by Shirl Anders
This book is a work of fiction. Names characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book maybe be reproduced, scanned, or printed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Copyright © 2012 by Shirl Anders. All rights reserved.
Published by Allure Books
The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction. Indian casinos; title only Stairway to Heaven; Cher; Redrock;
Their Ex's Redrock Serial Release Schedule
Their Ex's One: Redrock (Texas Alpha, Erotic Romance)
(Thursday, December 20th, 2012)
Their Ex's Two: Redrock (Texas Alpha, Erotic Romance)
(Thursday, December 27th, 2012)
Their Ex's Three: Redrock (Texas Alpha Erotic Romance)
(Thursday, January 3rd, 2013)
Their Ex's Four: Redrock (Texas Alpha Erotic Romance)
(Thursday, January 10th, 2013)
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Their Ex’s, One: Redrock (Texas Alpha, Erotic Romance)
By Shirl Anders
ONE / IT WAS HER HUSBAND
Tess Navarro ran through the rain not caring that her expensive pink cowboy boots were getting soaked in the puddles across the parking lot. She snatched long red strands of her hair back off her face as she ran knowing her leather jacket with the snakeskin embossing was getting soaked. This rain would ruin it ... her coolest jacket. She also thought her pink camisole was running dye streaks on the inside of the jacket, but she couldn’t care.
She had to know.
The rain burned her eyes coming down so hard in the black of night it ran rivers over her face. She wasn’t a great runner especially in cowboy boots, but this is where her husband had pulled into, and then went inside. She’d followed him. To Senta River Hotel. A hotel! When he’d said he was working late, trying to reel in a big talent. The biggest he’d agented yet.
She saw the hotel was quaint as her boots clunked across the parking lot, while she wondered how she’d find out where inside Steven had gone. Maybe she’d just go inside and ask for Steven Navarro’s room, then go to it and confront him. She tried to keep from crying at the pangs in her heart that told her he was cheating on her.
Thunder snapped overhead so loudly it nearly made her gasp in fright, but what she heard afterward chilled her to the bone. She halted, wobbling on her boots. It was a woman’s husky laughter saying her husband’s name!
“Steven, I love fucking in storms.”
The woman laughed again with her sickening, seductive laughter, while Tess’ heartbeat skipped as fast as her gaze trying to find where they could possibly be. Then she saw the covered balconies on the second floor and halfway down the building a couple was outlined in the light from deeper in a room behind them. She walked forward like a zombie toward them, while squinting in the rain running rivulets down her face. The shadows showed a man and a woman. He was lifting her up on the rail, then he was spreading her legs as she laughed with excitement.
Tess was just going to cry out in rage at them, when suddenly something heavy slammed into her from behind. A man’s hand clamped over her mouth as a strong arm cinched her waist, lifting and carrying her forward. She didn’t even struggle, she was so surprised. But the sounds of the couple fucking on the balcony above her probably took her alarm and strangled it.
The big man, holding her, carried her to the wall deeper under the balcony. Once there, he turned her spine to the wall, while his hand turned and stayed pressed across her mouth. All she could see of him was the brim of his cowboy hat pulled down low, while water gathered on the rim, filling and falling over to cascade down on her chest.
“It’s my wife up there,” he rasped lowly, with deadly anger in his voice, shocking Tess into statue-mode, while she knew her tears fell over his hand.
Vincent Whitehorse looked down at the curvy redhead he held against the wall. She was soaked by the rain with her dark, red hair hanging in ringlets and clumps making her pale features look fairy-like against her light-blue eyes. Eyes that were dripping hot tears over his hand, but he couldn’t let her alert the cheating bastards nearly above them. He leaned against the woman keeping her quiet, while the sounds of screwing taunted them.
Not that he gave a fuck what his wife, Luna, did any more. Except for a man like him, this was too fucking much. The grunts got more intense above them and the flicker of lights behind them showed the sway of bodies above. His captive moaned with distress sounds, while looking up and curling her nails into his chest beneath his duster.
He moved, blocking her view of the humping shadows, and her hurt blue eyes lifted to his. He could see the pain beneath her spiky, wet lashes and it tore feelings out of him he didn’t want to admit.
“Fuck me, Steven. God, yes fuck me harder!”
“Quiet, Luna!” a man’s voice ordered.
The red head struggled beneath him, but he held her to the wall, dropping his head, praying the thing would get over with. The climax came minutes later and he squeezed his eyes closed, while his feminine captive clutched him closer, sobbing beneath his hand.
Then finally the bastards stumbled back into the hotel room, slamming the balconies patio door shut. Right then, a loud clap of thunder struck, making the woman jump against him. She had a healthy figure, like he’d never had an opportunity to feel against him before. But it was just half a man’s thought, before he lowered his mouth against her ear.
“That your husband up there?”
She moaned and nodded. A growl rumbled from his chest. He thought she had to be, the way she’d come up on them, and the way she’d looked before he grabbed her from warning them they were caught.
“We'll talk,” he uttered, dragging her down the hotel walkway away from the balcony. What were the odds he’d meet the wife of the bastard that was screwing his wife?
He was the husband! Tess was gobsmacked as the tall man wearing a black duster and cowboy hat placed her in his big, extended cab pickup that was parked on the other side of the parking lot from “the deed.” She couldn’t think the real words of what it was.
She was shaking and wet as she watched him crossing in front of his truck, going to the driver’s side. He got in, and she exclaimed, “I’m wet.” Her teeth clattered as she tried to control them, and explain. “I’ll ruin your seat.”
“Don’t care.” His voice was a low rumbly burr that she oddly felt in all her secret girly places, but his voice was also tight, as in controlled. His wet hat came off, hitting the seat between them. From the lights of the parking lot, Tess saw he had a long angular nose, black hair that was long enough to hang slightly over his collar, and he had pinpoints in his undetermined eye color, when he glanced at her. His long fingers reached for the heater knob and he turned it on high. Just then lightning struck and she yelped, clutching the armrest on her door.
“Name?” he asked, with an apparent clipped way of speaking.
His truck started, and her voice was shaking when she answered, “Tess Navarro.”
He hissed a breath, and the sound made her think he’d heard the name.
“Vincent Whitehorse,” he offered as his long arm reach to the back of the seat, and he turned his head to look, while backing the truck.
Her breath caught and her eyes widened — she didn’t miss the incr
edible masculine hotness making up his rugged features. She could have hissed a breath too over his name, because she’d heard of Whitehorse Training and Security Facility. She sent them out flowers she couldn’t use in her flower shop that were good, but getting too old to sell. She liked the theme of WTSF that was helping to save single teens, young women, and young moms, by training them to kick ass, and then getting them into trade jobs or school.
Tess had heard a lot of the jobs were security or bond chaser type work. But she’d seen WTSF personal on the local community college campus passing out flyers. She’d also seen them around town doing various fund raisers for their charity work. She wondered if he was the Whitehorse of WTSF or just a relation. But the more important question tumbled from her mouth, as he took the access road down the side of the highway.
“Did you know?”
He looked as if he was holding rein on a sizeable amount of anger. Which she got. It made his features look chiseled and even more masculine, if that was possible, and she was feeling the distinct flutter inside her for the awareness of a man she thought strikingly attractive.
“Guessed,” he uttered. She kept staring at him as he clipped more words. “Knew. Done it before.”
“Oh,” she whined, dropping her gaze, then she mumbled, “Mine too. Once, I know of.”
“Fuckers,” he growled.
Yeah, Tess wanted to growl that word too, and more she wanted to ask why she wasn’t enough for Steven. What was wrong with her? And what kind of idiot was Vincent’s wife screwing around on a hot man like Vincent. Her husband, Steven, wasn’t "all man" in the hard, virile, and ripped category. He was okay, but not even close to Vincent Whitehorse’s edgy, badass kind of hunkiness.
Wow.
Vincent stopped at Rodeo Lulu’s the quiet bar in town, not the wild one. Her husband Steven's “talent,” what little there was of it, never played at Lulu’s. They either played Big Mama’s the bikers bar in the next town over or Kickin Rodeo, a dance club and bar out on the highway, or mostly venues in Houston or Dallas, out of town. Steven was gone quite a bit.
Tess liked Lulu’s. It was quiet, comforting, and dark. She appreciated the choice as she walked numbly inside beside Vincent Whitehorse with her boots squishing. The rain had eased, and he held the door for her, both outer and inner. Once inside, he went to a back booth and took off his duster and hat. These he shook out and hung over the back of the booth.
She followed him thinking her boots were probably ruined and mourning the fact that it was so hard to find pink ones. Standing at the side of the booth she wasn’t certain if she should take off her destroyed leather jacket or not. Finally, she decided she was so cold maybe taking the heavy, wet lump off would help. She was a little worried at the condition of her sheer camisole underneath, which had run dye on the inside of her jacket.
It nearly made her cry, so she tossed it aside not looking at it closely, while she hoped the candle lit darkness of the bar hid things like her white-lace, pushup bra showing underneath her wet camisole. She couldn’t dare herself to look down and see. She just scooted into the booth, on the other side from Vincent, and put her arms on the booth tabletop hoping to hide any wet tee-shirt exhibitions going on in the vicinity of her chest.
Luckily, she didn't know the cocktail waitress, a feat in a small town, because she knew the bartender Trish from high school. But the cocktail waitress looked barely old enough to be legally doing her job and she was doing her style up in cowboy Goth. Black boots, black jean skirt, black tee, with piercings on her lip, nose, and multiple ones on her ears, topped with spiky black and pink hair.
She frowned with black lipstick lips, until she got a good look at Vincent Whitehorse. Then she did a double take and proceeded to blush. Tough Goth girl blushing? Tess looked closer at Vincent, he didn't notice but she could definitely see Goth girl’s point. Vincent was blush worthy. Vincent’s wife was an i d i o t.
“Two coffees and a bottle of Jack,” Vincent ordered in his lowly growled and totally hot voice.
Tess started shivering and she wasn’t certain it was the cold.
“Right away.” Goth girl smiled, showing a tongue stud. Oh my God. She moved it around her mouth as if she were waving it at Vincent. His black brows drew together.
Tess quickly said, “Thanks, honey, that’ll be all.”
Goth girl's gaze swung to her, giving her an “I’ll fight you for him” look. Then finally, she strolled away.
“You're freezing. Take my duster.”
Vincent stood and grabbed his duster, shaking it out more, then stood waiting for Tess Navarro to get out of the booth. She looked fragile with her dark-red hair plastered to her head — it made her eyes look bigger and bluer. He was trying not to look at her chest. It was an amazing distraction. He could see a sexy bra that barely held her breasts contained beneath her sheer, wet top. The bra looked white, the top nearly pink, and her nipples thrusting hard points.
His mouth was dry as he looked at her pale features with a pretty mouth and soft skin, then she scooted out of the booth to take his duster and he saw her full hips encased in black, skin-licking jeans as if poured over her curves. She turned to accept his duster over her shoulders, and being a man, he looked down to catch her ass before it disappeared beneath his duster. Apple bottom. Tess Navarro’s bottom was fucking sweet. Shame on him.
“Thanks.” Their fingers touched on the transfer of the duster, and her bow-shaped upper lip parted as if by a tiny gasp.
He nearly growled beneath his breath, and then he went to sit on his side of the booth, scraping back his wet hair trying to get his shit together. So what if the bastard that was screwing his wife had a sweet wife? That bastard was a stupid fuck for taking Luna over Tess.
“How do you think they know each other?” Tess whispered over the booth table drawing his gaze back to her.
Before he answered the teenage cocktail waitress clomped her cowboy boots up to the table to set down two cups of coffee and a bottle of Jack. “Trish says you own the Jack now whether you finish it or not.”
Vincent nodded, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Tess grab the bottle of whiskey. Both he and the waitress watched her uncap it and take a swig right out of the bottle. Her blue eyes widened and she coughed.
The teenage waitress snickered beside him.
“You eaten?” he asked Tess.
She shook her head. “Don’t want to eat.” The bottle tipped up again, and he turned to the waitress.
“Potato skins. Now.”
The waitress tilted her head at him, curling her hip toward him. He got a message, felt a bit of shock, then growled in his most menacing voice. “Jailbait.” She started to open her mouth to tell him she was all of two years over jailbait age. But he knew teenage girls too well in his charity business, and he interrupted her snit.
“No damn way you should be giving it away, brat. You’re worth more than that.”
Her mouth swam shut.
“Vicki! Over here. Now!”
Vincent glanced to Trish at the bar, nodding slightly, as the teenage waitress, obviously named Vicki, stomped away. Trish waved at him, rolling her eyes. Without looking back at Tess, his hand shot out and clamped around her lifting hand, which was around the bottle of Jack.
Turning his head, he said lowly, “Slow down.”
“Why?” Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, and it got to him as he held her hand tight.
“They're not worth it,” he stated flatly.
She looked at his hand clasped over hers and made a frustrated sound, tugging her hand free. Then she slapped her hands on the table. “Don’t need a babysitter,” she declared. Then she scooted out of the booth, leaving his duster behind, and she swayed her too-perfect-ass up to the bar.
Two cowboys sitting on the end of the bar she swung her ass up too, both turned to look, and Vincent knew they were getting an eyeful of her breasts draped in barely-there wet material.
He tilted his head back. “Hell,”
he uttered. Then he grabbed the Jack and took a swig.
Just because he didn’t care as much about Luna’s cheating, because he was over all her crap and readying to cut her loose, didn't mean he couldn’t feel every inch of what Tess Navarro was feeling. He’d felt it in the past — when he’d let himself — back when he cared.
Somehow, because his lowlife wife was screwing Tess’ husband, it made him feel responsible ... toward Tess. He cussed again taking another swig. From the little he’d seen of Tess, she was looking too sweet for that bastard husband of hers to screw over.
Vincent set the bottle down and pushed out of the booth. His long strides took him to Tess’ side where one of the straggler rodeo cowboys had her corralled between his legs. Tess was knocking back another drink of undetermined contents as Vincent’s gaze swept over the cowboy’s hands shaping her full hips.
Vincent came to a halt in front of the cowboy Romeo, giving him a look over Tess' head that spoke volumes. The cowboy paled, then quickly unlatched his hands from her feminine curves.
Tess’ glass lowered, and she looked over her shoulder, seeing him. Her lips trembled in a false smile. “Join the party!” she exclaimed. Then she yelped as he hooked one arm around her waist and he transported her back to their booth.
“You can’t just do that!” she exclaimed, looking over his shoulder.
“Just did it,” he muttered, helping her back into the booth on his side, with his body holding her captive.
“I liked him,” she declared with a definite slur.
He grabbed her chin looking into her eyes, that even inebriated were the clearest blue. “Liar.”
She looked back in his eyes, and then her gaze lowered slowly to his lips and lingered there. He felt that look at his mouth, and it startled him how much he felt it.
“I’m not good enough,” she whispered, and his heartbeat slowed in a painful way.
Whatever he’d been going to say, to talk to her, get her on track … he didn’t know, figure out their next step, was swept from his mind as he closed his eyes for a moment. Hell.
