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

by Sawyer Bennett

"But what if--"

  "Mags," Bridger says softly as he takes one hand off the wheel to grab onto one of mine. The gentleness and confidence in his voice immediately settles me, even if my heartbeat picks up a fraction from his touch. "Stop worrying. Why don't you just assume she's out shopping or something?"

  "I guess," I grumble, and then immediately regret capitulating on my worries because Bridger gives me a quick squeeze and puts his hand back on the steering wheel. I gaze down at my hand, almost longingly, wanting that warm reassurance coating me again.

  Wanting Bridger to want something more from me in return.

  *

  I direct Bridger through Aunt Gayle's small neighborhood that's made up of mostly single-story homes built in the seventies. Her husband, who was a Coeur D'Alene native, died before I was even born, and Aunt Gayle's lived here ever since in their marital home. She's seventy-four years old but acts about half her age, and while her arthritis can limit her at times, she's strong as an ox. I had no qualms that she could care for an active two-year-old when I begged her to take Belle.

  Of course, she begged me to stay, but I couldn't. I knew Zeke would put all his energy into finding me, so I ran in the opposite direction, hoping I was leading him as far away from Belle as I could. I had no long-range plan when I decided to run. Just figured I'd always be on the run and foolishly believed Belle would be safe forever. It was shortsighted on my part, and I consider it a tremendous stroke of luck that Zeke is in the middle of a huge criminal investigation. Hopefully, he'll soon be put away and no longer a threat to us.

  "It's right there... on the left." I point to a small two-bedroom house done in tan plywood siding with dark mocha shutters and an open carport attached to the side. The yard is pristine with late-blooming fall perennials bordering a walkway from the driveway to the front porch. The first thing I notice is that Aunt Gayle's car isn't in the driveway, and this gives me some small measure of relief that I'm not going to walk in and find her dead on the floor.

  Bridger pulls into the driveway, parking just beyond the edge of the carport. I hop out of the Range Rover and scurry to the front door. As there is no doorbell, I knock, and then put my ear to the door to listen. I give a tiny twist to the knob and find it locked.

  Absolute silence greets me, so I knock again... louder this time.

  Nothing.

  I turn to see Bridger walking up the steps to the porch. He cuts right to look in the front window that goes to the living room. The drapes are pulled shut, but there's a small gap that he peers through for a moment before turning back to me.

  "She's obviously not here," he says. "But everything looks fine... nothing out of place I can see."

  "Let's go around back... see if we can get in."

  He nods and walks to the far end of the porch, hopping off and heading around the back of the house. Before I can even jump down, I hear a man's voice "Just what the hell do you think you're doing?"

  Without any regard for my safety, I jump off the porch and turn the corner of the house where I see an old man with a shotgun trained on Bridger, who is standing tensely with his hands in the air.

  "Jesus, Randall," I say in exasperation as I look at the spritely man who tops out at just a little over five feet holding the monstrous Bridger Payne at bay. "Put that gun down."

  "Well, hey, stranger," Randall says with obvious delight and he thankfully lowers the gun. "Assume this guy's a friend of yours?"

  Bridger's hands drop but he remains in place... seeing how Randall is still holding the gun with his finger on the trigger.

  "Yes, he's a friend... Bridger, this is Randall, Aunt Gayle's neighbor," I say as I walk up to him.

  "Pleasure," Randall says to Bridger with a wily smile, finally taking his finger off the trigger.

  "Friend of Gayle's?" Bridger asks dryly.

  "Oh, I'm Gayle's sweetie," Randall says and cackles, showing off his gleaming white dentures he proudly told me about when I was here a few weeks ago dropping Belle off.

  "Randall lives next door," I explain. "They've been neighbors for years."

  "More than neighbors," Randall says proudly, but then leans in to Bridger and whispers, "We've been sneaking over to each other's houses quite often since my wife passed a few years ago."

  I give a cough and look at him pointedly.

  "Well, of course not while she's looking after little Belle, you understand," he says with an unapologetic grin.

  "Where is she?" I ask with worry.

  "Oh, she went off with a group of her church ladies to Spokane. Some kind of book signing for a romance author they all like. Took Belle with her, of course, although I would have been right happy to watch the little monkey. I mean... that author they were going to see... she writes some really sexy stuff, if you know what I mean, and I wasn't sure Belle should be tagging along."

  Bridger manages to suppress a laugh, and I roll my eyes. "When's she coming back?"

  "Tomorrow morning," he says affably. "In fact, since you're here... maybe Gayle and I can go out on a date. It's been a while since we had some alone time since Belle's come to stay."

  I cock an eyebrow at him.

  "Well, not to say I begrudge Belle being here, you know," he says quickly with another unapologetic grin. "But we have to be... you know... respectful of the situation with the little monkey always around."

  "Let's go get checked into a hotel," Bridger suggests to me. "We can come back in the morning."

  "Aaahhh," Randall says with a waggle of his eyebrows. "You two taking advantage of some alone time as well, I see."

  "No, it's not like that," I say quickly, despite the fact Bridger fingered me to orgasm last night.

  "We'll have separate rooms," Bridger says tersely as he turns back toward the Range Rover.

  My heart sinks with disappointment, and I stare after him for a moment.

  "So," Randall says and I turn my attention back to him. He nods toward Bridger. "Y'all not together then?"

  "Nope," I say in a matter-of-fact tone, hoping it hides my disappointment. "Just friends is all."

  Chapter 11

  Bridger

  I pace back and forth across the hotel room, my head tilting every so often to look at the door that connects my room to Maggie's. It's fucking torture knowing she's lying just on the other side, nothing more than that door and probably a flimsy pair of panties separating us. I know her resistance isn't what's separating us because I remember the need in her voice as she called out to me last night as I was walking out of my house. She could be mine for the taking if I just knock on that door and let her know I'm willing.

  Except I'm not.

  Because as much as I suspect sex with Mags would probably ruin me for any other, I'm too much of a chicken shit pansy to act on it. I'm too insulated in my little cocoon of protection, hiding behind a whip, a sex club, and whatever desperate female is willing to suck my dick without so much as a thank you after. It's all I know, and it's comfort to me.

  Maggie Waylon is the opposite of comfort.

  She's intrigue, danger, and possibly redemption wrapped up in one killer, sexy package that makes my dick act on its own accord. Just like now... half hard ever since I imagined her in panties on the other side of the door.

  "Fuck," I mutter as I stop my pacing and flop down on the bed. I put my hands behind my head and stare at the ceiling, trying to think of something else.

  Does no good.

  Maggie's face flashes before me, eyes closed, chewing on her knuckle... on the verge of orgasm.

  Goddamn her.

  I should just go over there, open the door, and fuck her. Get it out of my system. It's probably not as great as I've built it up in my mind anyway.

  Except that's not true, and I know it's not true because the minute my mouth touched hers last night, it was a kiss that completely disturbed me as much as it compelled me. Those feelings were too intense to forget. The thought of just that kiss has my dick getting harder as much as it causes anxiety to rock
et through me, and perhaps I just need a hot shower where I can jack off once... maybe twice... and then I'll be able to let her go from my mind for at least a good night's sleep.

  A soft knock sounds at the connecting door. Even as a zing of adrenaline spikes through me, my cock goes fully hard and presses painfully at the zipper of my jeans.

  I should ignore it. She'll think I've already gone to sleep and leave me alone.

  "It's open," my traitorous voice says loud enough to carry to her.

  Goddamn her.

  The door pushes open, and Maggie sticks her head in just enough to look at me. "Did I wake you up?"

  "Nah," I say as I push off the bed to stand up. "What's up?"

  Maggie's gaze drops to the floor as she steps in before looking up at me with uncertainty. "Um... I was thinking... this might all be over soon if Kyle's close to taking the club down, and I'm trying to figure out what I should do after."

  She steps in further and closes the door, looking utterly gorgeous in the stupid pajamas I bought her that are white fleece with a sushi print on them. They're a little too tight which yeah... I have shitty judgment when it comes to women's sizing, but I can't help but admire the way the soft material molds to her ass or how her fantastically big tits push against the button-up top so that it gaps a little bit to show me a peek of cleavage.

  My dick, which is also enjoying the view, jumps in my pants.

  "So," she says slowly as she walks to the edge of the bed I'd just vacated and sits down. I take a step back and sit on the other bed, facing her. "I don't want to impose on your hospitality any longer than necessary. Hopefully, this will all go down quickly with Zeke, so I need to come up with a plan for Belle and me."

  "You're not any imposition," I say quickly, and then mentally kick myself in the ass. Of course she's an imposition. She's driving me fucking nuts in my desire of her.

  She gives a soft laugh, and it's like a punch to the gut. I've never been swayed by a woman's laugh before.

  Never.

  "Well," she says, still chuckling, "you've clearly not been around a two-year-old. You'll be begging us to leave."

  "I wouldn't," I say softly. But then, with a slight cough, I say, "I mean... it's not like you have to leave the minute he's arrested."

  She nods with a smile. "Yeah... I've thought about going back to my parents, but I don't know that they really want me there."

  "I'm sure they do," I say, even though based on what little interaction I had with them and what I heard of Maggie on the phone, it's probably not true.

  "Maybe I could come here to stay with Aunt Gayle until I get on my feet," she posits.

  "Could be a good choice," I agree, even though my stomach cramps at the thought.

  What. The. Fuck?

  "Or," she says carefully. "You could give me a job, and I could stay in Jackson."

  My heart leaps with a joy that feels foreign and invasive, and I immediately quash it. I force myself to lie. "I don't have any bartending or waitressing openings right now."

  Her eyes drop to the floor, and she nervously plucks at the blanket on the bed. When she looks back up to me, she says, "No. I mean, maybe at your sex club, you could give me a job. I'm sure it's way better money than waitressing or bartending."

  "What?" I growl in disbelief, coming to stand from the bed where I hover over her.

  She swallows hard but pushes past my obvious anger. "I'm sure I'd be good at... well, whatever it is the girls there do. I mean... if there's one thing I've learned over these last several years is that my body is at least good for something. It doesn't mean that much to me, really--my body that is--and I could provide for a really good life for Belle, you know?"

  My mind goes white with fury, and my blood pressure spikes to the point of dizziness. How dare she think she could just give her body to anyone, and how dare she fucking think it's not worth anything? Without really knowing what I'm doing, I bend over and wrap my hand around a fistful of her fleece top, pulling her from the bed. Her eyes flare wide, and a small gasp of what might be fear pops out of her mouth.

  I lean in, put my face right in front of hers, and grit out, "You are not working in a sex club."

  "Why not?" she asks with her head tilted but her chin lifted up, eyes flashing with stubborn defiance. "I'm good... I swear I am. I'll please your customers."

  "You did not just fucking say that to me," I practically spit out in disbelief, giving her a little shake from my hold on her shirt.

  Maggie's eyes burst with anger, turning from summer green to dark emerald, and she tries to dislodge my hold on her top by pushing against my chest. I don't budge, and she makes a growl of frustration. "Why the hell would that even bother you, Bridger? For God's sake, you deal in the sex business. It's not like what I'm suggesting is weird or anything. It's a way of life, right? You apparently hand out orgasms like party favors and make a good living from it, so what the hell is wrong with me doing it to try to provide for my daughter and me?"

  She's got a good fucking point. I struggle to find something reasonable to divert her from this path, but I'm coming up empty. I certainly can't tell her she can't do it because I couldn't bear to see another man's hands on her. So I hedge on a semi-truth as I release her from my grip. "I don't pay the people who work in the club, Maggie. That would be prostitution under the law."

  "Oh," she says softly as her head bows down and her body seems to deflate before me. She tugs on her pajama top to straighten it out.

  "Perhaps it's best you come back here to stay with your aunt," I suggest, my stomach again twisting hard over the thought of her being so far away.

  She nods absently without looking at me, turning toward the door that leads to her room. I want to reach out and snatch her back, my hand actually starting to reach toward her. But I go utterly still when she murmurs maybe more so to herself than to me, "Yeah... staying with Aunt Gayle would be good."

  I don't say a word because I'm afraid if I open my mouth, it will be to beg her to stay with me, which is beyond insane. She reaches the door, hand on the knob, but before she turns it, she looks over her shoulder at me. "Bridger, it might be best if I just stay here with Gayle now. I think we're relatively safe. I mean... my parents are packing up and leaving their house for a bit until this dies down, so that's really the only way Zeke would learn about my aunt. So honestly... this is probably the safest place for Belle and me."

  "What?" I rasp out, my throat threatening to close on me.

  "Yeah," she says a little more confidently, her shoulders actually relaxing. "I think that's probably the best thing. So maybe you can just give me a ride to Gayle's house in the morning and head back to Jackson after."

  "Mags," I say... and fuck... is that pleading in my voice? "You'll be safer with me."

  She gives me a sad smile. Turning from the door, she pads over to me and places both hands on my chest. Looking up at me, those green eyes now bright and clear, she murmurs, "Bridger... I'll never be able to thank you for everything you've done for me. You're an amazing man, but--"

  "Maggie... what's really going on here?" I interrupt her, because this isn't making sense to me.

  "Nothing," she says quickly and turns toward the door again. "I just... we should part ways now--"

  I lunge at her, grabbing her by the shoulder and spinning her toward me. The movement is so fast she goes reeling and falls right into my chest. Not a hardship at all, but I take her upper arms to push her back just enough so I can look her directly in the eye.

  "What's going on?" I repeat more firmly.

  "Noth--"

  "Maggie," I growl at her, one of my hands moving to slide my fingers along her jaw, curling around the back of her neck. I grip her gently. "Talk to me.

  With a strength that surprises the shit out of me, Maggie pushes hard against my chest and steps back, dislodging my grip. Her eyes flash with anger as she blurts out, "I can't be around you anymore, okay? So I just want you to take me to Aunt Gayle's tomorrow and leave me t
here."

  It's suddenly clear to me what this is all about, and guilt floods my entire system.

  I can't be around you anymore.

  Because I walked out on her last night when she opened herself up to me and invited me into her bed... her body.

  I rejected her, and she's hurt by it.

  "Maggie," I say apologetically, and it's apparently the wrong tone to take with her.

  "Don't you dare feel sorry for me," she says furiously as she backs up two more steps toward the door. "I've survived far worse than you."

  That slices me deep, and there's no way I can let her feel as if she's not worthy of the likes of me. Hell, she should know it's the opposite. I'm not worthy of the likes of her.

  "Maggie... come here," I order and reach a hand out to her.

  She shakes her head quickly in denial. Takes another step backward to the door.

  "Maggie," I warn in a low tone, making it clear she's not getting through that door and to the safety of her own room.

  We stare at each other a moment, each of us drawing our line in the sand. Her foot moves slightly to take another step away from me, and I lose all patience with the situation. I lunge once again at her in a move so fast, she shrieks in fear as my hands grasp her face. I pull her roughly toward me, bend my head, and slam my mouth down on hers. She makes a tiny sound of protest that fades into a soft moan before she slams herself into my body. Winding her arms around my neck, she goes to her tiptoes and opens her mouth to give me unfettered access to the sweetness of her tongue.

  God, it's just as good as the first time I kissed her. No, it's better. It's better because I never thought I'd have this opportunity again, and I know I should feel like a shit for playing with her feelings like this--for using her attraction to me against her to get something I'm desperately craving--but I can't. I want this too much and fuck all the consequences.

  I spin around and push her onto the bed where she lands with a jarring bounce. "Don't move," I order.

  Maggie watches with half-mast eyes as I take my clothes off, her gaze roaming all over my naked body as each part is revealed and finally settling on my rock-hard cock standing straight up. I grab my wallet from my jeans, pull a condom out, and throw it on the bed beside her. She doesn't even flinch or look at it, eyes still pinned on my dick.