Vaughn's Pride: California Cowboys

by Selena Laurence

  One year later

  “Baby, hurry up!” Vaughn shouted up the stairs to the apartment he shared with T.J.

  “I’m coming!” she hollered back down.

  But when she still hadn’t appeared several minutes later, he told the caterers he’d be right back and marched up the staircase that lay behind the floating wall on the ground floor.

  At the top, he entered the living room with its wall of windows overlooking the ocean. The modern building was flush with glass, balconies, and views, meaning that every room in the two-bedroom apartment was filled with light and ocean breezes.

  “T.?” he called out as he roamed through the living room, dining room, and kitchen. “What in the world is taking you so long?”

  He walked into the bedroom and stopped, his heart racing as his eyes did a scan from the top of her perfect updo to the tips of her stiletto-clad feet.

  He slowly released a breath. “My God, you look beautiful,” he finally gritted out.

  “Is it okay?” she asked. “I don’t get dressed up that often, but I wanted this to be perfect. Janelle and I bought it that day we went to San Francisco together last month.”

  He twirled a finger in the air, and she mimicked his instruction by turning around so he could see the back of the outfit as well.

  “If perfection is what you were after, you hit it.”

  She grinned and stepped forward. The white Grecian-style dress dipped down her chest to show a fair amount of cleavage and draped around her frame in an asymmetrical line to expose nearly the full length of one tan leg.

  “Don’t move, baby,” Vaughn cautioned.

  “Why? Is there something on it? Is a bug crawling on me?” T.J. looked down frantically, holding her arms out to the sides.

  Vaughn chuckled. “No, but if you come any closer, I’m going to rip that thing off you and fuck you against the wall so hard, you see stars. I know you went to a lot of trouble getting ready, so I’m trying not to muss you.”

  She grinned at him again. “Thank you, Mr. Jenkins.”

  “You’re welcome, Mrs. Jenkins,” he answered with a gleam in his eye. “But after ten o’clock, all bets are off.”

  “Noted,” she replied dryly as she sashayed past him toward the stairs. “Now, let’s go open your gallery.”

  Vaughn had come up with the idea of a gallery during their first trip together. As they visited museums and T.J. asked him to talk about his art more, he realized that maybe the something that was theirs didn’t need to be a ranch like the rest of the family. Maybe it really did need to be something that was just theirs. He knew that someday they’d inherit her parents’ land, and that they’d always have a third of Big Sur Ranch. Hell, he still worked with his brothers on the ranch most days.

  But he also knew that he loved art, that Big Sur was a mecca for tourists with money to spend on things like modern art, and that if he could run a successful gallery, he’d always have something that he’d earned, just for T.J. and him.

  So he’d found a building with an apartment upstairs and an office space downstairs, and he’d spent a year renovating it into a place for them to live and a gallery for local art. Tonight was the opening, and all of Big Sur was there to wish him luck.

  “You think he’s going to be okay?” Cade asked as they stood at the opening reception, beers in hand while people milled around looking at the paintings and sculptures—some Vaughn’s, most other artists’.

  Vaughn looked over at Ty, who stood stiffly, Katie at his side while a pretty blonde talked to him nervously.

  “We’ll make sure he is,” he answered. “What has your investigator found out about her?”

  “What she’s said seems to check out, although there may have been a man involved with her that was bad news. She didn’t mention that.”

  “Are you telling him what the investigator said?” Nina asked Cade as she slid up next to him, surprisingly stealthy considering she was six months pregnant and expanding by the day.

  “Yes.” He looked at Vaughn again. “I’ve asked him to find out more about the guy. I don’t want anything sketchy following her here and putting…” His voice trailed off as he swallowed hard.

  Vaughn felt the same ripple of fear go through his gut. “I know.” He clasped a hand on Cade’s shoulder. “We’re not going to let that happen, and if it means we have to hire the priciest attorneys in the state, we’ll do it.”

  Nina, Cade, and Vaughn all looked at each other with a determination that said they would stop at nothing to protect their loved ones.

  T.J. showed up at his side, sliding in under his arm. “Everything okay?” she asked, looking at him in a way that said he probably wasn’t going to make it until ten pm. Nine was sounding plenty late enough to host a party. Hell, the guests could stay as late as they wanted. As long as he could get under T.J.’s dress sooner than later, it would all be good.

  “It’s all great, baby,” he answered, giving her a kiss on the tip of her nose.

  “How do you feel?” T.J. asked, turning to Nina.

  “Better every day. It’s so nice to be rid of that morning sickness. But I know that this is the honeymoon period, because if I get much bigger, things are going to get uncomfortable.”

  T.J. patted her sister-in-law’s arm. “I’m so glad you’re doing this first so that when it’s my turn, I know what to expect.”

  “Are you pregnant?” their aunt asked as she walked up with Katie by her side.

  Katie’s eyes grew round. “Two babies?!” she squealed.

  “No!” Vaughn said, bugging his own eyes out at her. “Your Aunt T.J. and I just got married a few months ago, we’re not ready for a baby. We’re going to live in our super-sleek apartment and run our super-cool gallery for a while before your dad and Uncle Cade make us build a house on the ranch and start hauling around a pack of rug rats.”

  Katie pouted, and the adults laughed.

  “I just wants some cousins,” she mumbled.

  “And we’re giving you one in a few months,” Cade consoled her. “And I told you we’re going to rely on you to help take care of him. Aunt Nina has to run her business, so when she does computer work, you’ll need to watch the baby.”

  “And I can give him his bottle and read him his books and rock him every day!”

  “Yes, you can,” Cade answered. “But you know, if you feed him, then he’ll need to have his diaper changed too.”

  Katie’s face twisted. “Eww, no. Constanza’s little bwuther has his diaper changed, and it’s disgusting.”

  Vaughn felt strong hands squeeze his shoulders and looked behind him to see Ty. “Hey,” he said softly as Ty stood quietly behind him. “Everything okay?”

  “It will be,” Ty answered, looking him in the eyes.

  Vaughn nodded sharply, because it would be. The Jenkinses had hit more than one rough patch in the past, and they’d always come out stronger for it. They’d make sure to come out of this one stronger as well. And now they had Nina and T.J. on their side, they were nearly invincible. Yes, the Jenkins women were pretty damn special.

  And as Vaughn watched his wife and sister-in-law laughing with Lynn and Katie, and he shared that special connection with Ty and saw the pride in Cade’s face when he looked around the gallery with most of the town there eating and drinking and looking at art, he knew that everything and everyone who mattered in his life was right here, in this room. He was blessed to have a lifetime to do right by them, to spend time with them, to watch them live and grow, and he’d never be too proud to love them again.

  THE END

  Turn the page for an excerpt from Selena’s super sexy political romance THE KINGMAKER…

  A Special Excerpt from The Kingmaker

  He stared at a pair of legs—long and shapely, with dark olive skin that glowed in the low light of the room. They ended in a pair of very strappy stiletto-heeled shoes, and toenails the color of a fine burgundy. Unfortunately, those spectacular legs were currently pressed against a wa
ll while his client—his very married client—mauled the owner of said legs in a swanky hotel suite in southwest D.C.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” Derek groaned as he stood in the doorway viewing the clusterfuck that had just exploded all of his plans.

  “Unh,” Jason Melville grunted as he stopped ravishing the woman’s neck and raised his eyes to gaze over his shoulder at his very pissed campaign consultant. “Derek,” he gritted out. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

  Derek slammed the door and strode across the room to glower at Jason and the woman splayed against the wall.

  “What exactly is it then, Jason? Because it looks to me like you’re about to screw a woman who is not your wife hours before we’re supposed to announce your candidacy for President of the fucking United States. Did it ever occur to you that she could blow your entire campaign to hell before it even starts?”

  Derek’s gaze drifted from Jason’s rapidly reddening face to the brunette he had pinned, hands above her head, against the expensive wallpaper. As Jason released her and she straightened her clothes with a huff, Derek could see that the rest of her was as exquisite as her legs. Classic bone structure covered with smooth as silk, flawless skin. Exotic eyes the color of dark chocolate, tipped up at the outside corners, the lashes long and luxurious. And below all of that, a pair of tits that would tempt any president—well, maybe not the current one, since she seemed to swing toward men.

  “I’m a professional escort,” she hissed. “And I’ll have you know that I’m very discreet. I would never discuss a client’s business with anyone, whether he’s the president or a janitor.”

  Jesus. A hooker? Could it get any worse?

  “Look, sweetheart, I’m sure you’re the picture of discretion, but the presidency is not something to risk over a tumble with an escort.” He squeezed out the last word like he could hardly tolerate saying it, and her cheeks turned pink in response, her mouth tightening and eyes narrowing.

  Jason exhaled a big breath and stepped further from the brunette.

  The woman pursed her plump lips and nudged Jason out of the way before brushing by Derek, heading for the bathroom, her perfectly firm and round ass swaying in the pencil skirt that hugged her like a second skin.

  Derek whipped around to glower at his candidate who blatantly adjusted himself in his $1000 Armani dress slacks.

  “What the fuck were you thinking?” Derek snarled. “Do you realize what you’ve done?”

  “I’m under a hell of a lot of pressure,” Jason muttered. “And I’m tired of being the only one in D.C. who doesn’t get to indulge a vice once in a while. I need a goddamn way to relieve the stress.”

  Derek walked to the thermostat on the wall and turned on the AC to rid the room of the scent of the hooker’s perfume, which was perversely turning him on even in the midst of his anger.

  “Well, if this is how you handle your stress, I’m not sure you’re cut out to be president. While indulging a vice, as you put it, may be commonplace in D.C., it also nearly always ends in scandal that ruins careers. Particularly for a young, good-looking candidate with little kids at home. Do I need to mention Gary Hart and John Edwards to you?”

  Jason grabbed his jacket off of the bed. Derek heard the water turn on in the bathroom and wondered exactly how much money he’d have to cough up to make this woman go away, and how long it would be until she came around again wanting more.

  “London is known for her discretion,” Jason said as he unrolled his shirtsleeves. “No one will ever find out.”

  Derek raised an eyebrow.

  “Fine. I’ll stop, okay? Is that what you want to hear? I won’t see her again, and I’ll be a good boy and jack off in the shower instead. God knows Angela’s not going to help me out.” Frustration rolled off the Senator in waves, almost palpable in the re-circulated air of the room.

  Derek thought of Jason’s Patrician blonde wife and their two preschool-aged children. His stomach churned. Why the fuck did these guys get married if they weren’t going to make the commitment? It wasn’t essential to have a wife in order to be successful in politics these days. He shook off the thoughts and focused on the problem at hand.

  “How much?” he asked.

  “How much what?” Jason responded, searching for something on the floor next to the bed.

  “How much do you normally pay her?”

  Jason muttered, “Got it!” in triumph and stood to put on a pair of diamond cufflinks. “London? She’s a grand an hour.” He checked his watch. “And she’s been here about twenty-two minutes.”

  Jesus. A grand? The last time he’d gotten laid, Derek had spent fifty bucks on two cocktails, and then taken the pretty young reporter home for a couple of hours before sliding her into a taxi and saying goodnight. Final total? Maybe a hundred dollars. A grand seemed excessive.

  “So how much do you think it’s going to take to keep her quiet?” he asked.

  Jason ran a hand through his perfectly disheveled dark hair tipped at the temples with the first smatterings of gray—hair dye to lend him more gravitas—and cocked his head at Derek.

  “She won’t talk. Really.”

  “Bullshit,” Derek answered just as the woman in question emerged from the bathroom looking every inch the respectable wealthy D.C. wife, a perfectly fitted plum-colored business jacket molded to her hourglass figure, her thick hair in an upsweep, and those sexy as hell strappy shoes still attached to her perfect legs.

  “I won’t talk,” London repeated, casting him a dismissive look.

  Derek turned to her, fury simmering only slightly below the cool as steel façade he’d worked to develop and maintain for fifteen years.

  “Look, I’m sure you’re a lovely escort, very trustworthy and all, but you have no idea what kind of investment I’ve made in Jason here. One wrong word, one wrong look, or a secret shared between you and one of your ‘friends’, and his career, as well as mine, are shot to hell.”

  “I don’t tell secrets to friends or anyone else, and I’ve never looked wrong at someone in my life.” She paused. “So what are you going to do now? Kill me?” Her left eyebrow lifted and he could see the spark of derision in her face.

  He rolled his eyes at her. “We’re not on House of Cards, sweetheart,” he answered drolly. “How much will it take to have you leave the country for a few weeks?”

  London smirked. “Really? You want to pay me to take a vacation even though I have absolutely no intention of saying anything to anyone ever?”

  “It’d make me feel better,” Derek answered.

  “Fine. I’ve always wanted to do the Bahamas. So, what? Ten? Twenty?” She looked at Jason before striding over and adjusting his tie. Jason’s face lit up and he licked his lips as he looked down at her like a piece of prime grade steak.

  Derek’s rage bubbled up threatening to explode. “Senator!” he snapped. “Eyes on me.”

  London snorted delicately and stepped away from Derek’s candidate.

  “Jesus,” Jason’s face flushed. “Just pay her and get it over with,” he snapped before he stepped out of the room swiping the screen of his phone as he went.

  Alone in the bedroom, Derek and London stared at each other for a moment, and he swore her uber-confident, devil-may-care exterior cracked briefly.

  She moved to the nightstand and gathered her purse before walking to him and holding out her hand. “I don’t care if you give me extra, but I do insist on the grand I earned.”

  Derek looked down at her. She was on the tall side for a woman, probably five eight or nine. But he was six two, so she seemed delicate as he stared at her achingly perfect face. She could have been a top model or an actress, and if her snark was any indication probably plenty of professions that required verbal smarts as well. Why was she doing this? Servicing arrogant, careless men who only wanted to have their egos stroked more. Why would such a spectacular woman sell herself so short?

  He knew he should pay her and send her on her way, but he
was caught in some sort of twilight zone, drawn in by her smart mouth, her resistant attitude, and that damn spicy perfume that floated around her like a tropical flower.

  “Why?” he asked, voice soft. “Why do you do it?”

  Her eyes turned hard. “I have complete control over my life, Mr. Ambrose. Don’t you dare pity me.”

  “You know my name.” Some part of him buried deep sparked with anticipation.

  “Everyone knows your name,” she answered.

  He clenched his fist and then shook his hand at his side, trying to release the urge to run his fingertips across her satiny cheek.

  “You’re not everyone.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m nobody, and that’s how I wish to stay. Now, will that be cash or--?”

  Derek sighed, then removed his phone from his pocket and swiped the screen. “It’s Derek,” he said, never taking his eyes off of London. “I’ll need twenty thousand in cash brought to the Senator’s suite. My personal account please. And make it snappy.”

  Thirty minutes later London rode in the back of a taxi on the way to her Dupont Circle brownstone. It was still early by Washington standards and she knew she could call in to Margrite, her boss at the agency, and make herself available for another client, but the morning’s dealings had left her with a bad taste in her mouth. And not only because Jason Melville was a boring prick. No, it was Derek Ambrose that had ruined her normally level disposition. The censure that had permeated his face when he looked at her. The way he’d dropped the cash in her hand as if he might catch something if he touched her.

  It had been a long time since London had felt the need to justify herself or her profession to anyone. Her work as an escort had begun eight years ago after she’d spent two years as a runaway teen, fighting to make her own way in a world and a city that simply weren’t designed for a minimum-wage earner without a high school diploma. She would never claim the job was easy, but she’d learned to do what she had to in order to earn a very nice living, and still maintain some semblance of a normal life.