money to sustain me as well as a house. I didn't know it would be the Jackson house. I suppose that was his way of reminding me in death how much he loved taking me there."

  I wince at the bitterness in her voice. There's no way she'd ever want to stay in a place that held such terrible memories for her.

  Cat flips quickly through the rest of the document to the very end, where I can see the original ink of Samuel's signature as well as a notary public seal.

  "He signed this two weeks after we were married," she says, still looking at the document.

  "We need to go through the rest of his stuff," I tell her as I squat down at the drawer that's still open and start rifling through the contents. "If there's another will or trust agreement or whatever the fuck you call it dated after that one, you're screwed."

  "But if there's not, Kevin's screwed," she says, and my head turns toward her because of the icy tone in her voice. She narrows her eyes at me and in a voice bristling with anger, she says, "That asshole kicked me out over five million dollars and a house? When Samuel's estate is worth billions? What a fucking douche bag."

  I give her a wry smile. "I think it was more about controlling you than the money. The fact he wanted you to stay at the house tells me all I need to know. He was banking on you crawling to him for help."

  "Bet he was stunned I didn't," she says quietly.

  Nodding in agreement, I turn back to the drawer, eager to get this over with and get the hell out. I start flipping through hanging folders containing tax returns, bank statements, and deeds of trust. Folder after folder of the story of Samuel Vaughn's wealthy life.

  "Thank you, Rand," Cat murmurs. It's so soft I barely hear it, yet my entire body feels like it's been punched by the depth of emotion in her words. My head rises and turns to her as she sits in the massive leather chair that swallows her up. "If you hadn't have taken me in, I might have gone to Kevin for help."

  "No way," I say with a soft smile. I don't reach out and touch her like I want to, because I don't want to give any credence to her suspicion of what she might have done. I know Cat. She's stronger than that and would have never given Kevin the ability to control her. So I stay reserved so she knows it's a ludicrous thought. "The Cat Lyons I know wouldn't have ever done that. You would have figured another way. Hell, you did figure another way. You sold your jewelry and you came to Vegas to find the truth. So fuck you very much, Kevin Vaughn. This woman doesn't need you."

  Her beautiful, brown eyes crinkle and she can't help the deep laugh that erupts. "Yeah. Fuck you very much, Kevin Vaughn."

  Now I laugh with her and totally can't resist reaching out to wrap my hand around her neck, pulling her forward. I kiss her hard and knock the laugh right out of both of us. When I pull back slightly, I nip at her lip and ask, "Would it be bad form for us to fuck in this house?"

  She snickers. "I don't think I could get wet for you in this house."

  "Then I insist when we leave here, we head over to the Bellagio. My treat. We're getting a nice suite with a view over the lake, and I'm going to fuck you on a bed stuffed with feathered down and covered in silk."

  She sighs and her eyes are closed with a dreamy expression on her face when I pull all the way back. That look... right there. I want her to have that on her face all the t
ime. Regardless of where this creature lands in life, be it here or back in Jackson, I want this woman to walk through the rest of her days with that look on her face.

  *

  I step up behind Cat as she looks out the window at the Bellagio lake below us. It's timed water show set to music is quiet right now, and besides, it's better to see that stuff at night. Of course, she's from Vegas so she's probably seen it a hundred times before. But I'm glad we're staying here. It's a good way to celebrate.

  Celebrate that we didn't get arrested.

  Celebrate we found the signed trust agreement leaving her money and the house.

  Celebrate we didn't find the one that supposedly cut Cat out.

  Of course, it didn't mean there wasn't one, but it wasn't in Samuel's house. We had to figure out our next move, but we could do that later, and besides... I want Bridger's input on that. He always has a cool head and a chess-like mind, and this is all about maneuvering into the right spot at the right time.

  My hands go to Cat's waist, and I press the front of my body against the back of hers. She didn't give me any argument about coming to the Bellagio for the night and letting me pay.

  That's progress.

  Her head falls back and my chin drops to rest on her shoulder. "You know, I think feathers and silk are overrated. I'm perfectly fine just fucking you up against this window right now."

  Many women would laugh, blush, and coyly banter with me.

  But not Cat.

  Taking one of my hands, she drags it across her stomach and pushes it down in between her legs. She chose to wear a pair of camel-colored pants with wide legs and matching heels to our scouting mission at her house. Her ivory-colored blouse and pearls made her look every inch the rich wife, and she quipped that if she were going to get arrested, she was going to look damn good doing it.

  I agreed. She looked damn good, but now I'm bemoaning the fact she's not wearing her simple floral skirt she had on yesterday for the ride. It would make things so much easier.

  Still, I remain undaunted and because her hand insistently pushes mine right to where she wants me, I reward her with a hard press of my palm against the bottom of her zipper. I estimate her clit is right about there and I know I'm on the money when she moans and tilts her hips into me.

  "How about we get these pants off you?" I ask her, but I don't wait for permission. Instead, I bring both hands to her button, where I easily open it and pull the zipper down. I push the material, making sure to grab her panties with my fingers on the way down and squat right alongside. Pulling past the smooth, silky skin of her thighs until it's pooled around her feet, which are still encased in four-inch heels.

  "How far can you spread your legs?" I ask her.

  She turns her head over her shoulder, eyes at half mast, and tries to kick one leg out, but the constraint from her pants doesn't give. My eyes slide to her bare ass and just a peek of her pussy below, and I know that's not enough for what I want to do.

  "Lift your leg," I tell her, tapping her left calf. She lifts that one up, so I can pull the material of her pants and underwear free. Before setting her foot back to the ground, I kiss the inside of her thigh.

  I don't worry about the other leg, because now she's free enough to spread wide. Cat doesn't even wait for my command but pushes her left leg out about a foot. Now her pussy opens up to me. I surge upward, bringing my hands to her ass and peeling her cheeks apart so I can have better access. Tilting my head back, I bring my mouth to her and slide my tongue in as deep as it will reach.

  "Oh, God... Rand," Cat moans.

  She's wet and tastes amazing. My tongue is drenched with her need, and while my thoughts were to get her off with my mouth, my cock is so painfully hard that I want to give it relief. So I pull my mouth free of her and stand up, my hands working at my belt, button, and zipper. Cat's ready for me as she bends forward, placing her hands against the window glass and tilting her ass outward.

  "That's a good girl," I murmur as I pull my cock out.

  Step right up to her.

  Dip my legs.

  Slide my way home.

  "Mmmmmm," I groan through tightly closed lips and gritted teeth. Because fuck, that feels good.

  She responds with a low moan of her own, rotating her hips... trying to draw me in deeper, but that's impossible. I'm rooted.

  "Hard or slow fucking?" I ask her because I want Cat to start realizing she has choices. I might take control most times and lead the way, but I want her to know she has the right to choose otherwise.

  The right to ask for something she wants.

  "Slow," she whispers, and I have to smile. Usually when we go at it, it's as if we're in overdrive, both racing as fast as we can to the climax because we know we can do it all over again. But yeah, she's right. I think, for right now, we go slowly. We have all day and night, as we're not leaving until tomorrow morning to head back to Jackson.

  So I fuck her very slow and while at times it's almost torturous to hold back on blowing, in the end, it's a fucking stellar orgasm that actually drops both of us to our knees when we come together.

  Chapter 14

  Cat

  I put in my earrings, the only pair I kept that are sedate gold hoops, and check my watch--which I also kept. I kept it because I'm constantly checking the time and will go nuts without it, but also so I could have something else to pawn should I need to down the road.

  Walking back out to the kitchen of Rand's apartment, I look down once again at the note he left me when he jetted out early again before I even woke up.

  Cat,

  Stuff to do but make sure you're dressed casual and ready to go by noon.

  Rand

  Short, to the point, and totally not telling me a damn thing. But it's the lunch hour and I'm guessing maybe he's taking me out to lunch. Maybe like a date?

  Which is a foreign concept for the most part. I mean... I went out on dates with Samuel. They were formal affairs where he'd send a stylist to me, who would dress and polish me up. Then a driver would pick me up at my crummy little apartment I shared with two other strippers. They'd jokingly say, "Have fun, Vivienne" as I walked out the door, an homage to Pretty Woman.

  Samuel would then take me to a posh restaurant I couldn't even afford to work in and we'd make polite small talk while we ate.

  So not sure that's really a date.

  Not the type that a twenty-four-year-old woman should have.

  Maybe we'll go to The Million Dollar Cowboy Bar for burgers, which is totally a tourist trap, but I'm not really a local, am I? Perhaps a stroll around town square afterward? That sounds fun--like a real date should.

  The knocking on the door surprises me, and I flip my watch to look at it again. Noon on the dot, but that can't be Rand as he'd just walk right in.

  I go to the door, put my eye to the peephole, and see two women standing there. Young, roughly my age. One a brunette, the other a blonde. I open the door and peer out at them. "Can I help you?"

  "Cat, right?" the brunette says, sticking her hand out and not even waiting for mine to meet hers. She takes it and gives a quick handshake. "I'm Callie Hayes... Woolf Jennings' girlfriend."

  I immediately turn beet red and almost start to hyperventilate. Woolf Jennings' girlfriend is shaking my hand? What the fuck?

  I mean, seriously, what the fuck? I had sex with her boyfriend a few times at The Silo back in the day.

  I furiously try to scrub some of those images from my head as I desperately try to think of what to say, but then she's dropping my hand and the blonde--who looks vaguely familiar--steps forward, taking it. "I'm Sloane Preston. I think you know my boyfriend, Cain Bonham."

  A strangled sound gurgles up from my throat, and I go dizzy. I think I might vomit for a moment, as I can only think these women are here to beat the shit out of me. I've been with both of their men, on more than one occasion, and in a nastier way than I'm betting these two beautiful women have been, and I just know I'm done for.

 
The blonde drops my hand, tilts her head to the side, and asks, "Are you okay? You look a little pale?"

  "Um... I... um..." I stutter as I take a step back from them. My gaze flicks back and forth between the women, wondering if they have weapons and why in the hell I didn't slam the door in their faces.

  The brunette--what was her name... Callie?--gives a nudge to the other with a knowing look on her face and takes a tentative step toward me through the doorway. "She thinks we're here to bust her chops about The Silo."

  She says this to her friend, but her eyes are on me. I take another step backward.

  "Well, reassure her we're not," the blonde--Sloane, I think--urges her.

  "I'm here to offer you a job," Callie says, and I halt my backward momentum.

  "Excuse me?" I ask, stunned at this weird turn of events.

  "Bridger told Woolf you were looking for a job. Woolf told me. I happen to be looking for someone to help with my dad's campaign--"

  "--he's running for governor," Sloane pipes in.

  "--that's right. Things are starting to ramp up and I need help," Callie concludes.

  Okay, now this is just too weird for me to comprehend. With all the peculiarity and stress in my life, I seriously cannot digest what these women are doing.

  "Let me get this straight," I ask with hands on my hips and eyes slightly narrowed at Callie. I decide not to hold any punches. "You want to offer me a job on your father's political campaign?"

  "That's right," she says with a bright smile. "I mean... you can do some basic typing, right. Address envelopes? Stick signs in yards? It's pretty basic, but it's a full-time position."

  I ignore the requirements for the job as I'm more than qualified and decide to really address the elephant in the room. "I've been with both your men at The Silo. Why are you helping me? Why in the hell are you even here shaking my hand?"

  My voice gets a little hysterical at the end, and Callie's eyes soften. She ignores the fact I haven't invited her in and takes two more steps toward me. Her hands come to my shoulders and she squeezes them. "Cat... I don't know you, but Bridger and Woolf both assure me that you are a very nice person. Sloane and I know all about The Silo and what our men did there before we came along. And that's where I want you to focus... you were with them before Sloane and I got involved, and we have no right to judge or be mad at something they did before we fell in love. So if we don't have a problem with it, I don't think you should."