Wicked Fall (23 page)

“Christ,” Tenn mutters as he scrubs his hand through his hair.

“Where is Callie?” I ask Reggie, figuring she took her father’s fury first.

“She’s at home and you had better stay the fuck away from her,” Reggie says shakily.

“Is she okay?” I ask, needing him to at least tell me that.

Reggie laughs as he takes a step toward me. Tenn is poised to pounce if necessary, but Reggie’s voice stops him in his tracks. It’s soft and deadly sincere. “You’re a selfish man, Woolf. Did it ever occur to you the people you could be hurting with all of this? Callie’s reputation. My reputation. Do you know what would happen if word got out that the governor’s daughter was at a sex club? What type of turmoil you’d throw this precious state—that you claim to love—in? Did you even think once what this would do to Callie if it became public?”

Guilt and shame crush me, because most of that shit never once crossed my mind. Not seriously, anyway. I was too focused on pleasing myself and giving into Callie’s desires, that I never once considered the repercussions.

“I’ll talk to Colton,” I say lamely.

“Colton Stokes won’t say a word,” Reggie says with an impatient wave of his hand. “He only wanted me to know so I could put a stop to it for Callie’s sake. He’s an honorable man.”

Naive son of a bitch. That same honorable man is a member of my club, you moron.

But I don’t say a word. I just let my shoulders go ahead and sag under the weight of recrimination.

Tenn falls down into the seat that Reggie just vacated and stares out the window. Reggie turns away from both of us and heads to the staircase that leads up to the foyer. When he reaches the bottom step, he says, “Don’t come around Callie. I’ll shoot you on sight if you do. And as of this moment, the Hayes and the Jennings have no ties to each other. We’re done.”

I wince as I watch Reggie walk heavily up the stairs and slide out the front door. I figure my dad and Richard are rolling over in their graves right now, probably sick with disappointment in me, but I can’t think about that right now. Whipping my phone out, I call Callie, but her voice mail picks up.

“Callie… I need to see you. Call me and we’ll figure a place we can meet.”

I disconnect the phone and shove it back in my pocket. My brain is spinning, and I need to talk to Bridger about this. But first… I need to kill Colton Stokes. No wait… I need to go see Callie. That’s what I need to do first.

I can kill Colton later, because that’s about all I can do to him. It’s true enough he signed the same non-disclosure agreement that Callie signed, but there’s no way I can collect on it. That would take a lawsuit. Lawsuits are public record, and Reggie has made it painfully clear how much public knowledge of my club could hurt Callie and their family.

“How in the ever-loving fuck could you have done something so stupid?” Tenn asks me quietly and I jolt, having forgotten he was there.

I turn to look at him, my face flushed with anger. “It’s a legitimate business. I was going to—”

Tenn waves his hand at me. “I don’t give a fuck about your… your… whatever the fuck it is. As long as you aren’t breaking any laws or hurting anyone, I don’t give a shit what you do, but how in the hell could you have gotten Callie involved in that? For Christ’s sake, Woolf… she’s like our little sister.”

With a sigh, I cross over to the couch and flop down on it. I stare at Tenn morosely. “I don’t know. It just got out of control with her. She wanted to go, and I couldn’t say no to her.”

“Well, you should have tried harder,” Tenn snaps at me.

“I know,” I say apologetically, and then again resolutely. “I know.”

“Stay away from her,” Tenn warns. “Her family cannot be connected to that shit. You owe that to them out of respect for Dad and Richard.”

“I fucking got it,” I snap back and then push up off the couch, grabbing my hat off the table.

“Where are you going?” Tenn asks with brotherly concern. Or overbearing concern. Not sure which.

“Out,” is all I tell him as I trot up the stairs.

I need to talk to Bridger.

Callie

I lift the glass of champagne and drain the remainder. It’s my second glass and I’m already slightly tipsy from it, but that’s what the bubbly does to me. A tuxedoed waiter walks by and I replace the empty with another, taking a tentative sip at it. I want to get stinkin’ drunk, but I’m in “good daughter” mode tonight so that’s not possible.

I’ve been trying to stay in “good daughter” mode since last Saturday morning when my father called me down to his study and proceeded to light into me about The Wicked Horse. Apparently, Colton had a little talk with my father, and so he was having a little—okay, really fucking big—talk with me.

He then left and went straight to Woolf’s house to confront him, and I had hoped Woolf had half a brain and did as I did.

Deny, deny, deny.

I told my father I had no clue what he was talking about and told him that what I did in my personal time was my business and not his. I refused to admit a thing, and so he basically ranted at me for almost forty-five minutes. When he saw he wasn’t getting any satisfaction from me, he informed me he was going to confront Woolf.

Before he left, however, he actually brought me down a peg or two.

“Callie,” he said quietly… almost as if he was exhausted over having me as a daughter. “I never thought you could disappoint me like that. I never knew that you had the capacity to hurt me like that. I’m just so ashamed of you.”

I had to blink hard and fast to stop the moisture from pooling when he said that, and then I was torn between being defiant and wanting to beg my father’s forgiveness. Ultimately, when he returned back home that afternoon, I decided to beg forgiveness and told him I was so sorry for causing him shame. I never did admit to anything, but I was truly sorry and he felt it from me.

He felt it from me because he then asked me for a promise. He said, “Callie… I don’t want you to see Woolf Jennings anymore. I cannot afford to have his name tied to yours if knowledge of that club gets out. It would ruin me politically, so as your father, I’m begging you… please give him up.”

I didn’t answer right away. In fact, every cell in my body reared up in defiance of such a notion. But I couldn’t ignore the supreme fact that my father’s political career would be decimated if I was ever found to be affiliated with something like that. Doesn’t matter if it was legal—it was still considered immoral and I didn’t want my father’s legacy to be tarnished with that.

Even though I felt my heart constrict painfully, I said, “I’ll give him up.”

And I’ve been fucking miserable since.

Woolf won’t quit calling or texting me. For the last four days straight, he’s bombarded me with requests to meet. I haven’t responded to a single one, even though I felt a huge stab of pain every time he reached out to me. Eventually, he’d get tired of waiting for me and move on. Back to The Silo where he’d have women lined up to have a crack at him.

That thought makes me absolutely sick to my stomach, and the bubbly threatens to come up. Swallowing hard, I spy Colton Stokes down below me from my perch on the second-floor landing of my dad’s house. I can’t believe he has the nerve to show up here, especially after ratting me out. He made the mistake of looking up at me with a genuine smile, and the death glare I gave him back wiped it right off his face. Since then, he’s not tried to make eye contact with me once.

My father throws a massive 4th of July party every year. Sometimes it’s at the Governor’s Mansion, but this year it’s at our family home in Jackson. Right now, most of the folks are making their way outside to the backyard, where my parents spared no expense in the fireworks display that should be starting before too long.

It makes me think of the last fireworks show I saw with Woolf in the back of my pickup.

Ugh… so not fair.

Not fair, not fair, not fair.

“Darling… let’s head down to watch the show,” I hear my mother say as her hand comes gently to my shoulder. She’s stayed out of this between my father and me, but the looks she gives me are kind and understanding. She knows me well, and knows that I have feelings for Woolf. Whether she believes I went to a sex club or not, she knows I’d never do that with a man I didn’t trust and care for.

“I’ll be down in a minute,” I tell her with a smile. “I’m going to grab a sweater out of my room.”

I didn’t need the sweater because it was fairly mild outside, but I didn’t want to be around all those people pretending to have a good time. I wanted to mope, and I figured no one would care if I just slipped away unnoticed.

My mom nods and leans in to kiss my cheek. “Chin up, sweetheart. Just give this some time.”

She pulls back, and I look at my mom intently. Pale blonde hair, dark brown eyes. She’s classically beautiful… some would say regal… but she’s always just been my mother.

“Thanks,” I tell her and watch as she turns to head down the arched stairway to the first floor.

With a sigh, I chug the rest of my champagne, almost sneezing from the bubbles that seemed to have drifted into my nose, and turn to set the glass on a small buffet table resting against the wall.

I walk to my room, loving the lightheaded feeling and hoping it will help me get a good night’s sleep. I haven’t slept for shit since my father went berserk this past weekend, and that’s due mainly to the fact that I miss Woolf. I miss working in his office at the Double J, and the way he would joke with me. That smile… his easygoing ways. Oh, and sex. I really, really miss sex with him.

As I close my bedroom door behind me, I reach behind my neck to undo the delicate, silver-chained necklace that I paired with the yellow strapless summer dress I had worn for the party. I kick off my sandals, which are white and covered with little white and yellow leather daisies along the straps. Throwing my necklace on my vanity stand, I open my wardrobe, intent on hanging my dress back up.

When the door swings open, revealing the full-length mirror attached to the inside, I give a tiny scream of fright when I see someone lying behind me on my bed. I spin around, clutching my hands to my chest, and even though my brain recognizes Woolf casually lounging, his back propped up against the headboard and his booted feet crossed over each other, my heart is still galloping away from me like an insane racehorse that’s gone off track.

“Jesus,” I rasp out. “You scared the shit out of me.”

Woolf surges off the bed, his face grim as he strides up to me. “Maybe if you’d return a fucking phone call, I wouldn’t have had to sneak in here to see you.”

“I don’t think it’s—”

That’s as far as I get before his hands are in my hair and he’s pulling my face to his. His mouth crushes down against mine, and he instantly reminds me how possessive he can be. He grips me hard, I think maybe intent on hurting me just a little, but his tongue against mine feels too damn good for me to complain. Just as my arms start to involuntarily snake up his chest, he tears free of me and pushes me away.

“Christ… you drive me fucking mad,” he grumbles as he rakes a hand through his hair in frustration. Then he immediately turns soft on me, reaching a hand back out to clasp me around the back of my neck so he can pull me into a tight hug. “Are you okay?”

My arms go around his waist because I can’t freaking help myself. He looks too good, smells even better, and my body responds without listening to that small part of my brain that says,
You promised your dad you’d stay away from him
.

Woolf’s arms squeeze me, and then he’s pushing me back to look at my face. “Are you? Okay?”

“Yeah… I’m fine.”

“Fuck, I’ve been so worried. When you wouldn’t return my calls, I wasn’t sure if your father sent you off to a convent or something.”

I can’t help the snort that comes out, followed by a snicker that’s completely fueled by champagne bubbles. “I think I’m a little old for that.”

“Then why the hell didn’t you return my calls or texts?” Woolf demands angrily.

My gaze immediately falls away from his. “Because I promised my father I wouldn’t.”

“Fuck that,” Woolf snarls, and then he’s kissing me again.

With a slight bend, he’s got his hands under my ass and he’s lifting me up. A quick spin and he has me on the bed. A short fall of his body on top of mine and he has me pinned.

When his lips go to my throat, I manage to whisper, “Woolf—we shouldn’t.”

He merely says, “Shut the fuck up, Callie,” and then he’s moving down my body and pushing my dress up. Shouldering his way in between my legs, he nudges them apart and with quick, deft hands does nothing more than jerk my underwear to the side so his mouth can latch onto me.

I cry out over the sensation, my hips flying off the bed as my hands slam to his head to press him down harder against me. He fucking laughs against my wet flesh, and the vibration of it along with his tongue already has me soaring high.

I guess Woolf is thinking our time may be limited, because he’s working quickly on me. I mean, who knows if my father might come looking for me with his shotgun. And oh, God… I didn’t even lock my door. My only hope is that the fireworks will start soon and drown out any more cries that pop out of me. Regardless, Woolf attacks me hard with his mouth and tongue, working my clit without mercy. He adds fingers, possibly a thumb, I’m not sure because I can’t even bear to look down at his head between my legs. It’s too sinfully sexy, so I stare at my ceiling and rotate my hips counter to his movements.

“Come on, baby,” he urges me before fluttering his tongue against me hard.

I come in a glorious explosion just as the first rocket explodes outside, lighting up my window in a red glow. Woolf continues to lick at me, growling his approval over the way I continue to buck against him in pleasure.

Finally, he rears up and starts tearing at his belt and fly. When his cock is free from his jeans just barely pushed down past his hips, he hastily grabs at my underwear and pulls them down my legs. He’s moving like a man on a mission, and he’s not going to be deterred.