by Anya Summers
Lately, she’d been feeling restless. She ached for a physical connection, to be touched by a man who navigated her body with finesse, and for a few good orgasms that left her body satiated and her mind blissfully empty.
But who the hell was she kidding?
Relationships were the kiss of death. It was bad enough that she had made friendships here. On a romantic level, anyone she let into her life would be in danger. When she did, they ended up hurt—or worse, dead. All because of the mere fact that they were around her. She tended to cause destruction in her wake wherever she lived.
She poured herself another cup of coffee while she finished the remnants of her breakfast in the decent sized kitchen with its Amberwood-colored cabinets, navy granite countertops, and stainless-steel appliances. Strawberry poptarts with frosting and sprinkles. Juvenile? Perhaps. Did she care? Not too much. The extra sugar would give her the fuel necessary to run her feet off during the lunch rush at the Grand Teton Diner. It was a fifties-themed diner with an old school soda fountain, and a dining counter with chrome seats and booths. They served up burgers, fries, and milkshakes, all dressed like they were extras in a production of Grease.
The job paid the bills—part of them. And her boss, Marty, was a decent sort. Always paid on time. Never stiffed her on her tips in the tip jar at the register. And not once had he slapped her ass. But, he’d cut her hours right after Christmas. Business was fine but his wife had made him hire their niece for after school and evenings. Rayna didn’t hold it against Marty. He was trying to do right by his family and her, as well.
When the diner cut back her hours, she began working at the decadent, naughty Cuffs & Spurs Club in the evenings. Between the two jobs and the day trading, she more than made it every month. It was mainly the club’s doing and the day trading though, not the diner. It left her free to keep her emergency fund as just that—in case of an extreme emergency, like if her father’s associates found her and she needed to disappear entirely into the wilds of New Zealand. And yes, that was a place she had considered going to more than once over the last decade.
After a scalding shower that left her skin pink and helped wipe away some of her remaining exhaustion, she dressed in her uniform. Today, Rayna wore a powder blue poodle skirt, white blouse, and saddle shoes. At least it covered more than her outfit for the club. She styled her hair up in a high ponytail with a bow that matched her skirt. She did her makeup, replicating the late fifties style with black sweeping liner on the top eyelid and heavy mascara, and painted her lips a deep burgundy red. It created a dramatic effect.
At least her concealer covered up the minute scar that lined the underside of her jaw.
She shook herself. Her thoughts were maudlin today. She needed to remember the five by five rule she’d adopted over the last ten years. If it wasn’t going to matter five years from now, she wasn’t going to waste five minutes worrying about it. After every horror she had experienced, Rayna understood that life was tenuous at best. Nothing was guaranteed. She didn’t want to spend whatever time she had left on Earth worrying about things she had no control over.
But was she truly living? That question had plagued her for a while now, ever since she’d begun forming friendships in Jackson.
Once she was dressed and ready for her shift, she put her empty coffee mug in the sink and made sure she turned the coffee pot off. On her way out the door, she grabbed her purse, with her little nine-millimeter sub compact pistol inside, and exited the front door.
The gun provided her with peace of mind. She had been trained to use it. At the range, she hit moving targets dead center of the chest from as far as fifty feet away. She had a second firearm in her nightstand for easy reach. If something happened and someone broke in, at least she had that defense while she called the police. Because to be frank, even if she called the police, it didn’t mean they would reach her in time. Rayna had learned that lesson the hard way. Sometimes the princess had to save herself. That meant being armed and ready to defend her life, if need be.
The moment she stepped onto the front porch, the sultry summer heat enveloped her. The air was infused with stifling heat. It blasted the breath from her lungs. Summer had roared into Jackson Hole a few weeks back. At ten in the morning, the sun was already baking everything in sight. The major talk in town by the locals was about the possibility of a bad fire season. Anyone who said dry heat wasn’t bad should be bludgeoned, in her opinion. Hot was hot. The sky was a cloudless blue, the sun shining so bright she slipped her sunglasses on. Her SUV was parked in the driveway that was side by side with her neighbor’s drive. She glanced at the moving truck with the back door open.
Criminey!
Look at the set of buns on him! The man’s back was to her as he wrestled a navy plaid loveseat from the truck. He wore a pair of gray basketball shorts that fell to his knees and a loose, gym style, black tank top that left his defined, tanned arms and shoulders bare. His wide shoulders rippled as they moved, and Rayna noticed a stir of heat in her girly bits—bits that had not seen any action with something that wasn’t battery operated in four years.
There was scarring on one of his biceps, the flesh pink and puckered about three inches in length, with the center of the scar about the size of a quarter. It jiggled a memory just out of reach in the back of her mind, like she should recognize him because of that scar.
“You sure you have it?” The deep timbre of his voice rolled over her and electrified her body. You know it’s been a long time since you got yourself laid when all it takes to rev your internal forge is a sexy, deep voice that makes you think of Patron and cigars.
“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that? Hey Rayna,” a second man said. She lifted her gaze from the man’s stellar glutes she was unrepentantly ogling to find the source of the second voice and met the dark eyes of Spencer Collins, her boss and her landlord.
What was he doing here? “Spencer? Didn’t expect to find you here. Did Meghan get tired of you and kick you out after what, three weeks of wedded bliss?”
Spencer flashed a smile. The man was potent in his bad boy, alpha way. “Nope, she’s still got a thing for me. But I’m not the one moving in. Jack is.”
Her hands closed into fists. Jackson Stone—Jack to his friends—glanced over his massively buff shoulder, his eyes hidden by his aviator sunglasses that flashed silver in the sunlight, and gave her a once over. Rayna realized she looked ridiculous in her fifties get up, while he looked like sex on a stick. Hot sex. Dirty sex. Sex that would make her forget her name, up against the wall.
And he was a cop.
Dammit.
Rayna had a fascination with men who wore badges. There was something about the uniform, the badge, the swaggering authority—and, she had to admit, the handcuffs—that appealed to her on an elemental level. Their allure was probably a residual rebellion hardwired into her makeup. It was an antithesis to everything her father had been, considering her father had been a criminal and spent the last few years of his life in prison. Not to mention, growing up, he had warned her to be suspicious of law enforcement of any kind. She was certain a psychologist would have a field day with that bit of information.
Spencer and Jack focused on the heavy piece of furniture. Rayna watched as they maneuvered the love seat out of the truck, their muscles flexing and rippling as they lowered it onto the driveway. Only then did Jack turn his full attention toward her.
“Rayna, good to see you.”
“Ah, welcome to the neighborhood. Spencer didn’t tell me you were moving in.”
Jack put his hands on his hips, emphasizing his muscular form. The man was physically fit without being skinny. He had meat on his bones; his upper body consisted of muscles piled onto ropey, defined muscles in his shoulders and arms. Sweat glistened on his chest and neck, and dampened his tawny, fawn colored hair that had tufts sticking up at odd angles, like he’d been running his hand through it often. The hair was longer than he normally kept it and it was a good look
on him. Lust stirred, spreading warmth through her limbs. She could imagine another activity she would like to do with him that would make him even sweatier, she thought as she watched a bead of sweat roll down the center of his chest, over the small whorls of fawn colored chest hair, to dip beneath the black cotton.
“Appreciate it. It was rather last minute. The chief extended my leave under doctor’s orders.” He shrugged but she noticed his pained grimace and the tightness around his mouth. The full, firm lips were shrouded by a few days’ worth of stubble lining his angular jaw, a shade darker than the hair on his head. She wanted to play with the small cleft in his chin—with her tongue.
Rayna blew out a deep breath, trying to ignore her stupid hormones.
He lifted his injured arm and pain flashed across his features. Sympathy filled her. Jack had been shot and nearly died on a cold, snowy night in April. He’d been trying to arrest a suspect and had been injured in the process. She knew because they were in the same friend circle. She had gone to the hospital while he’d been in surgery, to help their mutual friends as they waited to see if he would survive. She had left once he was out of surgery and they knew he was going to make it. “Well, if you need anything, I’m right next door.”
Jack pegged her with a stare. It unnerved her the way he looked at her and seemingly cut through all the bull and malarkey to the underlying truth. She wished his eyes weren’t covered so she could see them, and what was in that direct stare of his.
“Appreciate it,” he replied.
“Is Marty still making you guys wear those costumes?” Spencer asked, lifting a bottle of water and taking a long drink.
Rayna snorted. “Like the ones you make us wear are any better. Most nights I wonder if half of this town has seen my tits and ass.”
Jack choked on his water, pounding a hand on his chest as he coughed. Spencer grinned with a bad boy smirk. “You are working for a sadist, hon, who prefers to give his customers what they want. And my customers like to see everything you have to offer.”
“Uh, huh. Gonna be all right there, Detective, or do I need to perform the Heimlich?” she asked as Jack wheezed and gasped air into his lungs. His cheeks were flushed.
“I’m good. Thanks for the offer though.”
The fact that she was disappointed not to have a legitimate reason to put her hands on his body was insane. The mere thought of touching him zapped pleasure through her system. The longer she stared, the more an air current of electricity formed and flowed between them. It was a live wire of energy that made her want to touch him and see if she burned.
Dammit. She couldn’t be attracted to him. Couldn’t want him, no matter how fine a specimen he was. Unease crept up her spine. She couldn’t get involved, with anyone, let alone a damn cop who would sniff out the lies she told every damn day of her existence in order to ensure she had a future.
Down, girl. If she really needed to get her jollies off, there were plenty of men to cull from in this town. Ones who wouldn’t be able to run a background check on her. She was always getting hit on by male tourists, and some women here and there, too. Perhaps she should say yes to the next guy who asked her out for a drink.
She lowered her gaze, breaking the connection and thankful she had an excuse to leave.
“All right, well, I will see you both later.” Rayna swiveled on her heel before they responded and strode the short distance to her vehicle. She sensed their eyes on her back. Although only one set of eyes in particular, hidden behind a pair of aviator sunglasses, sparked a five-alarm fire in her blood.
Jack, her new neighbor.
The best course of action for Rayna was to be polite but ignore him. Ignore the fact that he lived next door, much like she had any time they were in each other’s company because of their friends in common.
There was only one tiny little problem with that plan. Rayna had witnessed the man in action at the club with a submissive. She’d watched him in his jeans and Stetson sans shirt, with all his glorious chest muscles on display, flog and screw another woman in public. And she remembered the sub’s high-pitched, wailing moans.
Rayna did not deny that the scene had turned her on or that she’d imagined it had been her that he had tied down on the bench, having her brains screwed out. Her battery-operated boyfriend had gotten a workout that night. Then again, that was the only action she ever experienced anymore.
No way could she invite a man into her life or her bed. They would ask questions about her life, questions she couldn’t answer, and she would be forced to lie about pretty much everything.
Rayna threw her vehicle into reverse and backed out of the drive, tossing one last glance at Jack as he and Spencer hefted the love seat once more and carried it inside Jack’s place. She could look at Jack, fantasize about him all she wanted, but she couldn’t touch him. Ever. People died when they got close to her.
Rayna may not know much, but the one thing she did know was if she gave in to her desire, allowed Jack in, she would get him killed. No one in Jackson Hole knew who she really was, and it was better for their sakes that it remain that way.
Chapter 3
Jack watched Rayna leave in her dark gray, nondescript sport utility vehicle. She’d looked innocent, like the good girl next door, in her costume, and he had to fight the urge to peel back her layers and discover what lay beneath. He really didn’t understand his attraction. She was sarcastic and fiercely independent, without a shy bone in her body—the exact opposite of his type at the club.
And yet, she was a survivor, one with more courage than anyone else he had ever met. He’d read through the files that Agent Carson had provided him over the last week. Read through the testimony and evidence she’d provided the Bureau. She was the reason the mob organization was behind bars. In her testimony, Rayna had displayed a rare strength of character and honor. She was so achingly young to have survived. Jack knew all about survival, about what it was like having your back against the wall and deciding whether to surrender to the dark forces at work, or fight back. He’d always been a fighter and so, it seemed, had Rayna.
“We going to move this couch or are you going to moon after Rayna some more?”
“Dude, really? It’s not like that. My job is to keep her safe and alive.”
“Does that job also entail staring at her ass?” Spencer poked fun at him with a smirk.
Jack rolled his eyes. “Shut up and help me carry this beast inside. Thing weighs a ton.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Speak for yourself.” Jack huffed. The wound on his arm screamed at him over the mistreatment as he and Spencer carried the sofa into the townhome. Most of the belongings they were carting in didn’t belong to him. With the exception of his gun safe and clothing, the rest of the stuff was on loan from Spencer. And he had already had the bulk of the items moved in yesterday by professional movers while Rayna had worked at the diner.
“Why didn’t you have the movers get everything yesterday?”
They lowered the love seat onto the tan carpeted floor. The house was a nice place. The kitchen was up to date, comprised of deep walnut cabinetry and ivory granite countertops with stainless steel appliances. The kitchen and living room were separated by a half moon kitchen island in the same color as the rest of the kitchen. Spencer did the upkeep on the places he owned well. In the back end of the first floor was the laundry room and a half bath with a door that led to the furnished basement. On the second floor was the master bed and bathroom suite, with a second, smaller bedroom and adjoining bath in the hallway. Jack had already installed all the surveillance equipment he needed for this case in the second spare bedroom.
“Shit. I can’t believe you talked me into helping you move in. It’s nearly a hundred degrees out. Why again couldn’t you hire movers to do this shit?” Spencer said.
Because Jack wanted Rayna to know he was there, first off, in case something happened. The casual run in outside that didn’t seemed staged or forced made their
meet cute, in his estimation, more believable. Like he was only the new tenant next door, instead of potentially revealing why he was really here. And second, “Because I need someone to watch my back while I go in and install the cameras in her place. My partner can’t be informed about this case. It’s you, me, and the chief in on this, that’s it. Besides, the van gives me a cover. It would look mighty suspicious for me to head over with my bag stuffed with tiny cameras whose purpose I wouldn’t be able to explain.”
“I get that. I want her safe too. She’s one of ours, and you don’t fuck with our people.”
“No, you don’t.” Jack nodded. Spencer tended to adopt any of the subs into an extended family of sorts. Then again, all the Doms watched out for the women of the club. It was ingrained in their behavior to protect them. And, in Jack’s case, be the shield between the mobsters and Rayna.
He lifted the black duffel bag of equipment he needed off the floor. “Rayna works the lunch shift until about four. I need an hour and a half, two tops, to get all the cameras into position. I need you on lookout. Call my cell if she comes home early for some reason.”
“You have the key I gave you?” Spencer asked.
“Yeah. I have it.”
At least she didn’t have a security system installed in her place. That would make Jack’s job today harder. Although it was something he and Spencer had discussed him doing on the sly, pretending he had initiated the installation with all his tenants. It would give her place an extra barrier of protection, not that it would stop someone like Travino, who was out for her blood. A guy like that, from what Jack had learned from Agent Carson’s files, would only view a security system as a challenge. They weren’t foolproof. Nothing was, really, with the exception of putting the bastard behind bars for life.
