by Kim Law
“And they’d found people to lie for them,” she guessed.
“Yes. Though I didn’t realize that at the time.” He stared over her shoulder, looking out the window but likely seeing little. Darkness was fast approaching, and they were sitting on the side of a mostly deserted road. “I got wound up worrying about shelling out more for legal fees. I don’t have a lot of money, and I never have. But Rose and I do okay. Only, the first round of lawyers depleted me. And now I had to do it again?”
He brought his gaze to hers.
“And I had to compete on their playing level?”
“So you started cheating at poker?” She didn’t understand how he could get away with something like that for very long.
“First of all, I started playing poker again. I’d quit when I began working in the casinos. It had become a bad hobby, and one I no longer wanted to be a part of. I still had legit skills playing the game, though. So, I started entering tournaments. Took home good money. Occasionally there would be a weekend game someone pulled together—and I usually took home their money.” His mouth twisted to the side. “There was this one guy who lost a lot to me one night. And I mean a lot. He wasn’t happy about it, but I was desperate. No way was I about to give him a chance to win it back. But then I got news that the Jameses had someone to testify that I do drugs. As in, actively doing them today. That I can’t be trusted around my own kid.”
“But a drug test—”
“Couldn’t prove I hadn’t done anything prior to the thirty days before the test was administered.”
She stared at him. “And you said this is a guy from your past?”
He nodded, his expression solemn. “Whom I didn’t end on the best of terms with. He’d hooked up with Nikki one night, didn’t treat her the way I thought he should have . . . so I cleaned him out the next time we got together. He’d been saving for a much-needed car, and I walked away with all of it.”
“Oh, Waylon.”
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Karma and all. So anyway, I panicked. I set something up, just like I used to do. Just that one time. And I walked away with a hell of lot of money.” He thumped a closed fist on his thigh. “I’m still shocked at how it all came off. That money would have given me the cushion I needed. But they caught on to my scheme, and they wanted their money back—as anyone would. And they made that very clear, in a very physical way.”
His slid his palm over his side.
“They didn’t just beat me to within an inch of my life. They sliced into me, too. It’s a wonder I’m alive.”
Tears trickled over her cheeks, and she reached for his hands. “I’m so glad you are alive.”
He gave her a half smile. “I am, too. But I lost my daughter because of my stupidity. And that’s all on me. It’ll forever be on me. It was four days before I woke up, and by the time I did, Rose was hundreds of miles away and my dad was sitting vigil at my side.”
“Your dad loves you,” she whispered. “I see it every time I talk to him. He may not have done things right when you were a kid, but he does love you.”
Waylon nodded again. “I know. He wiped out his savings for me—not only for the down payment on the house, but for a chunk of my legal fees—and he lost a job he’d had for several years to stick around and bring me back to life. So yeah, I know he loves me. And I love him.”
Heather wasn’t sure she’d ever heard such a lack of enthusiasm in a ringing endorsement. Poor Waylon. His seven-year-old heart still beat with pain.
“You’re prepared for your upcoming court date?” she asked. Fear for both Waylon and Rose had her contemplating the investments she’d made with the remainder of her parents’ insurance money. It had to be worth quite a bit by now. She hadn’t touched it in years.
She could offer it to Waylon. Maybe that would help.
Then it occurred to her what she was doing. This wasn’t her battle, and Waylon and Rose weren’t her responsibilities. No matter how much she might want to help. She hadn’t even been officially dating the guy for two weeks, yet here she was thinking about cleaning out her bank accounts for him.
Would she never learn? She couldn’t simply jump in the deep end and insist people love her.
So she kept her mouth shut. Because she was learning. Because whether she had the desire to help due solely to Waylon being a good guy, or whether it was because she did want this to turn into more, she had to help herself first.
“I’m as prepared as I’ll ever be,” Waylon answered, his words returning her to the present. “We can disprove everything they intend to bring up. It’ll just be a matter of who the judge believes. Money”—he lifted a shoulder—“or me.”
“My bet’s on you.” She scooted across the seat, and when she got close enough, she lifted his arms and put them around her. “Thank you for sharing this with me.”
“You believe me?”
She could see the doubt in his eyes. “I believe you.”
And she’d believed in him even before she’d gotten the details. Even if she was afraid to.
“I also believe in us,” she told him. “And since I do”—she decided on the spot that she’d had enough romancing—“and since your father isn’t home tonight, I want you to take me home. I’m going to pack an overnight bag.” She gave him a tender smile. “And then I’m coming over to your place.”
Surprise touched his eyes, and almost as quickly, the heightened tension of the last few moments lifted. “Thank you.” Sincerity burned heavy through his words. “I won’t let you down.”
Chapter Sixteen
“If at first you don’t succeed . . . regroup, and then hit it out of the park.”
—Blu Johnson, life lesson #5
Waylon paced from the window on the left side of his front room to the window on the right side, each pass ending with a view of his front porch. And there was still no sign of Heather.
She’d changed her mind. She wasn’t going to show up.
It had been far longer than the time needed to pack a bag and drive the short distance to his house, so Waylon determined she’d decided he wasn’t worth it. She didn’t need the trouble. He’d known telling her everything would scare her off.
He turned his back to the front of the house, needing something other than Heather to focus on, and then he had it. In the event she did show up, he should set the mood. No sense just standing around waiting on her like a dog in heat. He’d light candles.
He rummaged around in a box in the kitchen he’d yet to unpack. It contained random plastic containers and a few oversized utensils he hadn’t found a place for yet, and he finally came up with two unused eight-inch tapered candles—one white and one yellow—and a pink candle in a glass jar that was burned almost all the way down. Rose liked it when he burned candles. Especially the smelly ones.
Locating a lighter in the same box, he’d just produced a flame when a faint knock sounded at his door. It struck him that the knock wasn’t the same determined rap she’d given the first time she’d shown up at his house, and understanding dawned that she was nervous for the upcoming evening. That knowledge set him even more on edge.
He hurried to the front of the house, pink candle now burning in the jar in his hand, but he made himself pause before swinging the door open. He pulled in a calming breath. And then he opened the door wide.
And the candle almost dropped to the floor.
Heather’s nerves showed in her smile. “Hello, Mr. Peterson.”
Damn.
“Hello,” Waylon managed to croak out. He took in her trench coat.
She glanced down, her hands fidgeting with the material on the lapels. “This seemed . . .” She looked back up, and she must have seen something in him that calmed her. Because her smile evened out. “Appropriate.”
“Definitely appropriate.”
It took her shifting her eyes as if trying to look around him for him to remember to step to the side and let her in, and as she eased past, he remained in the same spot, still
holding the flickering candle.
“I thought you burned the coat,” he said, and she looked over her shoulder at him.
“No way would I burn this coat. Me and this particular article of clothing go way back.”
Jealousy licked at him. “Has it played into a lot of seduction scenes?”
“Only one failed attempt.”
She was still looking at him, and Waylon finally let himself take in the full effect. And when his gaze reached her feet, his blood pressure soared. “Cowboy boots?”
Her grin slipped into temptress mode. “It seemed more logical.”
He swallowed. “How do you figure?”
“Because in just a few minutes . . . Mr. Peterson . . . I’m also going to be wearing your cowboy hat. It seemed I should have on boots to match.”
Waylon didn’t blink. “I think I’m going to owe you one.”
“What do you mean?”
He finally remembered that he remained standing in the open door, so he slammed it closed and blew out the candle. “Because I promised that the next time I got you naked, it would last longer than the first time.” He trailed his gaze over her once more. “But I’m no longer sure that’s going to be the case.”
She laughed, the sound light and fun, and the happiness on her face emboldened him. “We do have all night,” she pointed out.
He set the candle on the floor. “And I intend to use it.”
The nervous energy she’d shown up with vanished as Waylon advanced on her, and she lifted her chin with determination. “The hat,” she said, and he stopped.
He wasn’t wearing a hat at the moment, but he quickly retrieved one. He ducked his head to peek at her as he placed it on her head, and the devil that danced in his eyes assured her she’d chosen right in tonight’s attire. The trench coat had definitely been the way to go.
“Anything else the lady wants?” he asked, and she giggled lightly at his words.
“Only what the man can give me.”
He put his hands on her then, lightly skimming his palms from her shoulders to her hands, and as his fingers slid over hers, a low groan rumbled inside him.
“What’s on underneath?” He nudged his chin toward her, and she shook her head.
“You’ll have to unwrap me to find out.”
“I do like unwrapping pretty packages.”
His grin grew wicked when his fingers tugged at the belt of the coat, and she held her breath as the two sides of the fabric slid slowly apart. It opened just enough to give a top-to-bottom glimpse of what lay beneath, and as Waylon took her in, she congratulated herself on another decision well made.
Lace boy-cut panties covered her lower parts, while up top, she wore nothing but a long gold chain that hung deep between her breasts.
“Yep.” Waylon licked his lips. “This one’s going to be fast.”
He hadn’t touched her, yet Heather’s entire body ached with need. “Put your hands on me, Waylon.” She nodded, unwilling to continue to wait any longer. “I’m taking charge here, and I say it’s time for your hands to be on my body.”
His eyes met hers. And then he reached for the front of the coat.
She breathed in short pants as he inched the sides of the trench open, her body being exposed bit by bit, and as the cooler air of the room kissed her skin, her nipples puckered tight.
“Beautiful,” he murmured. And finally, he cupped a breast in his hand.
“Waylon.” She gasped at his touch. “More. Please.”
But he had other intentions. His thumb slid slowly over the turgid point, before reversing direction and doing it again. By the third pass, the lace of her panties was drenched.
“Change in plans,” he muttered as he continued to hold her with one hand and take her in with his eyes. He scraped the fingers of his other hand over the front of her panties. “You’re not the one in charge today. I am. And I’ve decided to take this slow after all.” He squeezed her breast and dipped his mouth to what his hand held. “But I’m still going to do it all again later.”
His lips touched her, and her chest arched forward. Her hands lifted, gripping him as his tongue laved over her most-sensitive point, and when his fingers applied pressure through the lace, her legs began to tremble.
“I thought we might do this in a bed,” she whispered. She was quickly losing the ability to stand.
“I thought we might, too.” He tunneled his fingers under the lace. “But I’ve changed my mind on that as well.”
“Waylon.” They both moaned as his fingers connected with flesh. “I need—”
He backed her into the wall and pinned her with a thigh, then he raked her coat over her shoulders and trapped her arms at her sides. “I need, too,” he ground out. His eyes burned with heat. “And I’m about to take.”
His mouth and fingers went on a journey, leaving her capable of nothing but dropping her head to the wall and enjoying his actions, and within minutes he had her wound to the point of explosion. He didn’t slow, though. He touched her everywhere, and though she was one press of his thumb away from heaven, the man had yet to lose a single article of clothing.
As she inched closer to release, he finally gave a bit more. He ripped his shirt over his head, cupped her butt in his hands, and lifted her off the ground. She immediately wrapped her legs around his hips, but her arms remained trapped. The wiry hairs dotting his chest scratched over her breasts, the thin links of the chain she wore wove between them, now heated from their actions, and the rough texture of his jeans ground erotically into her crotch.
“Waylon.” She whispered his name because she couldn’t think of anything else to say, and as her body spiraled higher, her thighs clamped tighter.
Her back bowed when she crested, an animalistic sound ripping from her as pleasure exploded, and her arms strained against her constraints. But Waylon never slowed. His mouth suckled as she called out, his actions extending her orgasm until the sounds became little more than a whimper, and when she went limp, he was there to catch her.
She opened her eyes as reality returned, realizing she remained against the wall and was being fully supported by Waylon, and only then did she become conscious of his erection still throbbing against her.
“Good?” he asked. His jaw was as tense as the rest of him.
“Great,” she murmured.
He gave a quick nod, stooped with her in his arms to retrieve his fallen hat, then he plopped it back on her head and went in search of his bed.
Chapter Seventeen
“It’s not all romance and rainbows. It’s also reality.”
—Blu Johnson, life lesson #59
Waylon groaned as his orgasm rolled through him. His hips clenched involuntarily, and he gave another hard push, and with Heather’s breasts jiggling in front of him, his groan turned to a roar. Once depleted, he dropped, landing on Heather’s chest harder than he’d intended, while his own heaved for oxygen. The dampness of her skin didn’t go unnoticed, and he pressed a kiss to the curve of her breast. He’d done good in a few minutes’ time. Not wanting to crush her, he forced himself to move, sliding his arms along her body until he found the strength to lift himself up.
“We make this a habit, and you’re going to get me fired.” He wasn’t seriously complaining, but over the last eight days, the woman had turned into a sex fiend.
They were in his office in the middle of a Monday, she had on his hat once again—only this time she wore only his hat—and she had one of the black pencils from his desk tucked behind her ear.
He eyed her ear . . . or there had been a pencil there. He trailed his gaze to where the freshly sharpened writing utensil had rolled. He’d teased her when they’d knocked the cup of them over earlier, about how he’d previously caught her pretending to take inventory while actually waiting around to see him, and the next thing he’d known, she’d turned the thin piece of wood into a form of foreplay. She’d teased it over his body, using a combination of it, her mouth, and her hands, until he
’d pushed her hands away, stripped her of every last shred of clothing, and taken her up against his office wall.
Realizing they were making too much noise, he’d moved them to his desk, but something told him that anyone who’d happened to have entered the barn during the last ten minutes had likely hurried right back out again.
“At least we lasted longer than Cal and Jill,” she proclaimed, and the mischief in her smile told Waylon what he’d already suspected.
“I knew it.” He pushed off the desk and tugged up his jeans. “That’s why you insisted you couldn’t wait until tonight.”
“I couldn’t wait until tonight.”
He looked back at her as he disposed of the condom, ready to argue the point, but promptly lost his train of thought. She’d lifted to her hands, her arms braced behind her and her naked breasts swaying in his direction.
Her mouth puckered into a pout. “I wanted you so bad, Mr. Peterson. And I had to have you right now.”
He waggled a finger at her. “You’re evil, Ms. Lindsay.”
“Maybe a little bit. But you like it.”
Hell yeah, he liked it.
He grabbed her by the knees and pulled her forward until she straddled him, then he plundered her mouth. She still wore nothing but his cowboy hat, and though he didn’t intend to unzip his jeans again, he decided to show her that two could play her game.
He dropped to his knees and locked her thighs over his shoulders, and then he spread her wide with his fingers. He made love to her with his mouth then, and he didn’t stop until this time it was she who screamed out with her release.
Once she finished, Waylon sat back on his haunches, out of breath yet again, and Heather thunked her head to his desk. His hat tumbled to the floor, and she began to laugh. And as far as Waylon was concerned, there was nothing more wonderful than a warm, luscious woman spread naked before him, laughing with wild abandon.
He almost told her he loved her right then and there.
