Nailed (Marked For Love #1) (3 page)

She was right.

He laughed, too, as they clinked bottle to glass. "Maybe I just needed to get away."

"You picked the place for it." She leaned into him again, a gleam of understanding in her eyes. "What's your name?"

"Wynn," he said before he could stop himself. Something in her eyes had prevented him from lying as he normally would have. As he
should
have. But he had the distinct feeling she could smell a lie a mile away.

"Like,
I always win
?" She grinned at him, her eyes crinkling at the corners. Her face had character. She had to be at least thirty, maybe a few years older than he'd originally thought, but still very attractive.

"W-Y-N-N, Wynn," he corrected, leaning into her. She smelled like sunshine, vanilla, and lemons. "And you?"

"Bonnie...Bonnie James."

"Like Jesse and Frank?" he asked while filing it away.

"Exactly."

"So what are you here to steal?"

"Maybe I just want to borrow." A smile curved her pretty lips, but it didn't quite seem to reach her eyes. She was a bit calculating, and she'd take what she wanted; he could respect that. He didn't hold with that bullshit about women being sluts and men being studs anyway.

Whatever she wanted to borrow, he was more than willing to loan it as long as he got something in return. In Bonnie James's knowing gaze, he forgot all about Julie Burt, about his father, and about the ticking clock and his brothers who would come hurtling through town in no time at all, leaving death, destruction, and missing relatives in their wake.

He'd earned a night off, hadn't he? The tightness in his Dockers and Bonnie James's cleavage said he damned well had. Besides, Bonnie might come in handy—at least in terms of information-gathering.

His gut tightening in anticipation, Wynn leaned in closer until only a few inches separated their lips. "What would you like to borrow?"

"You." She laughed, leaning away and tossing her long silky hair over her shoulder, teasing. Sending out all the right signals.

They sat there a bit longer, finishing off their drinks, engaging in chitchat, sizing each other up, each of them silently debating whether to invest in (at least) a few hours of hot, sweaty stress relief.

"You from around here?"

"Sure." Her eyes slid away, briefly focusing on the mirror over the bar.

He followed her gaze but didn't see anything worth noticing. She was a liar. That made them even, since he was too. Even that didn't diminish his desire for her.

She fingered her cleavage, caressing the edges of her tank top in order to draw his eyes downward. He'd be less than a man if he resisted, even if a small part of his brain knew he was being seduced. He couldn't even blame it on the booze, not after only a couple of drinks, when she slipped off her stool and smiled at him, and he followed as if there were some invisible tether holding them together.

Outside, she pressed him against the side of his Blazer, her hand sliding down to stroke him through his pants, while her tongue slipped past his lips, teasing and tangling with his, warming his blood in ways whiskey never could.

"Your place," she breathed.

***

She teased him all the way to the motel, nibbling at his neck and rubbing his cock, ensuring he was embarrassingly hard when they stopped for the six-pack of beer she'd asked for. He'd nearly run a red light
and
a stop sign as she'd dug into his jeans, stroking his erection all the way from the convenience store to the hotel.

He couldn't even think straight by the time they stumbled into his motel room and slammed the door.

"Condoms?" Bonnie dropped her keys and a tiny purse on the rickety hotel table and kicked off her shoes.

He laughed, feeling slightly embarrassed, struggling to recover quickly. "I hadn't thought this would be that sort of vacation."

She laughed, too, a throaty, suggestive sound that teased his ears, and reached into her purse. "Don't worry," she said, holding up a string of three connected wrappers. "I'm always prepared."

They didn't waste any time or words, hastily stripping each other naked, then giggling as they fumbled with the condom. She wriggled against him, her button-hard nipples pressed against his chest, her skin hot underneath his as his fingers slipped between the swollen lips of her pussy. Her cunt was hot, tight, and hungry, grasping at him, wanting more. Bonnie was all business as she flipped over on the mattress and pushed her ass in the air. She tucked a pillow under her cheek, sighing in obvious contentment.

Wynn found himself struggling to ignore his conscience and the itchy white sheets that smelled slightly of bleach.  He pushed it all aside, forcing himself to ignore the distractions as he parted her cheeks and slid into her pussy.

Bonnie's eyes fluttered closed, and a smile tickled her lips as his fingers stroked her clit. Her hips moved with his, their pace increasing enough to make the bedsprings squeak underneath them. Neither of them was in the mood for anything that might be mistaken for love play as they used each other, the squeaking and their own harsh breathing the only sounds in the room until they eventually collapsed in a sweaty, satisfied heap.

Afterward, they lay in bed talking and sharing a cigarette. Sex was the only time Wynn smoked.

"Why in the hell would you pick a dead-end place like Cielo for a vacation?" She rolled on her side to face him, passing him the cigarette.

"Why would you pick a dead-end place like Cielo to live?" he countered, unwilling to talk about himself any more than necessary.

Bad enough she was in his hotel room.

The open relaxed expression on her face immediately disappeared. She rolled over and climbed from the bed, getting them both a beer from the bucket of ice on the dresser. "How do you know I wasn't born here?"

"A good guess?" He tucked a few pillows behind his head, enjoying the sight of her naked going
and
coming as he accepted the can she handed him. He popped the top with practiced ease and took a sip before speaking again, "What about that guy at the bar? How do you know him?"

He sounded jealous, even though he hadn't meant to. It was a good cover, though, so he went with it.

Shrugging, she sipped at her beer, her mind apparently a million miles away. "He's...like family. Married, got a kid; the usual crap. We just hang out."

"How do you know him?" So sue him for fishing; it was part of his job.

"I'm his boss," she said with a wry laugh.

"So, he works under you?" With a chuckle, Wynn rolled over and nuzzled one boob, pulling her pert nipple into his mouth.

"We've never—" she grinned, shrugging away, "—I don't fool with the locals."

Interesting choice of words.
It was the little things that got people in trouble, little things they rarely even realized they'd let slip. "Guess that explains how I got so lucky. What do you do?" He nuzzled her cleavage. "What keeps you here?"

"I work maintenance at the complex, and I stay here because I like it."

Could have fooled him. Even though he knew the answer, he had to ask the next logical question. "What complex?"

"There's only one, honey."

"Bet that keeps you busy." Though obviously not busy enough, if she had time to peek in people's windows.

"Not so much. There's only twenty-four units and we're never full."

"How'd you fall into apartment maintenance?" He'd have to stop soon; this wasn't exactly postcoital chitchat.

"I tripped."

Evasive. She was being evasive. He sipped his beer thoughtfully, his eyes skimming the length of her. Not one scar marred her naked body, but there was the faintest hint of stretch marks on her belly, and he wondered if she had a kid somewhere. Was she running from an ex? He couldn't imagine any man getting the best of her, but there was no telling what she'd once been, what had driven her to become what she was.

She snuggled closer, her fingers trailing up the back of his thigh, registering a light electrical shock in the vicinity of his balls.

He rolled away, setting his beer on the nightstand to buy himself a little time before they ended up in round two, and then asleep, and he got no more information out of her. She stroked his hip, her lips cold and wet on his back.

Fuck it.
He rolled back over and covered her mouth with his.

***

The sound of the shower running woke Wynn, and the previous night came back in a flash that left him wishing he was in the shower with Bonnie. Especially when his cell phone started chirping with that special little ring that told him it was his father. If he didn't answer, the old man would just call back. And keep calling until he did answer. So much for shower sex.

Grimacing, he rolled over, grabbed the phone, and flipped it open. "Yes, sir."

"What's your status?"

Whatever happened to hello?
Wynn knew the old man would be sitting in his mother's sunny yellow kitchen while she cooked up bacon and French toast—her Saturday ritual—while he sipped coffee and read the paper.

"Great," he lied, praying Bonnie stayed in the shower just a few minutes longer. "Everything's going great."

"Good—"

"Listen, Dad, are you sure Karen and Kevin Lyons are alive?" Lyons was Julie's sister's married name.

"As sure as I know that if you don't get their whereabouts from Julie Burt inside of the next two weeks, I'm sending your brother, Will, in.

"Wynn, I've told you, I have people counting on me to deliver! And if
you
don't deliver,
I
can't deliver. Don't fuck this up, son, cause there's no room for error
this time
."

Chapter Five

"I need to get going." I slid my damp legs into last night's clothes, enjoying every ounce of postcoital glow.

I watched Wynn hop from the bed, enjoying the sight of him naked, wishing we hadn't used up all the condoms last night. He was fit and tan, the hair on his chest darker than the short sandy hair on his head. And tall, very tall, with the equipment to match.

"Ahem."

"Sorry." I flashed him an apologetic smile. I could definitely use one for the road. But my pager was probably full of messages from tenants who had clogged drains or toilets, or they'd broken the pool again, or JoJo had found a trench for me to dig. "I've got to get home and feed Clyde."

"Clyde?" A wide-eyed Wynn froze in the middle of slipping on a fresh pair of jeans.

"Yeah, Clyde. He just turned four, and he gets really pissy when I leave him alone all night. He's kinda clingy." I'd said it so many times to so many other men, I didn't even laugh anymore. Like I'd leave a human child alone.
Puh-leeze.

Wynn slowly nodded but didn't say a word, just slowly slid into a pair of worn Levi's and a dark blue polo shirt.

***

"Will I see you again?" he asked once we were on the road.

"I doubt it. I've got a pretty busy week, and I'm on call next weekend. Things can get crazy."
How long could he be staying in Cielo anyway?
No one but an idiot like me, or someone born here, stayed here.

And to be honest, I wasn't super keen on seeing Wynn again. Despite his hotness quotient, something about the previous night's twenty question routine made my Spidey senses tingle.

Not good.

You could never be too careful. After I'd gotten the hell out of Scottsdale, I'd watched every conspiracy movie I could get my hands on, including
all
the mob ones, and let me tell you, those guys didn't mess around. I wasn't one-hundred percent certain what had happened to my sister, Karen, but I knew I didn't want to end up like her.

Dead.

***

I spent the rest of Saturday schlepping around the apartment, milking my post sex mellowness for all it was worth, doing laundry and ignoring Clyde to the best of my abilities.

He wasn't even mine but Karen's. When he was little, he was cute, all gray with white socks, a white throat, and little white marks around huge eyes. Then he grew up, and those pretty amber eyes of his took a decidedly evil turn—like he was plotting just when he should kill me and where he'd start eating once I was dead.

It wasn't that I
hated
Clyde, per se, but that he was so damned
damned
! I'd finally decided that cats were like kids—cute when they're little, but hard to predict which ones'll stay cute and which ones'll go all sociopathic on your ass. Think
The Omen
with fur and that pretty much described Clyde.

I'd get rid of him, but like I mentioned, he was my sister's and in the very last conversation we ever had, she made me promise to protect Her Baby Clyde—
and who the hell named a cat Clyde anyway?
—with my life. My life!  

Call it survivor's guilt or whatever you wanted, Clyde was the king of the beasts, and I was his (sort of) dutiful (incredibly reluctant) slave.

Sunday was spent at the Internet café, discretely researching new and out-of-the-way places I could get lost in. The more I thought about it, though, the better Canada sounded. Except for the cold. I hated the cold.

I had some money and a couple backup IDs squirreled away, but payday was this Friday. Since I had no idea how long it would take me to find steady work, I decided hanging around for a few more days to pad my nest egg with a couple hundred extra couldn't hurt, but once I cashed my paycheck, Clyde and I were hitting the road. Again.

***

Monday I was up early, picking up trash and cutting the grass before it got too hot. On the way back to the storage shed with the edger, I noticed what looked like Wynn's Blazer in the visitor's parking lot.

Most of the residents stuck to parking in the back. I didn't believe in coincidences, but as I stood there gripping the edger in my sweaty hands, I realized his Blazer looked like the one that had been parked across the street the other night. The thought pulled me up short. SUV's were a dime a dozen in this part of the world. It could mean something or nothing at all, but the desire to flee grew stronger.