Pretty Shameless, page 10
part #2 of Deputy Laney Briggs Series
Gunner pushed his hat up and said, “I can say I’m sorry until I’m blue in the face”—he paused for a moment to search my eyes, then he sighed, relaxing his shoulders, and plugged on—“but you’d still want to string me up by the balls.”
I started to chug my beer. I was thinking more along the lines of a cattle prod to his nut sac.
We stared at each other blankly, deciding which hand to play.
His mouth tightened. I watched his wide shoulders tense as he contemplated his next move. He cocked his chin at me. “You…me…” he stated smugly, “maybe discuss Wyatt’s involvement with the Rangers?” He paused and dropped a shoulder. “What do you think?”
“I thought we’d already made up our minds that you screwed me over with this Wyatt thing.”
He sat up straighter in his chair. “If I remember correctly, you told me we were even.”
“Well, yeah,” I agreed, defeated. “But that was before you called my old man and poured your heart out to him.”
“What?” He shrugged, defensively. “He’s a friend, and I thought he should know that his daughter planned on painting the town red with a Wagner.” Laughable, at its best. And Gunner knew it all along. He just wanted to make sure he got the final word by dealing my dad in on our little fight. “So,” he stretched his arms across the table reaching for my hands, “are you done looking at me like you want to use my balls for this year’s Christmas-tree topper?”
I fiddled with the label on my beer. “You know me,” I gave him a half smile. “I can hold a grudge with the best of ’em.” I took a drink, waiting for him to blow his top. Nothing happened so I pushed a little more…well, just for the heck of it. “One look at your ass will prove it, Ranger.”
Stupidly a few years back I’d pointed a shotgun loaded with rock salt at his fine ass. And then I squeezed the trigger. For a long time, Gunner’d stayed pissed about that one. Now he just likes to add salt to my wounds by rubbing one of the most embarrassing days of our relationship in my face. Sometimes I do believe it’s still a sore spot for him, yet he’d never let that little truth slip.
He blew out a sigh of relief; now if only he’d stop burning a hole through my white top like it could be his next meal. “I’ve been sweating so hard all evening I swear my Wranglers are superglued to my ass crack.” He pinched the brim of his hat back at me and chuckled deeply. I’ll admit those dimples had mind-blowing orgasm written all over them. I shifted in my seat and reached for my beer, only to come into the crosshairs of his rough hand. “You sure know how to keep a man on his toes. I was afraid I was gonna have to sleep in the backseat of the Yukon tonight.”
“Well, you never know, that seat still might have your name on it,” I quipped, tugging up the neckline of my top.
My tempting boyfriend raised a playful brow. “You’ve got to throw me a bone here, Laney. I went a whole damn week without feeling you beneath me, screaming my name. And last night just didn’t quench my thirst.” Voice raw and charming, he murmured, “I’m a pitiful sap when it comes to needing my girl.” He stroked his jaw slowly as he deliberately made sure to focus all his attention in the direction of my parted lips. “I truly am sorry about sending you on a wild-goose chase the other day.” One corner of his mouth turned up while he gestured at the bar door. “What do you say we beat it and play some catch-up? I might even give you a few pointers on the Willie King case.”
That was one damn good way to get my ass in the backseat of his Yukon.
But it was time I stood my ground around the bullheaded man, so I sat in my seat and waited for my answer.
Gunner drew the beer to his lips and took a drink, all the while eyeing me over the bottle. When he finally decided I wouldn’t bulge, he sat it down, wiped his mouth, and gave in by telling me one piece of truth. “I do know that Wyatt has been seen in the area with Redbud and some of his friends.” Gunner wet his lips, the look on his face clearly uneasy about what he was fixing to delve out. He scooted forward, resting on his elbows, and cleared his throat. “Rumor has it that Wyatt’s been hanging around Redbud’s kinkier parties, Laney.” He raised an eyebrow. “And we aren’t talking barbecue fund-raisers.”
Shit, he knew more than I thought.
I sighed and decided to fill my boyfriend in on Wyatt’s murder charges and Danny Redbud’s connection to my cousin, to the best of my knowledge. A few minutes later, Gunner was still staring at me, so I kept talking.
“You know all about Wyatt’s arrest in Lubbock and being connected to our town’s ghost, Danny Redbud,” I told him, reaching out a hand and running a finger over his black rattlesnake tattoo. His muscled forearm pulsed and flexed. “Now tell me if the Rangers have heard any word about those damn swinger parties popping up in the area or questioned Redbud about his involvement?”
“I think you pretty much summed up everything, darling. Not much to tell here but what you’ve brought to the table. And my partner brought Redbud in the other day for questioning while I was out in Harper’s Ridge, and from what I heard the guy was pretty clueless when it came to the murders.” He smiled some more. “Can we get to the good stuff now?”
I was fixing to cough up my terms, but momentarily fell silent at the sound of the spine-tingling laugh approaching our table. I tilted my head back, coming directly into Luke Wagner’s path. He effortlessly cocked the toothpick into the corner of his mouth. Then he slipped me one of his infamous thigh-clenching grins.
“Is there trouble in paradise?” Luke quipped.
I watched Gunner pin a cold, unyielding gaze on Luke as he slowly popped his knuckles one by one. “Luke, move along,” Gunner barked.
Luke looked at me, then back at Gunner, narrowing his blue eyes. “Make me,” he egged him on.
Tonight was not working in my favor. The last thing I needed was to be the tart that caused a barroom brawl. I pushed back from the table and stood, pointing an assertive finger right at Luke’s nose. “Like hell I’m going to let you two start a fight trying to prove who’s the biggest asshole in Pistol Rock.” I shifted my finger over in Gunner’s direction. “Do you hear me, Gunner Wilson? I mean it. I’m out of here if either of y’all throw a swing.”
Luke shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and rocked forward in his boots. “Dang, big guy. You just got ripped a new one by a girl.”
That did it. Gunner lurched from his chair and within seconds had Luke’s T-shirt in a choke hold.
“Hey, hey.” Luke tossed his arms up. “I came in peace.” He let out a nervous laugh, fixing his eyes on me. “I thought Laney might be interested in the fact that my father saw Willie King over at Mule Canton’s place earlier today.”
Gunner released his death grip and casually returned to his seat, like everything was fine and dandy between the three of us.
“And why should we believe you?” he asked Luke.
Luke straightened his shirt, adjusted his hat, and spit his toothpick on the ground, crunching it with the tip of his brown cowboy boot. “What would I have to gain from lying?” He smirked, glancing down at Gunner. “It hasn’t seemed to work in your favor.”
“Don’t push it, Luke,” Gunner countered.
Personally, I was appalled at the two of them. If I had half a mind, I would leave both ass-hats to duke it out. But I had trouble smartening up when it came to these two rowdy guys. I pushed my way in the middle and gave them both the Ruth Briggs motherly I-will-mess-your-shit-up look. I’ll admit it was a pleasure watching both their faces turn piss yellow.
“Goddamn the two of y’all,” I yelled slightly pitchy. “I’m pretty sure y’all both have dicks under those jeans, and I’m damn sure I’m not in the mood to see who has the longer hose.”
They both choked, and then they slowly started backing away from my impending meltdown.
“Well, I’m gonna go steal me some snatch tonight,” Luke said, plopping a toothpick between his lips.
I raised an eyebrow, confused. “Steal some snatch?” I asked.
“You know. Married women.”
Then he turned on his heels and strutted back over to the bar where Elsie Mae Nolan was drowning her marital problems in an ocean of gin.
Gunner nudged my elbow. “I’m gonna get us some shots.”
“Shots?” I asked, raising up in my chair.
“This might be my only chance at getting you to reconsider that business of me sleeping in the backseat of the Yukon,” he said, walking away before I could protest.
Two hours and another beer and a shot later I was toast. Elsie Mae had stumbled out the back door hanging on Luke’s every word as if he were the Messiah. I slung back another shot of whiskey, eyeballing Gunner over the bottomless glass. He cocked his head, pondering his next line of action. I tipped the glass back again, draining it dry. Then he rocked forward in his chair, and my head began to throb. I know. It was pathetic. And yeah, I probably should reevaluate my life. But first things first, I was going to guzzle that last drink and prepare myself for a talk with God’s great white telephone come tomorrow morning in the bathroom.
I reached for the shot glass. Gunner snagged it first.
“Hey,” I slurred, “what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
He leaned over the table, and said, “I think it’s time to throw in the towel.”
My chair wobbled on the uneven wooden floor. I blinked, and damn, now there were two black cowboy hats in front of me.
“Come on, Boomer.” Gunner hauled me to my feet. “Let’s get you home before you drink Rusty out of business.”
Being compared to the town drunk, and my only “real” friend, happened to be a new low in my long streak of irreparable mistakes. I looked at Gunner, who was still hanging onto that widemouthed grin and those puppy-dog brown eyes that on more than one occasion got me to blow him outside the high school football locker room.
With a shrug, I took him up on the offer and latched onto his hand.
A few minutes later, we both trailed out the back door. I had him by the shirt, hanging on for dear life, but my boots were slipping all over the pavement. We stumbled past the Dumpster, locked together in a comforting embrace, laughing and breathing so damn hard my side was in stitches. The Yukon was two feet away, parked under a street lamp. He dragged me across the empty lot as if we were fleeing the scene after both of us had TP’d a house. The toe of my boots butted the front tire as Gunner tried to steady me, all the while fumbling with the keys in the door lock. I staggered to the side, and then toppled backward. He reached to catch me, but instead we both tumbled onto the car hood and found ourselves tangled up in each other’s arms. His knee sunk between my legs, and then he nuzzled my neck. That was when the butterflies went bat-shit crazy in my stomach. In my own defense, I’d been working the washing machine overtime these past few days, and it wasn’t because I needed clean clothes.
Bad boys could be so much trouble. They could cause regret. Screw up life’s biggest decisions. Make girls weak in their knees.
And then there’s Gunner Wilson. He was a class act. He loved hard and fell even harder. And he hurt. Some days I wondered if he’d been damaged beyond repair. That wound between us cut deep. Losing our baby nearly six years ago had long-term effects on us both. Sadly, my heart just wasn’t in it yet to bring up the numerous doctor visits that each concluded the exact same thing…I might not be able to carry Gunner’s child again. He wasn’t ready to hear such news. Actually, I’m not sure if I’d even coped with the earth-shattering report. Yet slowly, each day, he found a way to patch the great divide. Either with a morning good-bye kiss or a midnight stroll down by the riverbank. We were working through our problems. At least, I thought so.
He pressed his Wranglers at my hips and ground that zipper into me. Naturally, I was a goner. Gunner wiggled his fingers in front of my face, smiling, and asked, “How many fingers am I holding up?”
This was not the time to be discussing mathematics. It wasn’t like we hadn’t screwed before when I was three sheets to the wind.
Gaze locked in on his hand, I reached out and clung to the huge belt buckle. There were at least a dozen fingers doing a happy dance in front of my eyes.
“Hmm…three.” My answer came out accompanied by a serenade of hiccups. Our eyes locked, and I clued in that tonight would be one helluva backseat bang.
That I’m-gonna-take-your-ass-for-a-trip-down-memory-lane grin returned. “Good enough,” he growled, his throaty voice both rough and mind-numbingly sweet, zapping my heart as if I’d charged it up to an 8-volt battery. He belonged inside me. And I was done waiting to hear if my winning ticket might be called. I went in for the kill, only to have him swoop my arm up in one swift movement. He brought my hand toward his mouth, all the while rolling his thumb across my knuckles and never letting his penetrating gaze leave mine. The air died in my lungs. Come on, cowboy, make a move. And then he said, “Let me show you just how sorry of a man I truly am, Laney Briggs.”
I flung my arms around his neck and pulled his mouth within inches of mine. “Are you calling a truce?”
He laughed. “Pretty much.” He kissed my cheek. “I’ll even deal you in on Wyatt, but you’ve got to do something for me.” His mouth grazed just beneath my chin as his hand sank beneath my waistband and into my pants.
A moan slipped from my lips when his hand went searching inside my panties, the fever sparked ardently and blazed into an inferno between us. Forget about the need to fuck, the two of us were bordering on a connection running deeper than any ongoing crush. This was us: sex, lies, and lust. This was how we laid everything out on the table. And I loved every damn minute of it. He cupped me, stroking his forefinger and thumb back and forth over my sensitive clit. The mind-numbing feeling was like sunshine rolling off the shoulders during a summer lake break. Then he pulled and pinched, sending me to cloud nine. I wiggled on a sigh, catching that flicker of delight explode in the depths of his dilated pupils. His heated expression had the ability to reach out and touch my soul. “As long as the answer to your question ends in a night of being pressed up against your naked body,” I told my deadly obsession, “I’ll let you take it out on me anywhere and any way, Gunner Wilson.”
His grin widened; the one that had stolen my heart and my virginity. “Anything”—he arched a brow—“because you know me, I’m more than willing to teach my gal a new trick or two.”
“Gentleman’s choice tonight.” I smiled, knowing all too well he’d be up to the challenge.
His cheek touched my chin, his sexy lips causally fluttering beneath my mouth. Voice low and seductive, murmuring against my heated flesh, he whispered, “Oh, the things I intend on doing to your pretty little body. They’d make even a sinner, like me, repent.” He bent down and nibbled my collarbone. The delicious feel of his mouth working along my hammering pulse caused stars to dance in my eyes. God, he was my world. I loved him. Loved. Lying there pressed up against the hood of the SUV, I focused on the hard lines of his ruggedly handsome face, making my way toward his deeply troubled eyes, detailing each and every wrinkle that made him the man he’d become today. Neither of us were clean. Most of all, our past still wanted to teach us a lesson. One day it would succeed. It always does.
But tonight nothing would stand in our way. Tonight would be about nothing else but the two of us.
“You are such a damn fever, Gunner,” I said, brushing a finger down his cheek and basking in the heady growl that spilled from his lips. “I want nothing between us. Nothing.” His big, brown eyes widened in surprise at my revelations, and the low, soft beat of his heart against mine made me never want to let him go.
He was my beginning and my end. Some days it hurt how badly I needed him. And I’d take that truth to my grave, because if I’ve learned anything from being with Gunner over the years it is there are some secrets better left unsaid. Even though I prayed he’d tell me each one of his sins, I knew I’d never know them all.
With a soft and possessive kiss just above the swell of my breasts, he added, “Never again will I let anything get between us, sweetheart.” He pressed a soft, succulent kiss into my collarbone, then sunk his teeth into my shoulder, hard. Damn.
Ramming my hands down the waistline of those killer Wranglers, I pulled my cowboy temptation closer. “I’m ready to be schooled in all ways Gunner Wilson.”
That one flipped his switch. “God, you have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say those exact words.” In a frenzied race, under the cloak of the midnight moon, we both stripped to our birthday suits. He scooped me up and opened the back door of the Yukon. I flopped to a stop on the seat, flat on my stomach, with the harsh breath of a man intent on doing very bad things raking over me.
He looked me in the eyes, cut his gaze to the seat, then back at me. “Make yourself comfortable.” He smiled. “The tour is about to begin.” Then he slammed the car door behind us.
Before I could catch a breath, my cheek flattened against the leather seat and a firm hand splayed possessively across the small of my back. My body trembled at the slight touch of his mouth coasting along the nape of my neck. When his thighs weighed down on top of me and his hand fisted my hair, pulling my head back toward his chest, I felt the warmth pool between my thighs. Someone was excited and ready to play.
That dark, seductive voice drawled in the silent cab. “Such a dirty little girl.” Gunner slipped a finger inside, pumping the digit in and out. “God, I love that you are wet for me,” he said, like it was a drug, as his finger parted my lips wider, rolling the slickness of my arousal across my already sensitive nub. I moaned into the seat. “Feel good?” he asked, kneeing my thighs and pushing them farther apart. A little too damn good. My teeth sank into the seat belt when I felt his cock nudge at my asshole, and I flinched, awaiting the all-consuming intrusion. “Not tonight, sweetheart. Tonight I want to enjoy the feel of you fitting around my cock all snug and tight.” He continued stroking, teasing, and caressing my clit until it was so tender the immense pleasure sent it humming in ecstasy. I went slack beneath him. The pressure against my anus increased, and then he pinned me down on the seat with the heavy weight of his muscular chest. “Although you and I both know how much the sight of your ass being inked in my name drives me mad.” His deep, throaty chuckle rumbled inside the small SUV cab.
