Pretty Shameless, page 18
part #2 of Deputy Laney Briggs Series
I tugged at the hem of his black T-shirt breezing midthigh. “Are you gonna just stare all night, Wilson?”
He winked not so indiscreetly at my braless breasts, then placed a hand on my stomach and nuzzled his chin against my shoulder, whispering softly, “I knew you were a keeper the moment I saw you sporting nothing but one of my T-shirts after homecoming.” His fingers skated underneath the cotton hiding my bare belly from sight. And then his flat palm pressed just below my navel. “Do you remember how it felt?” he asked, the brown of his eyes hazy with sadness.
The back of my head hit the table leg as I tried to steady my breathing. A cold clammy sweat crawled up my spine. I couldn’t do this now. I couldn’t do this ever. “Can we talk about something else?” I said, gaze locked in on the popcorn ceiling.
He rolled on his side and propped himself up on an elbow, that heartbroken face way too damn close. It was a sucker punch to the gut. “You can’t keep brushing this under the rug.” He reached out and gently traced a finger up and down my arm. “What’s so bad with getting it off your chest?” He flipped a piece of hair off my shoulder. “Come on.” He quirked a brow. “You tell me your truths, and I’ll tell you mine.”
Now that held a promising ring.
I stared at the chiseled lines of his wide, tanned jaw, the sexy outline of his mouth, indulging in all the ways it’d touched, kissed, and caressed my inner thighs. Damn, I was wild about this man. Some days it hurt how madly in love I was.
Cocking my head in his direction, I almost went blind at the sight of that million-dollar smile and eyes for only me. “Okay, Gunner,” I taunted, roaming my hands across his muscled pecs. “Truth or Dare?” I asked, finger twirling a chest hair as my gaze clicked with his.
The grin broadened, pulling his dimples tight. “Truth,” he said, his hand sliding farther up under my shirt grazing just beneath the swell of my breasts.
“Your first blow job?”
He choked. “Seriously, Laney?”
My hand snagged his face in a firm grip, and then I tugged at his full bottom lip, saying, “Deadly serious, cowboy.”
On a slow, uneasy swallow Gunner dropped his voice low and answered. “Mary Sue Hampton.” He paused and gulped. “Seventh grade after my first football game.” Then his other hand crawled behind my neck, capturing me in a heated embrace even though it was more of a confirmation that I would always be his. “Now your turn, Laney Briggs.” He smiled. “Truth or dare?”
I blew out a breath. “Give me your best dare, Wilson.”
The desire burst between us like a northern lights show. Gunner stroked a thumb down the side of my cheek and ordered in that all too familiar “cop” voice so worthy of a strip show as he cut a glance at the empty beer bottle nestled by my hand, “I dare you to drink the warm beer roosting at the bottom of that bottle.”
I snatched up the Miller Lite and toasted. “Yum.” Then I slung it back in one long swig.
He reached out, chuckling deeply, and swiped a thumb against my lip, wiping away the remains of the beer. “You never could resist a dare could you, sweetheart?”
Clasping his hand in mine, I brushed my lips along his scraped knuckles, desperate to taste him. “Well, that’s how you got me to give you a blow job.”
He laughed, his hand still over my belly button. “True.” And then he leaned in closer, mouth coasting inches below my earlobe, voice a mere buzzing in my eardrum. “Do you ever think about our baby?” he asked, flatly.
Damn the man for bringing up the pain. Denying myself a cry, I turned away to face the adjacent wall. “Every damn day.”
His hand patted circles on my flat stomach, soothing the anxiety boiling within. “Me, too.” His voice sounded like a silly-ass love song. But it hit deep.
I rolled over to face him, my heart a dead beat, my hands shaking, clutched in a death grip at my side. I was needy and a bundle of raw nerves. “Why were you looking through my old family photos the other day?”
He stared at me in shock, and I knew instantly that something was up, and yet I wouldn’t get the answer I sought.
“Nothing very interesting,” he said with a nod. “The office is having a New Year’s party and Jolene, our secretary, asked us to bring by some old high school photos.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I grabbed the wrong box, darling. That’s all.” He laughed, trying to play me a fool.
Yeah right. Although at the moment I didn’t have it in me to press him some more, so I simply obliged with another question.
“Truth.”
“Shoot.” He tossed me a cute-ass wink.
Finding myself lost in the smoking-hot look, I started giggling like the little schoolgirl I used be, trying to gain the attention of the senior bad boy. “What are you thinking about right now?”
Before I could utter a protest, he’d smoothly slung a leg over my waist, trapping me beneath the hard planes of his muscular torso. “You want to know what’s on my mind?” he teased, rubbing that expanding zipper fly at the heat flaming between my thighs.
“Yes,” I replied, breathlessly.
He touched my forehead with the calloused pad of his thumb, then swept the hair away from my eyes. “That I’m the luckiest damn man in the world to have you by my side.” He pressed his mouth to my cheek, moving those kissable lips south. “That I’m in love with you more now, and it scares the shit out of me.” He touched his mouth to the tip of my nose, zapping the air in my lungs. “That I need to feel your body pressed up against mine again.” He cocked a brow. “And you, Laney Briggs. What’s on your mind?”
I flung my arms around his neck. “What do you know; I was thinking the exact same thing.”
The last thing I remember is that he stole my breath and heart in a single kiss.
Chapter Sixteen
I’d spent the morning cleaning up the kitchen and dodging all conversation pertaining to last night that dealt with any baby talk. It hadn’t been that hard since Gunner decided at the crack of dawn to shuffle through the shed. Damn, he was a determined man. After calling in a personal day to the Ranger station in Odessa, he took it upon himself to spread the merry cheer throughout our house. At least he was trying, even if we had some kinks to work out.
Up to my elbows in suds and daydreaming about a quiet afternoon not littered with the presence of my cousin, I almost missed the sound of the screen banging into the wall.
“Where do you want the tree?” Gunner asked.
I spun around, ass slapping the counter’s edge, and unable to steer clear away from a knee-buckling set of abs doused in sweat. Swiping my hands down my thighs, I tried to gather my voice. “By the fireplace.”
He smiled. “Your wish.” His voice dropped a notch. “My command.” And then he dragged the plastically fake pine needles into the living room.
Shortly after the lunch hour, and since there were only three days left to wrap up holiday shopping, Gunner and I’d chosen to dwindle down our lists instead of hashing out what’d transpired between us last night. It was chilly, and overcast skies hung above on this dismal December morning. We’d both taken the day off in an attempt to spend more quality time together. And I’d made sure to get all dolled up for the man, slipping on a tight red dress and black pumps. He’d given a nod and pleased smile. I thought, well, maybe today would go off without a hitch. That was an hour ago. An hour before I spilled coffee inside the Yukon. And an hour before the Yukon ran out of gas. Even our best-laid plans couldn’t work in our favor.
While Gunner was filling up the tank with gas at the Filler-Up, I sat inside the SUV with the heater blasting. He lounged back against the pump, the brim of his hat concealing his chipper mood, and hands shoved down the front pockets of his Wranglers. I’d just switched on the radio when out of the corner of my eye I spotted a guy pedaling a bicycle through the parking lot. Upon further inspection, I fingered the cyclist as my no-brain cousin, Wyatt Bennett. I rolled down the window and called out to Gunner. It didn’t take long for him to turn off the gas pump after I told him Wyatt had just moseyed by on a bike. He hopped behind the wheel and gunned the gas, hitting the open road, and soon we were trailing a car length behind Wyatt zigzagging in the direction of Manny Sanchez’s humble abode. This was just too damn easy.
We reached Elm Wood Drive around noon. One general store flew by and Manny’s turquoise shotgun house came into view. Gunner slowly coasted down the car-infested street and parked right behind a pimped-out Impala a couple houses away from Manny’s. He popped the glove compartment and pulled out his semiautomatic, then wrenched open his door.
“Now you stay back and let me handle the situation,” he said, using his bossy-cop voice, which I hate.
I tied my hair in a ponytail and slipped on my aviator sunglasses, lowering them past my nose to spy on him. I couldn’t help but find pleasure in the way his jaw flexed and his teeth clanked while I eyed him. “So you’re just going to burst in there in a blaze of glory?” I asked, leaning over the console. “Because I really don’t see Wyatt rolling over dead once he gets a glimpse of you.”
Gunner snorted. “You know, Laney, not everyone goes in half-blind. Some of us actually have a plan.”
“Oh, so this is the follow-the-dumbass-on-a-bicycle plan,” I shot back. “Gotcha.” With a wink, I turned and glanced out the windshield.
I scanned Manny’s weather-beaten front porch for any signs of life. Nothing. All my eyes were rewarded with was the bald ass of a bulldog snoozing under a chipped metal lawn chair. He flopped over on his back and pawed at the air before falling into a gruff slumber again. I tossed my heels on the ground and hiked up my dress.
“So, are we just going to sit around and take in the view?” I sidled up next to Gunner and nudged his arm. “Or are we going to go drag my cousin out by his flip-flops?” He glanced down at me, and boy had I hit a nerve. Those lips were tighter than a Beverly Hills facelift. I decided I’d already lit the match, so why not keep running my mouth. “And if you haven’t noticed, my hands are sort of empty. I’d appreciate a loaner, if you have one.”
He nodded back at the Yukon. “There’s an extra gun in the console.” I turned on a heel, but his rough, callused hand caught me by the arm, whirling me head on into his rock-hard, deep-breathing chest.
“I meant what I said.” He placed a hand on my shoulder. “I want you to stay back and let me handle this.”
I nodded. “Yep, I hear you loud and clear. I’ll wait for your cue,” I lied.
Then I turned and walked over to the Yukon before he bossed me around anymore. Mr. Hotheadedness was allowing his protective nature to get the best of him. I understood why he felt he needed to watch my ass, not just because he enjoyed his time spent with it a little too damn much but because he truly did care for me. Although sometimes I wished he would get the clue that I loved my ass just as much as him, and I wasn’t in the market to see it go to waste in the immediate future.
After rummaging a hand inside the console, picking through all the empty Big Red gum wrappers—the gum I loathed more than a glass of red wine during a July heat wave—I found a Glock tucked under a Texas map. I picked up the gun, slammed the door shut, and sloshed my way back through the muddy snow puddles, taking my place next to his side.
I flipped the safety off and asked, “So what’s the plan?”
“You don’t listen, do you?”
“Never have. Never will.”
He pulled off his hat, raking a hand through his messy, untrimmed hair, and rocked back in his boots. “First, I think we need to scope the place out. I’d rather keep this takedown as clean and simple as possible. And that means keeping a head count on who all is inside the house.”
“Sounds good,” I said, “but what’s the plan?”
He smiled. “We get back in the Yukon and wait for signs of movement. I spotted at least three cars, but only one of them is parked in Sanchez’s driveway,” he said, whipping off his hat to wipe his forehead. Then he plopped the hat back on his head, continuing, “Let’s give it a few more minutes, Laney. If no one else shows up, we go knocking on his door.”
After sitting inside the Yukon for twenty minutes and not a damn thing happening, I was starting to get a little bored. Like I always did when bored, I started fiddling with the thing nearest at hand. I was used to carrying my .9mm, so having Gunner’s semiautomatic was quite an entertaining piece of weaponry to handle. I popped the clip out and removed the bullets one by one, placing them in my lap. Once I had them all out, I started putting them back. The problem was, getting them back in the clip was a little harder than it had been taking them out. Gunner burst out laughing at me.
“You need a hand there, honey?” he asked, reaching for the gun.
Men and their guns. I snapped my hand away and pathetically attempted to load the clip once more. I could sense him staring. The pressure was putting a kink in my excellent gun skills.
“I’ve got it,” I blurted out, jamming a bullet in the clip.
I could tell from the asshole smirk settling on Gunner’s face that he was about to say something that would get my panties in a bunch.
His grin widened, but that smart mouth of his was cut short when the screen door burst open. Standing on the front porch with his arms across his wafer-thin chest and scrutinizing his tacky gnome lawn ornaments was Manny Sanchez. Fantastic. I was hoping he’d be on a dope run or hitting up Pokey’s Strip Club out west. Adrenaline pumped through my veins as I finally popped the loaded clip back into the gun. I looked over at Gunner to find him with his semiautomatic drawn to attention and his other hand on the door handle ready to spring to action. But then, before either of us could make a move, Manny kicked the dog chain out of the way and skipped down the porch. I stood, mouth agape, watching that man pop and snap his hips better than any Vegas showgirl as he sashayed down the street and disappeared around the corner.
“Time to move,” Gunner called over his shoulder as he jumped out of the Yukon and jogged toward Manny’s house.
He eased around the screen door and pressed his back against the wall, his gun drawn. It was showtime. Frankly, I shouldn’t have given a damn whether or not Wyatt got his head blown off after all he had put me through. But I could imagine what family dinners would be like at my parents’ house if Gunner killed him.
Still sitting in the Yukon, I placed the semiautomatic down in my lap and decided it was now or never to make my move. If I waited any longer, Gunner might see fit to charge in guns blazing. And that thought alone made up my mind to chase him down. Flipping my hair out of my eyes, I pushed the SUV door open, then scurried across the crunchy lawn to join my loose-cannon cowboy. Gunner whipped his head around at the sound of my shuffling heels hauling ass up the porch steps.
“You’re gonna blow our cover,” he barked.
“Don’t you dare shoot my cousin,” I snapped, pointing a finger at his face. “I know he’s a worthless little twit, but God help me if Wyatt’s gonna get shot, I’ll be the one pulling the trigger.”
“I don’t want to shoot him, but I also don’t plan on getting killed today.”
“If you shoot him, you’re already dead.”
I made a point to kick him in the leg as I walked around him and glued my ass like white on rice against the side of the house.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
“What do you think?” I said, slightly annoyed. “I’m doing my damn job. And my job happens to be hauling my cousin in alive.”
Gunner’s mouth formed a hard, thin line. “This is exactly why I told you to park that ass of yours in the car. You’re emotional.”
“Hey!” I snapped. “There are some perks to having me around.”
He grinned. “There are quite a few things that make keeping you around well worth all the pain and trouble you put me through, Laney.”
I tried my best to ignore that remark. We were on the job. “How easy is it gonna be getting Wyatt out of this house if you’re the first person he sees?”
He pinched the brim of his hat down, covering his sun-blistered nose.
“I don’t know about you,” I added, “but I’d prefer to grab Wyatt and get the hell out of here before Manny comes sashaying back home.”
A smile crept across Gunner’s face, and it gave me an uneasy feeling, much like those eastern European guys at the Dallas mall did when I passed by them and they offered to put lotion on me. Then, just as I was thinking how there was something peculiar about the way Gunner was smiling at me, he shoved me back with a shoulder and kicked the damn door in.
“Watch and learn, sweetie.”
That proud, stubborn man. If I hadn’t noticed my cousin standing in the middle of the dark living room shaking from limb to limb, I’d have given Gunner a piece of my mind. But there were more pressing matters to attend to. Yep, this was going to be a hair puller. Wyatt was swearing, his mud flap bouncing and slapping his long, thin neck from all the pacing, and the dead look in his eyes was clouded by black, dilated pupils. He was definitely blistered. Wyatt eventually stopped drawing paths in the carpet and acknowledged me.
“Well, hey there, cuz,” Wyatt stuttered, showing off his stunning buck teeth. He wadded the hem of his midriff mesh tank top in a hand and started twisting the cotton fabric. Then his flesh-swollen eyes locked in on a pair of black boots perched in the doorway and slowly leveled on Gunner’s imposing stance braced against the wall. Wyatt gulped and looked to the back door for an escape, but I had already moved around to cut off his path. He collected his thoughts before finishing his greeting.
“Hey, Gunner.”
“Wyatt,” Gunner said back.
“I was wondering when you guys would come and rescue my ass.”
Holy mother of pearl! He was an even bigger idiot than I’d first suspected. I leaned against the doorjamb, took a moment to soak in his blank stare, then strolled across the nappy carpet to stand face-to-face with him. Just one look at my cousin shot my plan of going easy on him in the foot.
