Nauti Deceptions

by Leigh, Lora

  “When she ain’t consorting with undesirables, you can almost get a good night’s work out of her,” Jonesy snarled, and it wasn’t playful.

  Hank’s green eyes turned back to her in surprise, his brows raised. “Shame on you, Rogue.” He wagged his finger at her chidingly. “Consorting with undesirables.” He shook his head before glancing around the bar. “You surprise me.” He winked, took his beer, and moved off.

  “Cut it out, Jonesy,” she snapped as she turned to pour another beer. “You don’t want to fight with me here.”

  “You got fight left in you then?” he grunted. “Now that one surprises me. I thought you’d done tucked your tail and turned vanilla on me.”

  God, there were days she hated men; their PMS was worse than a woman’s any day, and less understandable.

  “I’m going to turn homicidal if you don’t get off my back,” she ordered him. “Wait till closing and take up your problems with me then.”

  She turned away before he could snap back in reply. She’d had just about enough of snarly, snapping males that thought they could order her around or steer her damned life. She’d been steering it fine on her own for over five years now.

  “Ronnie’s having problems with a couple in B area,” he called out as she pushed a handful of beers across the bar. “We got a regular and a tourist having a bit of a problem over a woman.”

  Jonesy wore a headset radio atop his head that connected him to the other bouncers.

  “Get out there with him,” Rogue warned him. “Lea and I can handle the bar for a while.”

  “Kent’s on his way,” Jonesy informed her as he collected a heavy bat from beneath the bar and exited the bar area on the other side quickly.

  “He’s been dying to use that bat all week,” Lea called out as she worked furiously to mix several drinks and slide them across the bar.

  “He’s a man. Playing with his bat is the only thing he understands.” Rogue laughed back at her, causing Lea to nearly drop a bottle of whisky in her mirth and most of the men around the bar to hoot and yell in agreement.

  She toasted the men with a hastily poured shot, tossed it back, and slapped the glass on the bar with a grin at the eager cheers before going back to work.

  She was having fun. She liked to have fun. She had always imagined any lover she had she would be able to tease and flirt with, to laugh and share her enjoyment of the atmosphere she had built here. She wasn’t going to be ashamed of it. She wasn’t going to change who and what she was, and she wouldn’t ask Zeke to change his rules, either.

  That left things rather at a stalemate. The night wasn’t at a stalemate though. She worked the bar before making her rounds through the building again. She watched the waitresses and waiters, made certain everything was running smoothly in between brief hip-shaking dances and laughter. If Zeke were here, she wondered, what would he see? The bar whore she was rumored to be, or the woman she truly was? She refused to question herself as to why it should matter either way. She was who she was. She couldn’t be anything less, anything more.

  As the night deepened, her frustration with Jonesy only mounted though. He was scowling more often, and each time he spoke to her, he snapped. It was wearing on her nerves, and she knew better than to allow it to continue. He had his moods, and if she put up with them, they would only escalate until he ended up in a fight with someone else. The only way to end it was to confront it, before she ended up with bar damage.

  Motioning to Lea and Kent to take over the bar, she moved to Jonesy. “My office,” she ordered.

  “My ass,” he growled, his brown gaze glittering in anger. “I have work to do.”

  “Not after tonight you won’t,” she snapped. “My office now, or get your ass out of my bar. And you damned well better remember who owns the place.”

  She turned on her heel and stalked out of the area toward the back door marked Private. Pushing through, she moved through the short hall, made a sharp turn, and quickly unlocked the door to her office.

  She threw it open before Jonesy could barrel into it. He stalked into the room, jerked his white apron off, and wadded it into a ball before throwing it to the floor.

  His white T-shirt stretched over the bulging muscles of his tattooed arms. The ham-sized biceps flexed menacingly as he glared back at her.

  “Drop the attitude.” There was no fear of Jonesy. He was temperamental, tried to be a bully, and fussed like a mother hen gone rabid, but she had never seen him as dangerous.

  “Don’t tell me to drop the attitude, little girl,” he snarled, face flushing as his heavy brows lowered over his dark eyes. “I’m the dumb bastard watching you mope around with those big, pathetic eyes of yours as you watch the door and pray that no-account sheriff makes his way back to mark you. Where the fuck is your head, letting that bastard touch you?”

  Rogue drew back in surprise. Evidently Jonesy had seen the reddened mark beneath her jaw as well.

  “The mark or the man is none of your damned business, Jonesy,” she said, voice tight.

  “It’s my damned business when I have to listen to the gossip and field the questions,” he yelled back, his lips pulling back from his teeth furiously.

  “Like I’ve ever given a damn about gossip,” she retorted. “And since when do you give a damn? Hell, Jonesy, they talk about everyone and everything. It’s a fact of fucking life and I couldn’t give a damn one way or the other.”

  “Maybe that’s your problem!” he said, his voice rising further. “You simply don’t give a damn. You didn’t give a damn when they made you look like a tramp in those pictures, and now you don’t give a damn and spread your fucking legs for that whoremongering sheriff who doesn’t have a chance of being good enough for you.”

  She was going to pull her hair out. Staring back at him incredulously, she fought to figure out what the hell kind of bug had gotten up his ass to make him act this way or to say something so vile.

  “Zeke is not a whoremonger,” she bit out between clenched teeth.

  “Yeah, you’ll take up for him, but you don’t give a shit when I call you a tramp,” he accused roughly, his eyes narrowing as his entire body seemed to quiver with outrage. “Your daddy raised you better than this, girl.”

  “My daddy raised me to have enough confidence in myself to do whatever the hell I want with whoever the hell I want,” she yelled back, nearly shaking in her own anger now. “How dare you think you can take me to task for anything, Jonesy? You don’t have that right, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let you pretend you do.”

  He was six feet tall to her five feet seven in her highest heels. She was in his face, snarling back at him, overwhelmed by her anger. She hated being told what to do or being taken to task for decisions she made. She was an adult. She knew what the hell she was doing even when she wasn’t certain of the way to get there, and she knew she was damned sick and tired of others trying to tell her she was too young, too inexperienced, or evidently raised to do things differently than she was.

  Jonesy was still glaring down at her. His breathing was rough, face flushed. At his side, his beefy hands were curled into fists as though it was all he could do to keep from hitting her.

  She knew him. She knew his rages, and she knew his affection, but she didn’t understand his sudden animosity toward Zeke.

  “You used to understand how the world works around here, Rogue,” he spat out. “What the hell happened to you?”

  The way the world worked around here. Here being Pulaski County, as though it was a separate part of the rest of the world.

  “Oh, don’t worry, Jonesy, I understand the rules very well, and I intend to break every one I can,” she informed him with a tight smile.

  Jonesy and his damned rules. Stay with your own kind, he’d always warned her. White trash to white trash, upper-class trash to upper-class trash, and she was somewhere in between and yet somewhere above them all. She could return to Boston and take her place as a society princess there, or she could
stick to her own kind here. That being the hard-drinking, motorcycle-riding men and women that made the Bar their home away from home. To Jonesy, she shouldn’t look any further for entertainment or for a relationship.

  “This ain’t about breaking the rules, you little twit,” he bit out in disgust.

  Her eyes narrowed as she began to shake in fury. “Don’t call me a twit, Jonesy.”

  “Then don’t act like one,” he sneered. “I’ve just about had enough of it. That sheriff ain’t gonna do nothin’ but use you up, just like he does his other women. You’re nothing but another notch in his bedpost, and you’ll be a small one at that.”

  Rogue didn’t flinch at the accusation, but it hurt. Damn, that one had been below the belt, and she felt vibrations of the pain racing through her. A part of her feared he was right; another part of her was determined to take what she wanted no matter the cost.

  “Where I get notched is none of your business though, is it?” she asked him. “Your job is to run that bar out there, not my life. If you can’t keep a civil tongue in your head otherwise, then you can get the hell out.”

  His eyes widened, darkened as anger flushed his face deeper and creased his rough face.

  “Get the hell out? I’ve been here since before your ass was born,” he yelled, stepping closer. “You don’t tell me to get out, little girl.”

  “I’m telling you if you don’t learn how to keep your insults and your sneers to yourself, then replacing you will be my first priority after I have my bouncers throw your ass to the curb.”

  Surprise flickered over his face. “I hired those bouncers. Those are my men.”

  “I sign their paychecks. They’ll do as I say or they’ll find themselves on the curb with you,” she yelled back.

  She had always trusted Jonesy; she had never known a moment’s fear of him, until that second. Those big hands reached out for her, his fingers curving harshly around her upper arms before he shook her like a rag doll.

  “The hell you will.” He pushed her back just as suddenly.

  Rogue felt her hip hit the corner of the desk, her hair flying around her as she fought to steady herself and retreat far enough that he couldn’t grab her again.

  She stared at him in shock and in hurt. Jonesy, for all their fights, had never laid a hand on her, had never become threatening.

  “That’s out of line, Jonesy. You don’t want to touch me again.” His lips twisted furiously as he paused, his gaze narrowing on her. “Someone needs to show you your damned place. You’ve become a disgrace to your daddy, and I’ll be damned if I’ll put up with it much longer.”

  He started for her again. Rogue felt her heart racing, a tingle of fear tearing through her as she glimpsed the pure rage that seemed to transform his face. She moved to jump back, only to find herself frozen as Jonesy suddenly swung away from her, his heavy body crashing into the wall from the fist that had been planted in his jaw.

  Zeke stood before her, dressed in jeans, a black shirt, and boots, his expression icy, his hawklike gaze burning in fury.

  “Get the hell out!” Zeke’s voice rang with authority and with pure unbridled power. “Now.”

  Shit. This wasn’t good. How the hell had she managed to let her argument with Jonesy develop into this? If these two men fought, then there would end up being bloodshed.

  “Jonesy, get your ass back to the bar,” she snapped as Jonesy came slowly to his feet.

  Zeke’s gaze swung around to her. There was no shock, no surprise on his face, there was no fury. His expression was emotionless, but his eyes burned.

  “Did he sneak into the back?” Jonesy sneered. “I bet you this bar he did.”

  “You don’t have this bar to bet with,” she told him, her heart was in her throat now as she fought to get him out of the office. “Now get back to work. And don’t worry about coming back after tonight until you can get your stupidity under control.”

  He flashed her a glare filled with animosity. “My stupidity is the least of your worries.” It sounded like a warning. “But, hell yeah, I’ll get out of your office. You want to play this bastard’s whore, then go for it. See who gives a damn when it’s all over and you’re the one crying in your beer rather than those pathetic little sluts you’ve consoled over the years.”

  Ouch.

  Rogue ignored Zeke’s suddenly penetrating look as Jonesy straightened, threw them both a furious glance, and stalked back out of the office. The opened door slammed behind him with enough force to leave Rogue wincing.

  She faced Zeke. Two days. She hadn’t seen or heard from him in two days, and she was at the point that she didn’t want to see or hear from him.

  Men. They made women insane for a reason. They were so damned closed minded and closed in on themselves that it made her crazy. Even her father shared those qualities, to a point.

  “You can leave now as well,” she told Zeke as his broad shoulders shifted beneath the black shirt.

  “You know that’s not going to happen.” Was his voice deeper than she remembered it or had she just never seen him angry before?

  She knew his effect on her hadn’t gone away. Her heart was tripping in her chest, excitement filled her, and she swore she could almost taste him in her mouth again. Wild, tangy, and completely sexy. She wanted more of him, and she knew it was the last thing she should allow herself to reach out for.

  But she ached for him. Ached for his kiss, his touch. She ached for more than a few hidden little bedroom sessions and the knowledge that just as Jonesy accused, she would be no more than a very small notch on his bedpost.

  “One fight a night is enough.” She rubbed at her arms, knowing she had more to face tonight than just this overriding need for Zeke’s touch.

  She had never been frightened of Jonesy as long as she had known him. They had yelled, screamed, thrown things, but he had never shaken her, he had never let his anger spike to the point that he was a threat rather than a friend.

  “Let me see your arms.” He advanced.

  Rogue retreated behind her desk. “My arms are fine.”

  “Your arms are fucking bruised,” he bit out, his expression becoming livid now. “Do you think I don’t see those bruises forming even now, Rogue? Do you think I’ll stand for it?”

  Rogue pressed her lips together in an effort to gain control. She was halfway tempted to bite her tongue just to hold back her own anger.

  “I think, quite simply, that it’s none of your damned business.” And that was no less than the truth. “You’re not my father, my brother, my lover, or my husband, so I guess you lucked out in the explanations department, didn’t you?”

  What stroke of fate had decided that this man had to fascinate her as no other did? That his kiss, his touch had to torment her, haunt her? She didn’t want this, and she knew he didn’t, either. He had proven that two days ago when he had sent her on her way without so much as a good-bye kiss, a hug. There had been nothing to soften the humiliation that had filled her. That still filled her.

  Having him here in her office, seeing him, being close to him was torture. She had fantasized for so many years, dreamed of him for so long. The knowledge that she couldn’t have him, not fully, sliced through her soul like a dull knife.

  “You’re fooling yourself,” he told her, his voice rough. “We’re going to be lovers, Rogue. We both know it.”

  She shook her head to that.

  God, she was tired of this internal fight within herself. Lately, it seemed her emotions were never under control, and she blamed him for that. He had tilted her world on its axis, and she was having a hell of a time straightening it back up.

  “I think, Zeke, being lovers would be the worst decision the two of us could make. You need to turn around and leave. Get back in your nifty little sheriff’s vehicle, and go look up one of your former closet lovers or whoever you keep dangling as a replacement. Because this isn’t going to work.”

  She wouldn’t hide in a closet. She couldn’t. Rogue knew
that the one thing she couldn’t do was enter into an emotionless relationship with this man.

  His lips tilted as she watched him. A half grin, filled with male confidence and certainty. He stood before her, the epitome of the alpha male, and a shiver raced up her spine as he watched her. There was nothing hidden, nothing latent in that look. It was pure male power and sexual intent.

  It was dominant.

  Heat flushed through her body as she stepped back. Distance, she needed distance between them before he could follow through with that look.

  “Did you really think I was just going to let this go after the other day?” he asked, advancing on her. “You were on your knees, Rogue. You climaxed as I came in your mouth.”

  “And you pushed me right out the door five seconds later,” she reminded him. “You weren’t just ashamed that we were caught by your son. You were ashamed of being with me, period.”

  “I don’t broadcast my affairs.” His expression tightened as Rogue felt her chest ache.

  “Then you won’t be having an affair with me,” she told him quietly. “Find someone else, Zeke, because I can’t afford the broken heart.”

  She thought he would heed the request. A part of her was certain he would turn and walk right back out of her office and out of her life.

  Nothing could have prepared her for how quickly he moved, his hand latching around her wrist, pulling her to him an instant before he threw her over his shoulder and strode from the office.

  TEN

  “Have you lost your mind?” Furious, outraged, Rogue beat at Zeke’s back as he strode from her office and made the turn to the stairs that led to her apartment.

  “Let me go, you bastard!” She pinched his ass, ineffective as it was through his heavy jeans.

  “Settle down, you little wildcat.” The order was followed by a heated slap to her ass, not quite a caress, too hot to be anything but a warning.

  Rogue froze. She felt the heat travel from her ass, up her spine, back down, and into places she didn’t want to consider. Not as furious as she was. Not in the position she was now in.