Pretty Shameless, page 6
part #2 of Deputy Laney Briggs Series
I rose off the floor, ran my finger across his sweaty, hard chest, then lowered the finger to the dark hair curling up around his happy trail and twirled.
“It’s still up for debate.” I panted, out of breath, dying to fuck him.
He tenderly kissed my forehead, and then, with a guttural groan, he plunged himself deep inside me in one long, demanding thrust.
His abs flinched as his narrow hips rocked into mine. I flung my head back and dug my fingernails into the best buns of steel this side of Texas. Then he surged into me again, deeper and harder, and I felt the sweet burn tickle the back of my throat. Good. Too damn good. I clamped my bare thighs around his waist, urging him farther inside me. Sweat dripped from his forehead as his eyes held mine prisoner. He growled, crushed me against his panting chest, and thrust back inside. Rotating his hips into a slow grind, he made me needy with lust all over again. A scream escaped my lungs in approval. Maybe tomorrow I could get my answers, but tonight I wanted to be lost in my cowboy’s wild ways. My fingernails sank into his back, and I trembled at the sight of Gunner growing rigid as he drove himself to the finish line. Beautiful, intense, perfection. We were right together. Otherwise all the collateral damage our relationship had caused would’ve been pointless.
Thighs entwined, sweaty flesh pressed together, and our hearts beat as one. I bit my lower lip when he reared forward, sinking deeper inside me. A kaleidoscope of mixed emotions bottomed out in my gut: guilt, desire, love. And then Gunner grunted as he rocked back on his heels and slammed forward again. Hard. I was high on his frantic chase to school me in the fact he owned me, that I would never be able to outrun this chaotic love affair that possessed us both. He was such a tempting satisfaction. Heat soared through my body, and I clamped my eyes shut.
And possess me he did.
A rough, big hand gripped my neck and then a thumb flicked my chin demanding my presence. “Open your eyes, sweetheart,” he growled. “I want to see those pretty brown eyes when you come.”
My eyes snapped open, and I was met with a powerful, all-consuming man controlling my body as if I were a puppet on strings. And goddamn did I love his take-charge attitude. On a hip grind I gasped, “Harder.” My nails crawled at his firm ass. “Fuck.”
Gunner grabbed me by the waist and jerked my hips upward. He whispered against my neck, his hot breath creating gooseflesh on my skin as he moved, teasing my entrance slowly, then hard. “I need you. Damn, I come alive when I’m inside you.” He thrust. “You are my addiction, Laney Briggs.”
And then the first sputter of heat filled me from the inside out, and suddenly everything became clear. No matter what truths the two of us told, it’d never set us free.
Chapter Four
For the most part, the highlight of my mornings was scarfing down a Little Debbie oatmeal cream pie while watching reruns of the Golden Girls until I was ready to drag myself to the sheriff station. But I had woken up early this morning to drive to the Texas Rangers headquarters in Odessa on a mission to beat Gunner Wilson to work, since he’d made a point last night that he’d be swinging by Harper’s Ridge before heading into the office. I probably should’ve paid more attention to the exchange of words we had, because it was slightly strange how he’d mentioned Mitch Wagner, Luke’s father, as he walked out the door this morning. Although at the moment all I cared about was scrounging up some info on Wyatt. Gunner didn’t want to spill, so I was determined to take matters into my own hands.
I sucked at the straw of my Route 44 and watched another Ranger jog across the parking lot of the headquarters. Not that I minded downtime. Hell, I welcomed a little R&R now and then. But this stakeout blew ass. My butt crack was sweatier than a linebacker’s jockstrap, and my hair was frizzing out. So far I had wasted two hours of my day, not counting the drive here. I fidgeted uncomfortably in my seat and unsnapped the top button on my white cotton blouse. I should have set my alarm earlier, because Gunner’s Yukon was already in the parking lot when I’d arrived. As it was, I’d basically spent the morning waiting for him to leave the station so I could go inside and take care of business, and it was beginning to look like he didn’t plan on stepping out any time soon.
Sighing, I kicked open the driver’s side door and planted a red boot on the ground. Gunner Wilson had another think coming to him if he thought it was acceptable to send me on a wild-goose chase like he did yesterday. That man had lips locked up tighter than a chastity belt and wouldn’t give up any new info. I shoved my gun into my holster, smoothed the wrinkles out of my blouse, and took off across the lot, swinging my hips like I was out man-hunting at one of those honky-tonks in Dallas I used to go to back in my early twenties. I stopped with a hand clutching the door. Was I getting cold feet? Could I pull this off? My eyes dropped to the girls for confidence. They were ready to hit those boys upside the face like Muhammad Ali’s fists. Okay, it was time to rattle Gunner’s cage. I undid another button on my shirt, popped up my tits, yanked the ponytail holder out of my hair, and took a deep breath before walking through the doors.
Hands down, the Rangers office sure did have Pistol Rock’s lame-ass excuse for a station beat. There was a long wraparound glass-front receptionist center and at least a dozen desks piled high with paperwork and lonely cowboy hats. Freshly painted beige walls surrounded the room. Holiday music hummed in the background. These shit dicks even had a break room. And it was packed plum full of Christmas delights. No wonder Gunner had been complaining about his Wranglers fitting a little snugger as of late. He had trouble denying temptation when it beat down his door.
I approached the reception desk. A carrottop bun bobbed up from the swivel chair, and a pair of red-rimmed bifocal glasses peered back. Judging by the way the pink-lacquered nail was bullying the glass countertop, I reckoned this lady was gonna be a hard egg to crack. In a last-ditch effort to ease the tension, I gave her my best all-American girl smile and met her eye for eye. This Kathy Bates didn’t even crack a smile. Well, somebody had forgotten to remove the stick from her ass. I stepped forward and placed both hands palm down on the desk. After glancing at the name tag pinned to her ginormous and utilitarian bosom, I concluded the best line of defense was to smooth talk my way to the old bag’s heart.
“Jolene, how are you doing today?” I asked, my voice swimming in charm.
“I’m fine,” she said without expression. “What do you need?”
I could tell this tank of a woman already hated me, but I faked a smile anyway and decided to take the plunge. “Do you remember me? Laney Briggs.”
Her face didn’t change.
“I’m a deputy over in Pistol Rock.” I paused for a response, but still the same cold glare.
“Anyhow, Assistant Director Major McNalley told me to stop by to pick up the files on Wyatt Bennett.”
The bubblegum-pink nail stopped in mid-dig. “It’s Laney, right?” she confirmed all bitchy. She pretended to shuffle through some notes. “Sorry, hon’. McNalley ain’t said a word about a deputy from Pistol Rock or a Wyatt Bennett.”
I fought back a scream. “Maybe it slipped your mind. Could you have lost the memo?”
That probably wasn’t the best comeback, because those caterpillars resting above her eyes pinched into a frown. “Are you suggesting I don’t know how to do my job, Deputy Briggs?”
Although my mother always told me that denial was the Briggs way of dealing with our problems, I knew this chicken wasn’t going to hatch anytime soon. So, I came to a crossroads. Spill my guts, or retreat with my tail between my legs? I swallowed my pride and let it all fall out.
“Okay, here’s the deal, woman to woman.” I put my hands on my hips. “Wyatt Bennett is my cousin, and Gunner Wilson is my boyfriend. I can’t go into all the details, but you’ve got to hand over those files on my cousin. Otherwise that horse’s ass Gunner will have gotten the upper hand, and there’s no way in hell he’ll ever let me live it down.”
A thin-lipped smile spread across her tea-bag cheeks. “Gunner is a horse’s ass, isn’t he?” she said, laughing and snorting.
“Oh, he’s the worst!”
I couldn’t believe my luck. She’d actually taken my side. Then, just as I was about to pat myself on the back for a job well done, her smile curled up into a vengeful grin. Before I had a chance to stop her, that cement truck of a woman called over her shoulder to the adjacent office.
“Hey, horse’s ass, you’ve got a visitor.”
The anger fired off the tip of my tongue before I was able to stop my mouth from moving. “Oh, you bitch,” I spewed.
She cocked her eyes at me.
“What the hell did I ever do to you?” I asked.
She pushed the brim of her glasses up her crooked nose. “I never liked your bitch of a mother.”
I was fixing to lay into the old lady, but instantly found a frog in my throat at the sound of a deep, rough voice coming from behind. I’d like to say I didn’t give a rat’s ass that Gunner had caught me with my hand in the cookie jar, but damn was I hopping mad. There was a remote possibility this man was going to become a problem. I spun around and practically bit off my tongue at the sight of him. He was lounged back against the wall in an effortless stance, his hands stuffed down the front pockets of his Wranglers. He pushed up his hat and tossed Jolene a wink, telling her thanks.
He turned in my direction and narrowed his eyes at me. “So now I’m a horse’s ass?”
I flipped my hair out of my face, walked over to the door, gave it a push, and scooted a boot out into the lobby, calling over my shoulder, “I’m not in the mood, Gunner.” Then I turned toward Jolene and added, “I’ll tell my mother you said hello.”
Before I was able to let the Plexiglas door slam shut, Gunner kicked off the wall, drawing me back in. “Whoa there, feisty.” He began a slow stride in my direction. “No need to ditch and run.” His hand caught the door, and his boot kept it wedged open.
Immediately I spotted Jolene watching us so I reached out and yanked him into the lobby by the shirt collar. When I heard the door latch closed, I threw in my two cents. Voice barely a whisper, I lit into him. “You used those take-me-out-to-the-dancehall Wranglers on me last night. You know how easy it is to get me in bed when you wear a smoking-hot pair of jeans.” With both hands secured on my hips, I continued, “And you didn’t give me one fucking bread crumb on my shitty-ass cousin’s case.”
Gunner pushed up his hat and rocked forward in his boots, smiling way too damn pretty. “Not like there was much complaining going on, darling.” That deadly wink struck my heart like a bolt of lightning. “If I remember correctly, you told me to fuck you silly.”
I looked at him in utter disbelief.
“Okay, point taken.”
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get out of your hair,” I said, taking a step forward.
He moved to the left, blocking the door. “Hang on. We have some things we need to talk about.” He took me by the arm and tried to pull me up next to him. I jerked away.
“There ain’t nothing I want to talk to you about.”
I stepped back and, go figure, he had my ass pinned between those lady-killer Wranglers and the wall.
“Stop being so hardheaded and come to my office.”
My eyes flew wide open. “I’m hardheaded?” I shouted, throwing my arms out.
“Yeah, a little,” he answered with amusement. “Just come to my office.” He pressed his chest flush against mine. Aw, hell. I caught hold of his scent, that leathery vanilla spice that had faded from the bed sheets we had shared this morning. “There’s some things I want to talk about, but everybody can hear us out here. Please, come to my office.”
I nodded.
Finding it best to keep a car-length distance, I moved at a snail pace up to the door. Gunner had a tendency to skip the window-shopping. And I had a tendency to come unglued just at the sound of those Wranglers causing friction between his lean, toned thighs as he swaggered. I knew I had to keep my defenses up.
He stepped aside and motioned for me to take a seat.
“Thank you,” I told him, “but I’m fine.”
“Suit yourself.” He shoved past me, not even hiding the fact that he’d tried to cop himself a feel of my left tit.
I stood in the doorway and watched him take a seat behind the dented-up metal desk. He kicked back in his plastic chair and placed his boots on the desk, crossing his long legs at the ankles, then rocked back smiling.
“I’m here, so what do you want to talk about?”
“I know you could just about kill me right now, but let me explain things to you.”
“Go ahead.”
“About six months ago, the Rangers got a tip that Willie King was running an illegal underground gun ring in Pistol Rock. And my boss, McNalley, suggested I take the reins since it’s my hometown.” He shot me the eye, held onto the gut-wrenching stare an ungodly minute, then continued. “Then last month my partner arrested Wyatt swapping hot guns outside Shooter’s Bar here in Odessa. Seeing an opportunity, I thought I could kill two birds with one stone: clear Wyatt’s rap sheet and snag my target, Willie King.”
“So Wyatt got himself in the mess he’s in.”
“Exactly,” he agreed, relief in his voice apparent, even though his gruff tone clearly stated he was more than a little agitated. “I know you think I’m the bad guy for using him, but I was trying to help him.”
“You’re a saint.”
His face brightened. “So you’re not mad at me anymore?”
“Oh my God! Do you think I’m that stupid?”
“I don’t get it. What’s the problem?”
“What’s the problem? Let’s see. Up to about three days ago, I thought you were working a case out in El Paso. Then I find you back in town when I run into you snooping around Wyatt’s place. Were you even going to call me, or did you plan on sneaking in and out of town without me knowing?”
Gunner lifted a hand, signaling me to give him an in. “I was gonna call.”
“That’s bullshit,” I said, continuing with my list. “Then, rather than tell me the truth, you sent me out to Manny Sanchez’s chasing a red herring. So, does it make sense now why I’m pissed?”
He gave me a resigned sigh and fell back against the edge of the desk. “It makes sense.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “And you thought it was best to keep me out of the loop?”
He hunched over, straining his massive biceps, and laughed. “Well, if that cousin of yours didn’t have shit for brains and fall off the face of the earth last week, we wouldn’t even be having this little chat.”
I threw my arms up in the air. “Good God, Gunner,” I said, teeth clenched. “It’s Wyatt we’re talking about. The man believed it was the second coming of Christ when the Rangers went to the World Series.”
He shot forward in his chair and stared at me with that look in his eyes that meant he was about to try to say something cute. “I know. I put too much faith in that twit. But the way I see it, we’re even now.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. How are we even?”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems we’ve both been caught red-handed.”
I shifted from one red boot to the other at the unsettling feeling of having his eyes strip search my body. Maybe my wardrobe wasn’t giving me the bargaining power I thought it would. He was grinning, rolling a pencil about his fingers. From that cunning expression on his face, I knew I was fixing to get an earful.
“I’ve lied about a couple things. True. I was gonna call you yesterday. I swear to it. But, Laney, I just caught you trying to steal classified documents.” He dropped the pencil and shot to his feet. “So, if you think about it, we’re both guilty of something.”
He was starting to eat at me. I should’ve known to never duke it out with the big boys. I glared at him while he rounded the front of the desk, milling over my comeback. Time to bite the bullet.
“Okay. We’re even.” I looked him square in the eyes. “Now what?”
That let-me-take-you-up-against-the-wall-and-fuck- you-silly grin returned. “Go out with me tonight.”
I slung my arms across my chest and grunted. “Why would I go out with you when I can just come home and find you lounged on the couch with a beer in hand watching another football game?” I gave him a displeased smile. “Sure can’t beat a night like that one, babe.”
He winked. “Come on. What do you say we call a spade a spade and have some romantic fun? Like the good ol’ days.” He leaned over the desk on his elbows and tried his damnedest to use that bad-boy, I’m-rough-around-the-edges smile that for some reason unbeknownst to me had the ability to cause my body to rev like Pit Row at the Texas Motor Speedway. “We can go dancing. You and I both know how much you enjoy dancing with me,” he said.
This one was gonna pack a punch, but hell, the look on his face alone would be worth the backlash. “I’ve already got myself a rich and sexy Southern boy to take me out tonight, so I’ll need to take a rain check on your offer.”
That irritated expression slowly spreading across his hard face squashed the oatmeal cream pie in competition for the blue ribbon prize of my morning highlights.
Gunner bowed up his shoulders. “Luke Wagner!”
I shooed him off with a backhanded wave. It was a bold-faced lie. Just another notch on my belt buckle. But damn it’d garnered his attention, and that had to count for something.
His eyebrows rose half an inch as he closed the gap between us. I could feel his breath on my lips. “It’s a pity,” he said softly, “because those red cowboy boots always do a number on me.” Then he had the nerve to rock forward and rub that damn, sinful bulging fly against me.
Heat rushed to my cheeks. “Stop that. I’m in no mood for your games.” And then I took one huge step back, practically stumbling over my own goddamn boot heel.
