by Shirl Anders
While Rusty declared, “And you have Zeb!” Rusty leaned forward out of her lounge. “Would not want that hunk of muscle and tattoos mad at me. He’ll take care of you, babe.”
Carly let go of Tess’ hand and swiped at her eyes, nodding. “He will and he is. I just didn’t want you unawares around Rick ... or any woman around him.”
“Aw, babe,” Rusty said, while Tess murmured her appreciation too. Then Rusty leaned back in her chair, lifting her drink to sip on the straw.
“It’s like the Great Spirit knows just when to bring us The One,” Tess said, looking off, half pensive, half dreamy.
Rusty tilted her head to Carly, and she explained, “Tess is soaking up Indian mojo, and Vincent’s got a lot of mojo to throw around, as we all know. But something is working out there in the universe, because Vincent was always hot and deserved a babe would appreciate that, then Cabe was always hot and he deserved a babe that would appreciate that and get him away from his witch of a wife, so all that’s maybe predictable, but then we have Zeb whose badass smoking hotness came outta nowhere and lit right on the scrumptious Carly. I mean, that shows something is working out there—”
Carly could not believe it, but Rusty had her giggling, then they were in the house making her try on gowns and showing them the results.
“Oh my God,” Tess exclaimed in a little squeal, with Rusty right after, saying, “Smoking hotness, babe.”
That was to the nearly backless black evening gown Carly had just come out in. “That’s so it!” they both exclaimed.
Then Rusty said, “Tula’s going to look like a black hole of nothingness next to this!”
Then Tess declared, “Shoes!”
Only twenty minutes later, Carly realized she didn’t have one set of heels to do the gown justice as she flopped on the bed.
“Gimme your foot,” Rusty ordered from beside her on the bed. Rusty didn’t wait, but bent over and grabbed Carly’s bare foot, then kicked off her wedge sandals and brought the bottom of their feet together. “Same size!” Rusty said, then she muttered, “We are so going to kick that bitch to the curb.”
Carly found out what Rusty meant when Rusty dashed home and brought her back the most fabulous pair of brand-new Valentino heels Carly had seen in her life.
“We’re shoe whores,” Tess explained.
“But they’re new, I can’t,” Carly said, even with the most intense desire to just try them on for one second, please.
“You so can,” Rusty returned. “This is us against them and you are taking Tula out, babe.”
“They have to be thousand-dollar shoes,” Carly gasped, shaking her head.
Tess looked between them. “Okay,” she said, grabbing Carly’s hand. “So you wear these and just promise us a party some whole weekend out here, at this freaking amazing place I still cannot believe I didn’t know you had—”
Tess took a breath, but Rusty finished, saying, “And then we’ll be even.”
The heels were Italian peek-a-boo lace, and were breathtaking, and with the dress she’d be sexier than she’d ever been in her entire life. Her face lit up as she nodded slowly. Rusty yipped, while Tess whistled, then they insisted on more daiquiris so they could help do her makeup and hair.
That was kind of how she got nailed by a rough-looking biker with tattoos and a leather vest, while wearing Valentino heels and a slinky hot, very sexy but elegant black evening gown.
TWENTY] Ranger
Carly cried out into Zeb’s shoulder as she climaxed, and he kept rocking into her, holding her wrists high on the wall, her legs wrapped around him, while her evening gown was bunched at her waist and dropped off to the side, where their bodies were connected.
The way he held her captive to his thrusts was so hot with her wrists clamped beneath his fingers. But she was his full partner in the taking, because if she lost hold of his hips they’d both tumble.
“Fucking shoes,” Zeb growled, with his light blue eyes so hot they burned her skull as their gazes locked. “Makes my dick so hard, gotta have my sweet pussy.”
Carly panted, licking her lips quickly, as her body bounced, and Zeb went so deep and fast she started feeling another incredible orgasm coming. There was pounding all around her, through her, and into those Valentino heels that made Zeb grab her when he’d first seen her in them and fuck her up against the wall.
Becoming her favorite position.
“Ranger,” she gasped, trying to keep her eyes on him. He’d ordered them there and she tried to give it to him.
“Tighter,” Zeb uttered. “Squeeze me.”
Carly locked her ankles, drawing tighter as she panted highly. “Oh God, Zeb, yes,” she cried out. “Fuck me.”
He drove upward, lifting her as the spikes on her heels clattered together.
“Give it to me, sweetness. Gimme that hot pussy.”
Then Zeb’s fingers unlatched from her wrists and his fist slammed into the wall as he shot upward and held, while she cried out in pleasure. Her back arched as he groaned harshly and shook his body. A climax quaked through her, and her arms dropped to clutch his big shoulders.
“Fuck me,” he growled. “So sweet, so fucking sweet and hot.”
She shuddered against him for long moments, until she whispered, “Baby.”
They kissed long, deep, and very meaningfully until against her mouth, he said, “Had no intentions of sticking my dick into your sweet pussy. I saw that dress, your hair, beautiful face, that skin showing, and them fuck-me heels and I could not keep my hands off.”
Carly smiled against his mouth, reveling in the fact she had a man could see her dressed as nice and sexy as she could, and then he could not keep his hands off her or his big, hard cock out of her.
She might have purred.
He chuckled. “I take it you’re not mad at me.”
She rubbed his nose. “I liked it,” she admitted. “Be thinking about it now even when I have to watch her.” That her being his soon-to-be ex-witch.
“I’ll be thinking about it, watching you,” Zeb promised, and he took her mouth again.
It had all started when she’d come out into the great room completely dressed up to find Zeb strumming his guitar. She’d seen the guitar at his room at Rowdie’s, and he must’ve brought it from there with the other things he brought back that day. The most amazing thing about that was what Zeb was slightly singing, as if in thought. It had been a few words: “She righted my life.”
Her heart might have skipped a couple beats, thinking the song could be about her. She’d also felt a few more flutters at the fact he was actually working on a song. She’d never seen him in that light—it was a softer light, a more sensual Zeb. A total contrast to how he appeared unshaven, with spiked hair, in holey, faded jeans, and a worn tee shirt that said “Metal Ain’t Dead” across his broad chest.
He’d had on his big motorcycle boots and his leather vest, and she’d never seen him looking so edgy and hot, like the flames licking up the side of his muscular neck. She’d understood he wouldn’t get dressed up for the pageant night, but the contrast between them was vivid.
It actually turned her on.
But then something even better had happened, if possible—Zeb’s light blue eyes had lifted from the strings of his guitar and latched on to her. She’d seen the thoughtfulness in their bright depths, right before they’d turned to heat. Instant and intentional heat as they’d slowly looked her up and down.
Just that look alone had made her wet. His face had grown lean and predatory, with a look that said he saw something he wanted and he was going to get it. The words he’d uttered still thrilled her.
“Turn around,” he’d ordered.
That was because the back of her black evening gown was only two angled straps of diamond-colored gems barely holding her gown up and leaving most of her back bare. That bareness, along with the side cutouts of bareness, hinted at the fact she wore very little underneath. The dress was the best black dress she’d ever had on
, and Zeb’s reaction told her she was right.
Then she’d not known he was right behind her until the heat of his hand branded the lower curve of her back and his warm breath had whispered against her ear. “You want it hot from behind, bent over with me taking you deep, or you want it up against the wall, legs around me, pussy open. Either way, my dick is in you, now.”
She’d wanted both options so much it was impossible to choose, so her hot, dominant hunk had chosen when he’d ordered her to bend over and take her panties off.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
Back in the now, Zeb still had her panties, and she whispered, “Ranger, I need my panties.”
“No,” he told her in a firm and very deep voice.
She crinkled her eyes and pouted at him. “I can’t go without panties.”
“These are mine now,” he stated with conviction and the heat of dominance in his eyes. “I’ll buy you a truckload, sweetness, but these panties are mine.”
Carly couldn’t say that didn’t turn her on, so she stopped pouting and internally squeezed him, until she got a reaction from his eyes. “’kay,” she whispered.
He looked quite masculinely arrogant, then he grabbed her butt, keeping her aloft as he moved away from the wall, carrying her. “Let’s find you some panties, baby.”
She tingled all the way down the hall.
Zeb had stepped up that day, knowing that he and Carly needed a ride that wasn’t a borrowed WTSF work truck. So he’d leased a black Lincoln Navigator, and he was damned glad he did after seeing Carly and what she was wearing. She deserved to be driven in something nice while wearing that amazing dress that turned his dick hard and his brain off anything but fucking her the minute he’d seen her in it.
He’d never had a reaction like it before. Hell, he’d never had a woman that would let him take her all dressed up against the wall, like he had fucking needed to.
But he’d been able to make Carly as hot as he was within seconds. She was like that. One touch and she burned up for him, meeting him kiss for kiss, stroke for stroke, and thrust for thrust. He’d never had a woman as responsive or as damn desirable. And once he got her inside the Navigator, which she oohed and ahhed over, he couldn’t keep his eyes from tracking to her, she was so beautiful. All he wanted to do was do her again.
He had to admit it was hard to get his brain back on track, but he managed, barely, by keeping his eyes forward.
“We get this damn pageant over, then we will go meet Caval.”
Zeb saw Carly nodding, but he noticed her bottom lip action, which meant she was worried. They had already discussed how to handle Shaw if he showed up back at the judges’ table, which Zeb thought he would. Carly wasn’t going to rock their chances of nailing him later, so she was going to act as if she couldn’t stop him. Pretty much do the kinds of things she’d done last time, with Cabe’s help, but in the end let Shaw sit there and pretend to be a judge.
Later that night Zeb could say that they—Carly, him, Cabe, Vincent, and any help Vincent had watching—were all amazed when Shaw was a no-show. As far as Zeb could tell, it was for the entire pageant.
Miss MintLeaf didn’t win, either—she didn’t even place, and when Zeb talked to her for a second, while she was bawling, he found out she’d kicked Shaw to the curb, like he’d warned her to do.
Zeb knew Tula was overwrought, but still he grimaced as she bawled, “I don’t mess with married. Who would think I’d mess with married.”
Zeb nearly told her as he kept an eye on Carly, by glancing her way, while she talked to other contestants. “How did he take you breaking it off?” Zeb asked.
Tula wiped at her raccoon eyes—seriously, she must have caked the makeup on. “Not great.” She sniffled. “He keeps calling. Begging for another chance. Saying it’s all going to change, I’ll see.” Tula’s chin grew stubborn. “I don’t want to see.” Tula tilted her head toward the area Carly stood in. “She’s one pretty lady,” Tula muttered. “I checked and it’s your boss lady, isn’t it? She’s married to him.”
“Yeah,” Zeb muttered. What else could he say? He’d only been seeking information; however, along the way something had come up that was riding his ass. “Tula, I’m glad you listen to me. It was fucked what you did to me, but I don’t want to see you hurt.”
Tula’s upturned gaze turned hopeful, and her hand rose to clasp his forearm. “Zebbie-webbie, you forgive me?”
“Not that,” he uttered, stepping back and actually feeling his skin crawl. “There is no more fucking you and me,” he growled. “That doesn’t mean you still don’t have to disappear for at least a couple weeks, where Shaw can never track you and never find you, because he’s dangerous.”
Tula’s eyes widened. “Really?”
Zeb snapped, “Fuck me, yes. Means I’ve got to do something about it.”
Carly wasn’t happy, but at least she still had the lingering feel of Zeb all over her, all through her, and his words still playing in her thoughts to help ease her concerns. Questions like: was Zeb helping Tula because of lingering feelings he had for her or was he set to help her because he was just a decent man? She knew it was obvious, but insecurities were not reasonable.
Still she overrode them by saying, “We have other safe houses besides mine. I can easily set her up with one.”
Zeb cupped her nape and moved her more into the shadows; they were in an area beside an unused arena, set to meet Caval Rome. “Not you. I don’t want Tula to even have a hint I’m into you. You tell me where to go, I’ll take her.”
Carly moved softly against him. “I can get Cabe to take her. It’s what we do, honey.”
His forehead touched hers. “Don’t like doing this at all. Just gotta do it.”
“I know,” she whispered back, then she cupped his nape and brought their lips together. After the kiss, she told him, “I like seeing this man you are more and more.”
“So sweet,” he said, with his warm breath on her.
“If we’ve got that settled, doves, let’s get to fucking business,” a deep voice sounded behind Zeb’s back.
Zeb’s reaction was quick and decisive as he grabbed her against him, while swinging around but keeping her behind him with a locked arm. Carly peeked around his shoulder to see a very tall man, long, straight black hair hanging loose, brown, very striking Indian features, but not brown or black eyes. They were light green or hazel, hard to tell in the dim lighting on the sidelines of the unused arena. But they were piercing, highly intelligent, maybe deadly, and he seemed slightly familiar to Carly.
“Caval Rome,” he said, and she could feel Zeb’s body relax about halfway.
Caval stood with his hand out, a toothpick in his mouth, wearing a black tee shirt, black pants, black boots, and a big silver-buckled belt. He was older than they were, probably by five years.
Zeb let go of her and stepped forward. “Zeb Andersen, you know Carly Oliver.”
“Babe,” Caval uttered, and Carly’s hand was raised nearly to his hand, but she faltered when he called her that.
A glance up at him showed intense speculation, and she grasped his hand firmly, saying, “Carly, not your babe.”
He laughed, holding her hand, then he dropped it to look at Zeb, and he declared, “If I wasn’t fucking crazy I’d be after that. You’re a lucky man.”
Carly blushed, but stuck to Zeb’s side, still feeling like she’d seen Caval before, but wondering how she could ever forget such a striking and hot man.
Zeb’s arm came around her waist from behind, as he threw back at Caval, “Luck might have started it, but skill is keeping it.”
Carly shook her head as Caval chuckled, and she wondered what he meant by being crazy. She found out a couple seconds later.
“Seriously, you two, let me go commando on Shaw and take him out. They’ll never find him, I promise you,” Caval offered.
Carly was still glued to Zeb’s side as she looked up at Zeb’s hard jaw. She could tell he wasn�
�t going there. “Thanks for the offer, Caval, but we want him to suffer in jail a long time.”
Caval took his toothpick and tossed it off to the side. “I can see that’d be good too, but I’m there if you need him to disappear. A little night vision, a black bag over his head—tagged, bagged, and gone to any one of the foreign shitholes I operate in—”
Wow. Carly shivered, trying for it not to be a fearful shudder. “Really appreciate your help, but no,” she said softly.
Caval’s gaze pinned hers for a full five seconds, and she saw the strange light in the depths of his light -colored irises. He so would do it. “Okay, ma’am,” he finally said. “We’ll keep it proper.”
She nodded. “Thanks.”
Caval gave them a burner cell phone, which he said Rick was supposed to call at midnight that night. “So far he has asked for a job done, no specifics exactly, just hinting,” Caval said. “I’d come right at him, say you do assassinations and extractions from foreign soil. That last part is to make it look legit.”
“Might scare him off,” Zeb muttered.
“Beauty of this world I created, brother, is I know all of the mercenary outfits. If our boy skips, I still get him when he skips to another buddy of mine.”
Zeb nodded. “Okay. But I should tell him no specifics on the phone.”
“Yeah,” Caval answered. “So you can get him on audio at a physical meet. I’d do Big Mama’s. It has the right vibe. Vincent will get you wired.” Caval stepped closer and lowered his head, looking Zeb in the eye. “This creep is a civvy, ranger, he don’t know shit. You take control, you lead the talk.”
Carly had her face in Zeb’s bicep by the end of Caval’s advice. It was so hard to hear it and plan it. She felt a hand squeeze her shoulder briefly, and she turned her cheek against Zeb’s muscle.
“It’s his shit, ma’am, not yours,” Caval said, letting go of her shoulder. “Do not go down into his lowlife crap. Your lights need out in this world helping those broken doves.”
Carly was surprised and touched, and it dawned on her where she might have seen Caval before: it was his use of the word “doves,” but she kept her mouth shut, because the Ghost Warrior was as much an Indian myth as real. He’d helped free women from the shadows on the reservation several times, but his identity had been masked, so she’d only heard his voice. Maybe she’d ask Vincent if Caval was the Ghost Warrior ... or maybe she’d just wonder.
