Shot of Sultry (8 page)

Her eyes found Weezus, who looked even happier than she was. “Thank you, God.” Bobbi brought both hands together and turned her eyes to the ceiling as Trey pulled her against his chest in a protective stance.

“I don’t like this.”

She did. A bearded man who looked like a young Santa Claus just broke a beer bottle over the sheriff’s head. The air was thick with testosterone and theater fog. The sounds of fists smacking flesh competed with grunts and squeaking shoes. You couldn’t buy footage like this.

“I wanna get you out of here,” Trey said, glancing at the blocked exits.

“Colton said we’re locked in.” She patted his bicep, trying to draw him out of bodyguard mode. “Just chill. Half the guys in here are cops. What’s the worst that can happen?”

A chair came flying within inches of her head, and Trey jerked her aside just in time. Glaring at her, he set his jaw, while Bobbi placed a hand over her heart. No wonder he’d been contracted for security detail—it seemed reflexive for him.

“Okay,” she conceded. “Maybe we should duck behind the bar.”

When a glass shattered nearby, Trey shook his head. “Not good enough. Let’s try the bathrooms.”

Linking their fingers, he tugged her out of the main room. Once they made it halfway down the hall, he pushed against the men’s room door, finding it locked. Bobbi tried the ladies’ room, with the same result. A gunshot pierced the air, making her jump, and Bobbi’s eyes automatically searched for a hiding place.

She spotted what looked like a small closet at the end of the corridor and sprinted to it with Trey on her heels. The door opened easily, revealing a dark, tiny space the size of a standing shower with electrical panels and several fuse boxes built into the walls. “Is it safe in there?” she asked.

“As long as you’re not wet.” He ushered her inside and followed, pulling the door closed behind him.

They stood face-to-face, pressed against one another as flashing green lights from a nearby modem cast Christmasy shadows beneath Trey’s eyes. The cramped space was hotter than hell and crackled with electricity, and since the door didn’t appear to lock, Trey held the handle while they listened to chaos unfolding from the hallway. The hollow beneath his throat pulsed rapidly. Both their breaths came in quick gasps for the next several minutes.

When another shot rang out, she squealed and buried her face in Trey’s dampened chest. As much as she wanted to save her career, it wasn’t worth dying for.

“Shh, it’s okay.” He stroked her hair, and despite the beads of sweat forming between her breasts, she locked both arms around his waist and plastered herself to every inch of him…including the steely length of his erection, perfectly aligned with his zipper. When she flinched, he incorrectly assumed it was out of fear, and tried soothing her. “You’re safe,” he whispered, trailing his fingers down her back. But she found herself wanting a whole lot more than comfort. Her heart sprinted, and all her stress and fear catapulted her libido into the stratosphere.

Trying to ignore the shouts outside, not to mention the warmth settling between her thighs, she pulled in a deep breath through her nose, savoring Trey’s masculine scent. That only made things worse. Flashbacks of his teasing touch, his wicked words, his promise to leave her breathless, swirled in Bobbi’s mind, and it didn’t help knowing he obviously wanted her too. Closing her eyes, she focused on unsexy things, like student loans and attorney fees, but her thoughts always circled back to the memory of Trey’s hand massaging between her legs.

She tried to be still, tried to ignore the urge to wrap her calf around Trey’s hips and strain against him. Holding back took so much effort, she ended up fisting his T-shirt and clenching her teeth. Then Trey went and ruined everything. He pushed his bulge against her belly and swept one hand down the length of her backside.

In the distance, the bar had fallen silent, but Bobbi barely had time to register the fact before Trey dipped his head and brushed his soft lips across her earlobe while simultaneously inching her dress upward. All rational brain activity halted, replaced by surging passion, and the outside world ceased to exist.

“You know,” he whispered, “we could…”

“…finish what we started,” she replied, reaching around to stroke him through his jeans.

A low groan vibrated his chest as he thrust to meet her hand. “Just this once.”

“Get it out of our systems.” It sounded reasonable to her. One quickie—nobody would ever know—and she could stop wondering how his rough hands would feel against her bare stomach, or how deliciously he’d fill her, long and thick and hard. Once she’d had him, she could finally quit obsessing and focus on her job. She tore at the button of his jeans and lowered the zipper. “Do you have protection?”

“No.” His breath hitched when she slipped her hand inside his boxer briefs and curled her fingers around him. “I mean yes, but no sex. I promised your brother.”

She started to object, but quickly bit her lip when he tugged the dress to her waist and nudged her legs apart. Slipping two fingers beneath her panties, he murmured, “I can still make you forget how to breathe…and make you see stars too.” With a touch that could only be described as sinful, he stroked her halfway to ecstasy while she matched his rhythm, pumping with her fist. “I want to get on my knees,” he whispered in her ear, “and hook your leg over my shoulder,” he dipped his fingers inside her, just deep enough to bring a sigh to her lips, “and lick you till you scream my name.”

Oh god. She longed for that too, in the worst way, but she wanted to leave him shaking with pleasure even more. “It’s your turn first.”

When he didn’t argue, she sank slowly until she knelt beneath him on the concrete floor. Trey used both hands to brace himself against the wall, and she pulled him free of his briefs.

Unfortunately, that’s when a sheriff’s deputy threw open the door, caught Bobbi with her hand in Trey’s pants—and proceeded to arrest her for prostitution.

As the official led her outside by her cuffed wrists—right past her gawking cameraman, who, naturally, got the whole thing on film—two things occurred to Bobbi. One: the sheriff hadn’t arrested Trey. What a sexist double standard. Weren’t they equally guilty of this theoretical crime? And two: if she didn’t get her shit together right now, hooking would be the only job she’d ever be able to find. She had to figure out how to stay away from Trey and his siren call of sex. For real this time.

Well, just as soon as he posted her bail.

Trey propped both elbows on the slate countertop and glared at his coffeemaker in an effort to coerce it into dripping faster. Stifling a yawn, he scrubbed his bleary eyes and groaned at the prospect of another twelve-hour day on the job with nothing fueling him but the stale Folgers he’d found at the bottom of the pantry. Until this week, he’d never been a coffee drinker—had seen caffeine addiction as a weakness—but he needed that sludge more than air today.

Between bouts of fitful sleep and waking “up” with a boner every few hours, these friggin’ sex dreams were going to kill him, especially now that he knew the feel of Bobbi’s slick heat and the softness of her palm wrapped around him. How was he supposed to spend the next two months around her with that memory tickling his johnson? Because he’d never, ever forget. Unfortunately, neither would Bobbi, which explained why she still wasn’t speaking to him.

She wouldn’t even let him apologize, and he felt awful. The worst part was that he hadn’t been able to do anything to help her that night except fetch Colton, who’d ridden to the rescue and plucked Bobbi from the sheriff’s paddy wagon like a knight in shining shit-kickers. She’d been so grateful to Colt, she’d kissed him everywhere but on the mouth—just a dusting of pecks, but it still hit Trey like a punch to the junk. He and Bobbi had skipped first base and gone straight to third, so she’d never kissed him, and it’d chapped his ass to see her lips smacking all over Colt’s gloating face.

The phone rang, and Trey closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and filling his nose with the pungent scent of strong coffee. It was probably his mom, and he had no intention of picking up to hear the latest installment of
As
the
Divorce
Turns
. In the most recent development, the Colonel had offered Mom seventy percent of their liquid assets in exchange for a quick break, but she’d refused and nearly given her lawyer a stroke in the process.

“Hey, asshole,” Luke’s voice grumbled from the ancient answering machine in the other room. “Pick up, so I can apologize.”

Trey smiled despite his lousy mood. He answered the cordless phone in the kitchen. “Let’s hear it then.”

“Don’t be a dick. I’m sorry.” Luke paused to swallow, probably sipping his own coffee. “We cool?”

“Yeah, we’re cool.”

“Cool.”

Trey suddenly appreciated how guys didn’t need a twelve-step program to get over a fight like women did. He pulled a mug down from the counter and watched the last few drops trickle into his Mr. Coffee carafe.

“Hey,” Luke said without a trace of resentment in his voice, another reason men were better company after a fight. “I need to talk to you about Bo.”

Trey froze with his fingers clenched around the mug handle. “’Bout what?”

“Did something happen to her in the last few days?”

Before
or
after
she
got
busted
with
my
dick
in
her
hand?
“Not that I know of. Why?”

“She’s acting weird. Rearranging shit and organizing the whole house. I went to grab some batteries out of the—”

“—junk drawer.” Where every man kept the batteries.

“Right. But she moved ’em, along with my duct tape and box cutter.”

“Dude, what sinister plans are you cookin’ up this morning?” Trey teased.

“That’s not the point. I can’t find a damned thing in my own house. Plus, she’s all jittery and being pissy with me.”

“Probably that time of the month.” Trey poured himself a steaming cup of liquid motivation while guilt gnawed at his gut. “Just keep your head down for a few days.”

Luke considered on the other end of the line. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

“She’s tougher than you give her credit for, buddy.” Trey brought the mug to his lips and sucked a scorching sip, recoiling at the bitter taste. He’d made it too strong again.

“So, what’re you gonna do with the house?” Luke asked, changing the subject. “When you leave?”

Trey walked into the living room and leaned one shoulder against the wall, scanning his humble furnishings, while a tingle of regret needled at his chest. It wasn’t the Taj Mahal, but he had the basics: black leather sofa, oak coffee table, entertainment center, big screen TV, and a few withering potted plants. He’d come to Sultry Springs a decade earlier with nothing but a duffel bag and a temporary job offer, not expecting to settle in this tiny town. Didn’t take long before he’d been able to afford a handyman’s special—a fourteen-hundred-square-foot ranch right off Main Street—and he’d fixed it up slowly over the years, with his own two hands.

“Think I’ll rent it out,” he decided, hooking one finger through his denim belt loop. “Should cover the mortgage and taxes.”

“Good.” Luke cleared his throat, and Trey could almost see him glancing away to hide his discomfort. “You’re more likely to come back if you don’t sell the place.”

“Maybe.” But what tied him to Sultry Springs wasn’t the property, it was the people, and Trey’d found himself starting to let go—picking fights with Luke, declining Miss Pru’s dinner invitations, making excuses to stay home when his friends wanted to go barhopping in the city. After two years of distance from everyone, would he want to come back? He couldn’t say.

A few quick knocks that sounded like the intro to Queen’s “Under Pressure” rapped from the front door. Only one person used that code. “Gotta go,” Trey said. “Colton’s here.” He craned his neck to check the time on the microwave. “At eight o’clock in the morning?”

“Probably to bum a condom for some chick he wants to bang on his backseat. You’re keeping him away from my sister, right?”

No, not at all. Bobbi didn’t mind spending time with Colton. It was Trey she held at an arm’s length these days. “Doin’ my best.”

“Thanks, bro. I owe you one.”

The guilt that’d been gnawing on Trey’s gut ripped off a huge chunk in its razor-sharp jaws. Luke wouldn’t feel so grateful if he knew all the dirty things Trey’d done with the woman he was supposed to be guarding from the perverts of Sultry County. He’d made Colton look like a choir boy.

After hanging up the phone, Trey opened the door to the good deputy, who nodded a greeting, linked arm-in-arm with a skinny blond guy in handcuffs. Clarification: a
naked
skinny blond guy in handcuffs—and high as a giraffe’s eye to boot—twitching and darting glances at the empty space that separated Trey’s house from the neighbor’s.

“Thanks for thinkin’ of me, Colt.” Trey scratched his bare chest and tried to keep his gaze away from the perp’s trouser snake. “But I gave up tweakers for Lent.”

“It’s not Lent, and you’re not Catholic.”

“For this, I’ll convert.”

Naked dude’s eyes went wide. “I gotta gopher in the hole!”

“You gonna let me in?” Colt tore off his Stetson and used it to cover the guy’s backside when Mrs. Ray gasped in horror from the sidewalk.

“Depends on what you want.”

“To borrow a pair of drawers. I gotta take him in, but not bare-assed on my backseat. I
use
that seat, you know what I mean?”

Trey nodded. Colton probably spent more time in the back of his cruiser than the criminals did. “You pick him up around here?”

“Two doors down.” Colt tipped his head, pleading with his eyes. “C’mon, man.”

“Fine.” Trey stood aside and ushered them in. “But don’t let him sit down.”

While Colt and the druggie waited in the foyer, Trey jogged to his bedroom for a clean pair of underwear, choosing a pair of striped boxers he’d never worn. He preferred boxer briefs—more support for his boys. When he returned, Colt had already helped himself to a cup of joe.

“Here.” Trey handed over the garment. “I don’t want these back.”

Colt took a sip and immediately spat it back into the mug. “Christ, you make bad coffee.” He dumped it into the sink, then fished around for the handcuff’s key. After finding it, he freed the naked guy’s hands, leaving the open cuffs dangling from one wrist. He grabbed the man by his elbow, dragged him to the hallway bathroom, and shoved the boxers at him. “Put these on.” Holding one finger in the perp’s face, he added, “If you pull any shit, I’ll accidentally tase you in the balls.”

“I can smell colors!”

“Shut up.” Colt slammed the bathroom door. “Goddamn meth-heads.” Leaning against the wall, he crossed one booted foot in front of the other. “You hear about this speed-dating crap Bo’s got planned for us tonight? Oh, wait—” he held up one hand and grinned. “She’s not givin’ you the time of day, is she?”

Trey tugged his brows low. “She’ll come around.”

“If I have my way, she’ll
come
around
my anaconda soon.” He brushed one thumb against his lips, the smug, smirking bastard.

“Watch it, Colt.” In bare feet, Trey took three massive steps and closed the distance between them.

“I can’t wait to get her down on those pretty little knees. If she did it for you, she’ll do it for—”

“Shut up!” Trey’s blood rose, and his head flushed with heat. Without thinking, he balled his fist and punched his friend hard in the sternum, sending him stumbling back in the hallway.

“I mean it.” Trey’s heart pounded so loudly in his ears, he almost couldn’t hear his next words. “Watch your friggin’ mouth.”

To his surprise, Colt didn’t charge him or fight back. Instead, he flashed a wide grin that said he’d gotten exactly what he wanted. He picked up his fallen hat and rubbed his chest. “I knew it! You’re falling for the Bodacious Gallagher.”

“You crazy jackass.” Trey shook his aching hand, still shocked that Colt had taken a blow to the chest to make a point, though it shouldn’t have surprised him. “Just ’cause I won’t let you talk smack about her doesn’t mean—”

“You look at her like a preacher watching the collection plate.”

“So what? She’s gorgeous. I’ve seen you checking her out too.”

“Not like that.” Colt tapped one finger between his brows. “You get a big-ass wrinkle right here when you’re lookin’ at her.”

Trey self-consciously brought two fingers to his forehead. “Yeah, well I’ve got a little wrinkle up there now, but that doesn’t mean I wanna have your baby, Crazy Colt.” He pounded his fist against the bathroom door. “Hurry up in there.” Trey’s company had officially overstayed their welcome. “I’m not gonna lie. I like Bobbi, but it doesn’t go any further than that, so don’t run your mouth to anyone about this, especially not Luke.”

“Hey, no worries.” Colt tossed his Stetson atop his head. “Discretion’s my middle name. And since you don’t have any feelings for Bo, you won’t care if I sleep with her, right?” While Trey’s back tensed hard enough to crack a vertebra, his friend delivered a challenge. “’Cause if you’re not gonna make a play, I will.”

“She’s Luke’s kid sister.”

Colton shook his head. “She’s a consenting adult. And if you’re too stupid to go for it, then step aside and let someone else take a shot, Lewis.”

“All right, I’ll give it a try,” Trey lied. “Now leave her alone.” He had no intention of “going for it.” Not only had he promised to stay out of her bed, but the timing sucked too. He’d spend the next two years in Dubai, and absence made the heart grow colder, not fonder. Mindy had barely lasted six weeks. But if this convinced Colton to back off, it’d make Trey’s job of watching over Bobbi a whole lot easier.

“Good. Let me know if you change your mind.” With a satisfied nod, Colt opened the bathroom door a crack and peeked inside. “Ah, son of a bitch.”

Trey pinched his temples. “Do I wanna know?”

“That the perp handcuffed himself to your towel rack and pissed his new boxers?” Colt clapped him on the shoulder. “No. You’re gonna want to bleach that floor though.”

***

“Hey, boss,” Carlo mumbled around a massive chunk of turkey sandwich, “how come that pretty lady don’t come ’round no more?” He shifted on the countertop, never able to sit still longer than two nanoseconds. “She got nice legs.”

“She
has
nice legs,” Trey corrected. Which was the understatement of the century. “Bobbi’s got work to do…like us. Now watch.” He pressed a strip of tape into the drywall seam, added a few smears of mud, and pulled his putty knife against it. “See? Nice and smooth.”

“Sealed up tight,” Carlo parroted.

“Exactly. I want you to be able to do this by the time your hours are served. If you can master stuff like this, you’ll make three times the minimum wage while you’re still in school.”

“Can I come work for you?” Glancing at the half-eaten sandwich clutched in his grubby fingers, he added in a rush, “I wouldn’t eat too much or cause no trouble.”

All the excitement in the kid’s voice made Trey feel like he’d swallowed a frozen bowling ball. “I know you wouldn’t.” He wiped off one hand and patted Gopher’s back. “You’re the best guy on my crew.”

“So that’s a yes?”

“I’d love to hire you, but you’re still too young. Plus, I’m moving to the Middle East in a couple months.”

At those words, Gopher’s shoulders rounded forward. By the look on his face, you’d think Trey had just announced that Santa died. Well, not that a thirteen-year-old believed in Saint Nick, but still.

“Hey,” Trey said, “I’m gonna tell my partner, Luke, what a great worker you are. I’ll make sure he brings you on board next summer when you’re old enough for part-time, okay?”

That didn’t seem to help. Carlo widened his already wide, brown, puppy dog eyes. “But you’re comin’ back, right?”

Trey hesitated, then decided to tell the little guy what he wanted to hear, even though the answer might change. “Yeah, sure. In two years.” That was a lifetime to a kid. Carlo will have forgotten Trey ever existed by then.

“Okay.” Gopher nodded, inky-black hair brushing his jaw, and crammed the rest of his sandwich into his mouth. With one cheek bulging with food, he declared, “I’ll wait till you’re back.”

“Nope.” Trey shook his head. Carlo was a good kid, but he could easily get into trouble if left with too much time on his hands. “I want you working with Luke while I’m gone. By the time I get back, I expect you to know how to raise a barn.” He elbowed Carlo in his bony ribs. “Besides, how’d you expect to get a girlfriend with no spending money?”