Acres, Natalie - Sex Club [Cowboy Sex 5] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (30 page)

“You wouldn’t get very far,” she promised.

“Wanna bet?”

Peering over the side of the tub, she was relieved to find Bailey clothed from the waist down. “You’ll have to hold that thought for another few hours.”

“All clean down here,” he teased, immediately wringing water from the rag and tossing the absorbent terrycloth fabric aside.

His fingers skimmed through the water. As he swirled his hand just below the surface, he asked, “We didn’t hurt you, did we?”

“No,” she replied. “I’ve never felt so well loved.”

A long silence divided them. Bailey withdrew his hand and stood. Reaching for a towel, Bailey jerked when her fingers encircled his wrist. “Bailey, I didn’t mean…um…what I meant was…” She couldn’t think quickly enough to put his mind at ease. She didn’t want him under the impression that because they had sex, she expected a commitment.

Before she could gather her thoughts and finish her sentence, Bailey covered her hand with his. “Ansley, don’t.”

Their eyes met and his expression softened. “I hope you won’t say something you’ll regret.”

She gulped. Was she just used? Had they consumed her body and passed her around like a tray of delicious goodies but didn’t have any intentions of sampling her again?

Apparently so!

“I don’t have any fairy-tale wishes about a happily ever after now,” she assured him bitterly, snatching the towel from his hand. Wrapping herself in the warm cotton, she immediately felt ashamed of herself.

As soon as she saw the hurt in Bailey’s eyes, she questioned herself and her behavior. Was she afraid of being hurt? If so, why? How often had she gone to bed with someone and then been bathed and pampered afterward? How many men did that?

She was so stupid after sex. She always put the cart in front of the horse before she paid attention to where she was headed.

Stepping out of the tub, she touched his arm. “I’m grouchy. I need sleep. I don’t know what any of this means, but just so you know, you aren’t under the gun here. No fantasies for an everlasting future exist here.”

As quick as a whip, Bailey grabbed her. Locking his arms around her waist, he drew her against him. “Well, that’s too bad, Ansley Cartwell. See, I happen to have a lot of those. And you don’t have to ask me for a commitment. I don’t see this thing playing out as a potential one-night stand, a short clip in some B-rated movie.”

“You don’t?” she asked, her pulse quickening.

“No,” Bailey replied. He pressed his forehead against hers and added, “I have a bad thing for you, woman. You should know that, Ansley. I want you more than I can begin to put into words. And I need you.”

“You do?” she asked, elated. “Well why didn’t you say so?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he teased. “It was sort of cute watching you dance all over the place.”

Ansley’s pulse quickened. She studied his face and saw the sincerity in his eyes. Did he care about her even more than he’d verbally expressed? Was he in love with her? If so, what kept him from opening up about his feelings?

“I’m glad you enjoyed me,” she said, touching his cheek.

“Sex isn’t all we have between us,” Bailey assured her. “I was already crazy about you before I took you to bed.”

“You were?”

“Yes, Ansley, and if you’ll search your heart—at the risk of sounding cocky here—you’ll find that you care a great deal about me, too.”

She moistened her lips and stared at his. She wanted to kiss him but realized where one smooch might lead. Instead of luring him closer for an intimate meeting of mouths, she wrapped her limbs around his waist and pressed her body against his. “Take me to bed, Bailey.”

He swept her into his arms and cradled her, taking long strides as he carried her to the bedroom. When he lowered her to the mattress, he said, “I’ll be back. You need some rest. We’ll have plenty of time for good loving later.”

Before he walked away, Ansley stopped him with a question that had been weighing heavily on her mind. “Bailey, why is the mob still after you? Are you guilty by family association, or did you and Tristan—”

“No, Ansley,” Bailey interrupted her. “We didn’t do anything illegal, but we still have most of the money that was stolen from the old guard, the mob bosses. They don’t forget when someone robs them. I guess they’re smart enough to know we still have the money our father, grandfather, and uncles stole from them.”

“Then why don’t you return the cash?”

“If we could, we would.” He frowned. “Ansley, the bosses would gladly set up a meeting. They’d promise our safety, guarantee we could walk away with our lives, and in the end? They’d kill us.”

She shuddered as Bailey explained the fate they potentially faced if they decided to do the right thing. Apparently, there wasn’t any way to “right a wrong” when dealing with the mob.

“I could help you,” she offered, wondering how but willing to offer her assistance all the same.

“Honey, no,” Bailey said, sitting next to her. “There’s nothing you can do to help us here.”

“You need to make this right,” she insisted. “That way you can live your life without looking over your shoulder.”

“That’s not how the mob works. The sins of the father fall upon the children, and in the underworld, no sin goes unpunished. These guys don’t just wipe out their enemy, they take out entire families, ensure that no one is left behind to later retaliate.”

“And you know for a fact that they’re looking for you?”

Bailey rose. “Yes, honey. We’re certain. They’ll never stop their search.”

Ansley took a deep breath. So this would be her life. She was involved with the mob, at least on some level. As she laid there staring up at the ceiling, she wondered how she felt about that.

Bailey leaned over and kissed her forehead. “I’m in love with you, Ansley. I’ll do everything in my power to protect you. So will Tristan. I’m assuming the Killians feel the same way, too. Now, go to sleep. You can dream the morning away without worry. No one will harm you. I give you my word.”

And there it was—the four-letter word. Bailey skimmed across the sentiment as if he’d been telling her that he loved her for over a decade. He didn’t bat an eye. He didn’t pause. The word just slipped from his lips and he made a promise, too. He would keep her safe.

“You love me,” she whispered, processing.

“I do.”

“I—”

He shook his head and pressed his fingertips to her lips. “You don’t owe me anything in return. If it’s not in your heart to speak those words, don’t say them. You wait until you know, Ansley. Then, you tell me what’s on your heart.” Bailey’s sincerity overwhelmed her. She could clearly see he expected nothing in return, which made his declaration very special indeed.

“Let’s make a deal,” she said, deliberately changing the subject. “You keep me safe while I’m sleeping, and I’ll always do my best to watch over you, too.”

Bailey smiled, drew the comforter up to her neck, and stroked her hair. “It’s a man’s job to protect his woman. And as long as you’re with me, nothing will happen to you, Ansley.”

Regardless of the dangers looming, Ansley sure liked the sound of Bailey’s last promise.

* * * *

Jordie Anne spent most of the night pacing the floor. Someone next door must’ve been on their honeymoon. She’d listened to continual fucking from one in the morning until around three. She should’ve called the front desk to complain, but instead, she’d decided to pull out her vibrator and join in, which proved pointless.

After an unsuccessful effort, she realized why she couldn’t come. She hadn’t seen Mitch in a long time, and without his picture—an item she’d forgotten on her bedside table—to inspire her, she wasn’t motivated or aroused.

A few minutes after seven, her phone rang. She didn’t retrieve her cell from her purse. Only two people possessed her number. Since Mae was probably dead by now, that meant Mitch had something on his mind. He rarely called early unless it was important. Shivering against the angst rising from within, she wondered if anyone had discovered Mae’s body yet. If so, was Mitch notified?

She thinned her lips and stared at her handbag. There was only one way to find out.

She traipsed across the room, fumbled with the stubborn oblong purse latch, and retrieved the annoying device. “Yes, Mitch.”

“It’s Brock Sheldon.”

Brock? What the fuck!
She held the phone at arm’s length and stared at the number flashing back at her. She didn’t recognize the digits, but the familiar voice was verification enough. Glancing at the hotel phone on the nightstand, she nearly fell over when she discovered he was calling from the same 828 area code where the motel was located.

Brock was in Asheville? She gasped. That could only mean one thing! He was still involved with that bitch!

“Hello? Jordie Anne? Are you there?”

“Yes,” she replied, clearing her throat.

Silence filled the line. She’d forgotten that about Brock. He was a man of few words when he pumped a woman for information. He’d sit in complete silence and wait for a female companion to take the lead.

She couldn’t help but revisit a conversation she once overhead between Brock, Mitch, and Rory. Apparently, the three of them were trying to find out something about a new camp counselor. She couldn’t remember the details, or even why she’d been eavesdropping, but she recalled a statement Brock made at the time. “I’ll take care of the problem. Leave it to me. I’ll ask leading questions and then sit back and keep a stiff upper lip. She’ll tell me everything I need to know. Watch and learn, boys.”

Jordie Anne wasn’t any man’s puppet. She knew Brock Sheldon all too well. If he bothered calling her before noon, the man possessed motive.

Using a syrupy-sweet voice, she finally said, “Well, my goodness. This is certainly a surprise! Mitch must’ve given you my number. How in the world are you?”

“This isn’t a social call, Jordie Anne.”

His condescending tone left her taken aback. Even when Brock was an asshole, he possessed the ability to ooze with sugariness. She was certain this deceitful air was a new trait learned after he became involved with that damn woman!

“Then tell me, to what do I owe the pleasure, Brock?”

“We know you’re trying to kill Trixie.”

“Refresh my memory. Who is Trixie, exactly?”

“Knock off the act, Jordie. You’re in town. You want to hurt Trixie. What I want to know is why. Is this about Mitch? Do you want to hurt her because you’re jealous of her? Is it because Mitch fucked her?”

Rage spun through her veins. If Brock had been standing in front of her that very minute, she would’ve slapped the ever-loving shit out of him.

“Well, it sure is great to hear your voice. I must say, I’ve missed you. Why don’t we schedule a time to get together? You know, for old times’ sake.”

Silence filled the line.

Jordie Anne’s pulse increased. She wondered then. Was Brock willing to meet her? If so, then maybe he wanted to reconnect. Perhaps he was unable to forget the time they’d shared. He’d missed her! She closed her eyes as she took a seat on the edge of the bed.

“Where?” he asked.

“I could come to you,” she offered.

“Thought you were married now.”

“I am, but you know how Mitch feels about you. You’re like brothers, or did you forget that? I wonder, because when I ask Mitch about you or Rory, he never has a lot to say. Perhaps you weren’t as loyal to him as he was to you. We both know you and Rory had something to do with the death of that whore’s lover.”