Bo (Bad Boys of Retribution MC Book 3)

by Warren, Rie

  Not yet though.

  I had some fucking work to do first.

  Chapter Six

  I WASN’T ANY CLOSER to getting back in touch with Veronica or into her good graces two weeks later. I was, however, dutifully showing up for semi-weekly appointments with Doctor Cartwright. That had to be some sort of victory right there.

  The new guy saw me at his office in one of the hundreds of medical buildings downtown. He was middle-aged, had thick, curly hair, and wore the classic Charleston uniform of a seersucker suit complete with a bowtie every damn time I met him. At first I couldn’t believe Veronica thought this dandy had a chance of helping me. Talk about yin and yang.

  Within half an hour, I knew better than to doubt Veronica’s judgment. Maybe smart Doctor Cartwright wore the candy-striped suit so his hardcore patients would think he was a prissy pushover. Not so at all. He eased into a leather armchair, indicating I should sit in the matching one diagonally across from him.

  With no how-do or unwelcome preliminaries, he cut to the chase. Opening my file, he scanned it with one fingertip while he looked at me through funky German-style glasses.

  During the next few minutes, he filled in a hell of a lot of the missing blanks using what I’d told willingly to Veronica during my one and only real appointment with her, and what he must’ve learned from years of counseling vets like me.

  I sat, goddamn astonished, as he nailed me to the wall with his forthright manner that was so at odds with his foppish outfit.

  “This is how I see it, Bo. You have authority issues.”

  Who? Me?

  “Which is interesting considering you opted to work in a highly constricted career, therefore guaranteeing you always had to answer to higher-ups even when you were platoon leader. You resent the Marines and think they made you become something you never wanted to be. At the same time you want to be able to be proud of what you achieved, your successful missions, the lives you saved and the service you gave, but you won’t allow it because of those final lives lost in the field.”

  Doctor Cartwright paused to take a cloth to the lenses of his glasses.

  “These issues, and the triggers that come with them, are certainly problematic. There are also basic personality concerns, in that you believe you should act a certain way when your mental makeup decrees there’s not just one path for you. You are certainly dangerous, but what you’ve done has been for honor and duty and the right reasons. Yet, you don’t trust yourself. You think you’re capable of harming harmless people.”

  Nailed it again.

  “We’re going to cover a lot of ground, Bo. And you’ll have to figure out what you want for yourself, what you want for your future.” Closing the file he’d barely glanced at, he uncrossed his legs. “This isn’t going to be a walk in the park. It’s going to be a walk through a minefield, the minefield caused by your mind.” Leaning forward over his knees, he stared at me with steady intensity. “Make no mistake, I can help you, but you need to be one hundred percent on board.”

  Jesus. I swallowed hard. I almost felt like weeping. I believed him so deeply my gut unclenched and my jaw untensed. “I’m in.”

  Over the course of my hour-long sessions with Doctor Cartwright, it wasn’t as hard, talking freely to him. First of all, I wasn’t attracted to him so I certainly didn’t have to worry about him judging me from the standpoint of someone I wanted to be a potential lover. Second, I knew I needed to get off the good initiative, bad judgment track in order to be the kind of man who stood the ghost of a chance with Veronica.

  I actually started putting work into getting my headspace sorted out.

  HardCorps Gym was growing, clients practically walking in off the street for a little Marine-style fitness. The Retribution dudes had stopped busting my chops about the doc. Hunter was happy with my progress.

  Hunter. Happy. I still chuckled over that one, wondering when my time would come.

  I grabbed big boy Kinkaid for our own little business venture meeting, and he was on board. He was another one all paired up and joy-joy blissfully happy with his old lady Sadie. Even Brodie the Veep beamed fucking sunshine and rainbows like that shit was coming out of his ass whenever his woman Ashe made an appearance at the club.

  I felt like the Lone Wolf once again, but this time I had backup, blueprints, new people at my six.

  No Veronica though. Not even several more weeks later. May gained on us, and summer fucking love was in the air for everyone but me it appeared.

  And I couldn’t believe I’d become this pathetic lovelorn loser over a lady I’d met precisely four times. That was kind of fucked up.

  If I’d thought being interrogated by V was pure purgatory, not seeing her at all was a thousand times worse. She’d gotten under my skin so quickly it was impossible to turn off thoughts of her.

  I’d left several voicemails on her professional service, and immediately wished I could delete them because apparently I’d reverted to puberty. In my defense, the messages were succinct and to the point. I hadn’t gone all true confessions with her.

  I still wanted to hijack that shit before she listened to it.

  “Hi. Veronica. It’s Bo. Bo Maverick. Your ex-patient, the ex-Marine . . . yeah, you probably remember. Uhhh, so I wanted to let you know I’ve been seeing Doctor Cartwright like you suggested. He’s good. I’m keeping my appointments. Shit. Sorry. Fuck. I don’t know if you care, not that you should, but . . . okay. Bye.”

  If I ever saw her again it would be with my feet shuffling in a lame walk of shame.

  Cheee-riist.

  I couldn’t blame her for cutting me off. I’d practically assaulted her on her doorstep. What kind of woman—let alone a smart PhD doctor type—would want a man like me?

  ****

  The second Friday in May, I’d finished up with my last gung-ho client whose ass I’d handed to him basic training style. I’d showered and was half dried off when the doorbell rang.

  Hooking the towel around my hips, I peered out the peephole.

  Veronica.

  Oh yes.

  To rush back to my bedroom and put on something more presentable before answering the door to her or not?

  Hell no.

  I had that shit unlocked and opened in an instant.

  Bracing one arm on the doorframe, my free hand halfheartedly clutching the towel as it dragged along the muscles of my lower abs, I grinned. “Hello there, Doc.”

  Her rich-colored eyes widened, her gaze clinging to the water droplets trailing through the line of hair from my belly button to the edge of the towel.

  Biting her bottom lip, she visually traced the ripped and rearing-to-go muscles of my upper body. I knew when she’d completed return her route south. She hissed, and her wet lip popped out in a pout.

  Oh yeah. She’d seen what she did to me. A thin towel was no defense against my thickening erection.

  I cleared my throat.

  Her eyes popped up.

  “I can come back.” She turned on her heels, but my hand shot out and I grasped her wrist.

  “Oh no you don’t. I’ve waited three weeks to talk to you. You’re not going anywhere.” Pulling her in, I shut the door.

  “But you don’t like to talk.”

  “What can I say? You got to me, Veronica.”

  She stared as I stood with my feet braced apart and my arms crossed over my chest.

  Heated spots deepened the color on her cheeks. Her breath rushed in and out of her lips. She leaned against the door in an open invitation to kiss, but I didn’t quite trust my instincts with her, not after last time.

  Without another word, I pulled her into the living room and gently prodded her to the couch.

  “I need to apologize.” I remained standing in front of her.

  “Don’t you think you should put on some clothes first?”

  “Why? Is this bothering you?” Hot and bothered, I hope.

  She flapped a hand in front of her face. I could almost believe she was ne
rvous.

  Even better. At least I wasn’t the one on the wrong footing for a change.

  I kneeled in front of her, careful to keep the towel draped just right. “I treated you badly. And I’m doing a twelve-step program on how not to be a total schmuck thing. So, I’m sorry. I got out of control with you, Doc.”

  “Apology accepted. And I shared blame in it, Bo. I gave you mixed signals despite my better judgment.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I think you know.” She pursed her lips.

  “I think I want to hear you say it.”

  In a very uncharacteristic move, she rolled her eyes.

  I grinned wider.

  “I’m attracted to you.” She huffed.

  “Was that so hard to admit?”

  She pushed on my shoulder and shimmied back against the couch cushions. “Are you going to get dressed now?”

  “Why? Are we going somewhere?”

  “I thought we could go out to dinner, but not if you’re intent on remaining half-clothed.”

  I stood slowly and looked her over fully for the first time since she’d turned up. The doc looked different. Hotter, if that was possible. Without the glasses or the suits, she looked like a vixen in the flesh. Her hair loosely framed her face, a fiery mane of deep russet and warm gold. Her dress was floor-length, but no way in hell was it prudish. The skirt floated around her legs in long layers, a vibrant yellow-green color, and when she shifted, a high slit opened above her knees.

  I rubbed my hand over my mouth.

  The top of the dress? Fucking. Fuck. It was constructed of some kind of halter thing in slate gray, the material gathered over her tits, deep cleavage between the two honey-gold mounds.

  “Can you stand up for a sec?” I asked. My deep voice became even more guttural.

  I almost lost my hold on my towel.

  “Bo—”

  “Please, Veronica. I swear to fuck if you put this on for me I want to see it all.”

  She rose to her feet in a graceful move and swirled around. There was very little to the back of the dress beyond soft fabric, my eyes drawn by the sinuous curve of her spine, the slope of her shoulders, a wide metallic belt at her waist.

  And suddenly I was waaaay into women’s fashions when it looked like that on V.

  When she faced front, I licked my lips. Her long toned legs ended in sexy little sandals. No joke, I bent over to inspect that shit. She looked like a tigress. So insanely sexy.

  She looked ready to bed.

  I vaguely heard her voice in the background of the blood roaring to my dick.

  “Sorry?” I asked. “Were you saying something? Because I think my body just caught on fire.”

  “I can see that.” Stepping close enough I caught a hit of her light perfume, she raised her head.

  Inhaling a shaky breath, I let it go with a rumbling groan.

  “About dinner . . .” Her eyes flipped up to mine.

  “Let me get this straight in my head, because you know that thing doesn’t work so good.” I grinned down at her, keeping my restless hands carefully away from her instead of pinning her to my body like I wanted to.

  She hummed a little, clearly amused.

  “Are you, Doctor Veronica Hartley, asking me out on a date?”

  “It seems that way.”

  I scowled. “I’d have asked you out if I thought that was allowed.”

  “Well, it wasn’t when you were my patient. Why do you think I cut you loose?”

  “’Cause I’m an incurable head-fuck?”

  “Bo.” She placed a hand on my forearm. “You’re not an incurable head-fuck, but you didn’t want my help. Or wouldn’t accept it as my patient.”

  “So, is that all?” Man, I started feeling something close to giddy. Smirking, I leaned closer, and she smelled so damn good I had to suppress a grunt of appreciation.

  Her hand fluttered up to her throat.

  Ace. I was beginning to learn her nervous tells. I liked it.

  “You didn’t answer me, Ronnie. Was that the only reason you packed me off to Doctor Cartwright?”

  Her eyes narrowed on me. “I already told you. I’m attracted to you.” With a stomp of her foot and a toss of her head, she grumbled, “So will you come to dinner with me or not?”

  “No.”

  “What?”

  “But I hope you’ll let me take you out to dinner.” I winked.

  “So it’s like that.” Her smile sexy and sultry, she cocked one hip.

  “Yeah, babe. You hooked up with one hell of a macho man. Think you can handle that?”

  “I’ve proven I can handle you.”

  “Not all the way, yet.” I issued the challenge she met with a glare that didn’t hold the same ice it usually did.

  I opened a beer for her and even poured it into a glass because Veronica was pure class. She accepted the pale bubbling liquid, and I excused myself to get dressed.

  Behind my back, I heard her whisper, “Good Lord. Finally.”

  She was probably fanning herself again.

  In my bedroom, I flung the towel into a corner and stalked into the bathroom. I rubbed a hand over my heavy stubble and decided on a quick trim and tidy. A splash of aftershave, a rub with another towel through my damp hair, and a turn with the toothbrush later I considered myself good to go.

  My dick was having a few issues going down and staying put, but there wasn’t time to jag off, and I didn’t think Veronica would appreciate hearing me grunt her name when I came.

  Fuck the bastard. I choked it at the base and shoved that dumbstick into a pair of tight black briefs. Maybe I could tie a knot in it, too.

  In my haste to find something to wear, I almost yanked the closet door off the hinges. Then I scowled at my options. My wardrobe ran toward denim, leather, desert camo, and workout shit.

  I seriously needed to get a life.

  I chose a black button down that had dried with a minimal amount of wrinkles, a pair of old but not holey jeans and called it good after I rolled the sleeves up my forearms and hauled on a pair of boots.

  Grabbing my wallet, I shoved it in my pocket. I left my phone on the dresser—I didn’t want any interruptions, not that I was a hot commodity anyway. With one quick perusal in the bathroom mirror, I decided I’d do. Cleaned up, stubble buzzed, hazel eyes clear and copacetic, decently dressed with the shirt fitted at my shoulders, tapered to my hips, the jeans fitting to my muscled thighs . . .

  Yeah, whatever.

  Jesus.

  Date much, dude?

  Veronica spluttered over a mouthful of beer when I stepped into the living room. Her cheeks flushed under the naturally tan skin, and she did that flappy hand thing again as she swallowed.

  I tried not to concentrate on the swallowing action.

  I took the glass and set it down. Then I firmly tucked her hand at my elbow and led her outside.

  She pulled in the direction of her car.

  I halted her by planting my feet on the driveway. “Just to be absolutely clear, I’m driving and I’m paying.”

  “My, you are bossy.”

  “You haven’t seen me in bed yet.”

  “We’ll see about that later.”

  Hot attraction sizzled way down low in my body.

  I opened the passenger door of my stripped down, utilitarian Hummer and handed her inside.

  Hey. I wasn’t in the desert anymore, but I still needed a tank. The beat-up H1 was second best to my Triumph and a total beast on the streets. I had some money stashed away for smart investments—AKA my business—and a few luxuries—my rides.

  After brushing my knuckles along V’s cheek, I shut the door. Rounding the hood, I thought she looked damn good in my ride, almost as good as she had on my bike.

  When I slid inside and started the loud growly engine, she sat tapping on her iPhone.

  “I’m boring you already?” I reversed out with one wrist draped over the steering wheel.

  “What? No. Just c
hecking the reservations and getting the directions.”

  “Babe, I trekked my way around Afghanistan and the T-man. I can navigate Charleston without Siri or GPS. Just tell me the address.”

  No shit I’d pretty much memorized the map of the tricounty area when I’d moved here. I liked knowing all my escape routes, and streets on a grid system were child’s play after the unending mountains and desert terrain I’d covered, no landmarks in sight.

  We ended up downtown, and I slipped the H1 into a tight spot between two luxury sedans that looked like Matchbox cars sandwiching my vehicle.

  Before Veronica had a chance to open her door, I was there. I helped her out, and rested my hand low on her back, my fingertips tingling with the contact on her bare silky skin.

  At the restaurant that fronted Queen Street with pavement to ceiling windows, I ushered her in in front of me.

  With the reservation confirmed, we were shown to a cozy corner table in the four star restaurant, and I held Veronica’s chair out for her before I found mine.

  “You’re quite the gentleman.” She lowered into the seat.

  “My momma raised me right. Doesn’t mean I can’t get rough.”

  “I’m not complaining. I’m just surprised and”—her voice took on a sultry tone—“it makes you even sexier, Bo.”

  I could live with that. Now the only problem would be keeping my hands to myself during our dinner.

  A feat that proved more and more difficult as our date progressed. For a change I didn’t scope out people, looking for threats, or conduct stealthy recce—which would be my MO even in an upscale restaurant. My attention centered solely on Veronica.

  The situation should’ve shaken me right out of my comfort zone, but V was my comfort zone as well as my want to fuck now fantasy.

  I tried to play nice over the appetizers when our waiter delivered two farm-to-table plates. “What made you decide to become a psychologist?”

  “Trying to dig into my head now?” Her sharp cheekbones slanted, and her cat’s eyes glimmered.

  “I think that’s only fair.” I took a bite of crispy fried pig’s ears while Veronica wrinkled her nose.

  “How can you eat that?”