WRECKER: A Bad Boy Cowboy Romance (A steamy billionaire romance story) (5 page)

C
anada comes over
, a little unsteadily in those high, high heels, ones that make her legs and ass look amazing. Part of me wants to grab her and bend her over the table and the other part wants to offer her my arm. I compromise by pushing the chair out for her, and she gratefully sits down.

“It feels so amazing to sit,” she says with a sigh.

“It feels pretty good to sit across from you as well,” I smile at her, drinking in her beautiful, kind, slightly flushed face, and I sneak a peek at her cleavage. There’s something about her body, even when it’s tarted up like this, that still seems so innocent and pure. But not so innocent and pure that I could exactly stand up right now. Hence, pushing her chair out with my foot.

Her friend comes over, and sets two tall glasses of beer in front of us.

“Did you come to congratulate Chastity on her first day?” she asks, smiling.

“It’s just a lucky break on my account. I was driving back from the country and suddenly got mighty thirsty,” I say. “Seeing Chastity here is a damn lucky coincidence. That she can sit with me is even luckier.”

She looks down, and then sneaks a look at me in this way that grabs my heartstrings. Damn this girl, she’s fine.

“Chastity, would you like something to eat?” Lacey asks.

“Just a salad,” she says. “Whatever you recommend.”

“You’re not going to have a burger with me?” I ask. “My treat, Canada.”

“If you insist,” she smiles.

“And I do. Your finest Angus beef burger,” I smile. “Sound good?”

“Yes thanks.” She smiles gratefully. “So what were you up to today?” asks Chastity when Lacey leaves.

I’m not sure I’m ready to tell her about the kids and the whole Center thing yet. It’s something I’ve kept to myself ever since I started. I don’t want to act like one of these assholes doing good deeds for publicity or to get themselves out of trouble. Little Native kids are not a photo op to me. Nor are they a way to impress girls.

“Oh you know, this and that,” I say vaguely. “I’m just happy it led me to you. How do you like working here so far?”

“It’s fine, the people are nice,” she says, but sort of evasively. That’s okay by me not to pry; it’s hard to concentrate on her words anyway when her body is calling me.
Kanen
, it’s saying.
Take me now, touch me with your callused hands, kiss me with your soft mouth, run your rough tongue along my every edge
. But I force myself and forge ahead. “I’m not sure if I’ll stick with it, though,” she’s saying. “I was just hoping for something to keep me busy.”

“Well that’s no reason to work at a tough job,” I say. “How are your feet doing in those shoes?” I can tell she’s just taken them off under the table and is sneakily rubbing her feet. “Those things are so sexy, I bet they can’t be one bit comfortable.”

“You’re right. They’re not doing so great!” Her face twists into a cute little grimace. I reach under the table to take one of her feet and put it in my lap, rubbing the delicate sole gently and firmly. The grimace turns into a sigh and soon she’s swooning.

“You don’t have to...” she says, before she moans. “I mean, I should be stopping y— oh God that feels good.”

“Enjoy it, Princess,” I say.

Her moan has made my cock harden even more. I think I’d explode out of these jeans if I could. And her toes are dangerously near me. They’re painted pink—kind of a soft pink. I bet the same color as the slick folds between her legs. I continue to rub her foot, my thumb going between her tiny toes, and kneading the muscles while she groans in pleasure.

The other waitresses are looking on in what I can only imagine is jealousy, seeing Canada with her head back and moaning and groaning uncontrollably in pleasure. They eye me, and as soon as I look their way, their faces change into smiles that have more than a hint of falseness. But I smile back, slowly, before turning back and giving my full attention to my dark-haired beauty here.

“I like making you moan,” I say with a smirk. “Let me have the other foot.”

She puts it forward with an apologetic smile on her face. “I want to say no, but how can I when it feels so good?” she says.

“I know exactly what you mean,” I say. Oh, the situations that I want to put her in and have her say that. Her lips are relaxed, a bit slack. Her dark eyes are closed and her eyebrows are gently knitting in the middle. “You just lie back and enjoy it.

Both our beers are going untouched as I softly rub her feet under the table, and if I were a betting man, I’d say we were both imagining more. It’s not until her friend plops down a couple of steaming plates of burgers and fries in front of us that we’re woken from our spell.

“Thanks so much,” says Canada. “That looks amazing.”

“Anything for you, girl,” I say.

I
t’s
hard while I’m overwhelmed by the... himness of Kanen, but once I begin to realize that I’m not a complete idiot and I have no need to be nervous, I’m able to calm down. It’s just lunch—I’m committing to nothing but a burger and fries. After I figure that out, amazingly, we end up having a good conversation. Or I would think that if I were able to pay any attention to what we’re saying.

Kanen’s body, his eyes, even just the way he looks at me, are all making me crazy. The way his lips move when he talks. He’s dangerous, hot, and utterly sexy. Kanen charms me, and when he touches me I can’t help but imagine him touching me in other places, everywhere. My guess is that he’s thinking of that too. His fingers are electric, mysterious, enchanting, and nearly powerless to resist. More than difficult—it’s impossible. I want to throw myself into his arms, and kiss his neck, feel every inch of his body against mine, inside and out. Instead, we eat fries and I smile goofily at him, helplessly.

I can sense that Lacey is watching us every chance she gets, wondering exactly how I’m doing with the Wrecker, but she has the good sense to keep her distance except for the discreet wait service she’s providing. She sneakily brought two more beers over when we were done with our first, proclaiming that they were “on the house,” and then she disappeared. But probably only behind the hostess station, so that she could keep watch on us.

When we’re finished and ready to pay the bill, Kanen pulls out an old leather wallet, gives Lacey his black card, and asks me what I’m up to after this. I put him off, for no reason other than that I’m filled with fear. And I’m not scared of him, exactly, dangerous as he may be, but of myself and my own feelings. If I were actually alone with him, I don’t think I’d be able to be responsible for my actions. I would find myself in his lap, in record time.

And it’s clearly better if we’re just friends.

Famous last words.

“Well, that’s all right, Chastity,” he drawls. “I understand if you have something on the go. You’re a busy girl. But if you’d be willing to give me your phone number I might like to give you a call sometime.”

Damn him. His honey-sweet voice is slipping past all the walls I’ve put up. Trembling, I take the cell phone that he holds out to me, and enter my name under “Canada.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I might change that to Chastity,” he grins. “It’s a beautiful name for an irresistible girl.”

He reaches out and touches my arm, and it’s like my whole body is flowing with tingling electricity, starting from the contact with his fingers.

Blushing, I don’t know what to say, but I’m sure my goofy grin says it all. I look away, part of me wishing I could hide, and the other part wanting to touch him too, to take him somewhere and get as close to him as I can.

“You take care, Chastity,” he says, and his fingers slide up to my shoulder as he leans in close and kisses me on the cheek, lingering an extra second that thrills me in a breathless moment.

“You too,” I say, but he’s already almost out the door. He turns slightly, tips his hat, and I watch him as he jumps easily into his old pickup truck, the picture of a Texas cowboy. I feel like I’m standing on a porch, watching my boyfriend leave for the day.

* * *

L
acey immediately runs
over to me. Her hair is bouncing, her kohl-rimmed eyes excited.

“Tell me everything!” she says. “Absolutely every single little thing!”

“Oh come on, weren’t you watching and listening every chance you got?” I chide her. Might as well torture her a little; I don’t want her to be the one playing me all the time.

“Don’t tease!” Her bubble-gum pink lower lip sticks out. “Did he like your outfit, at least?” she asks after a moment.

I don’t answer right away, because I don’t know where to start, but I know I want to let my mind savor him like a hard candy, turning the time with him over and over in my mind.

“Never mind that. I’m still on shift, and I don’t have time for the full story.
Yet
. Let’s get down to brass tacks,” she says. “Did he ask you out?”

“Well, he wanted to go out after this, but I said no,” I explain. She looks confused. “He got my number, though!” I say quickly. “So I think he’s going to call me.”

“Look honey, I’m glad you’re not falling all over him. But why did you say no?” she asks. “Don’t be dumb. Do you think a man like that comes along every day? He’s gorgeous, successful, sexy, and tons of women are after him. And for some reason he seems to like you a lot.” Her warm smile at the end of that statement lets me know she’s just teasing.

“Every day? God no.” Why I didn’t go is a good question, but not one that I’m entirely willing to look directly at right now. At least not publicly. But I can’t shield myself from the memory forever.

It’s the letter I found in Jeffrey’s nightstand, a few days after he passed away. A memory I’ve forced down since the moment it happened and now it’s back, because of Kanen. I was cleaning out Jeffrey’s things, a little at a time, and with each thing I held and touched it was like saying goodbye to him over and over again. But I just wasn’t prepared for the letter I found—a small, worn envelope that contained the words that will probably always be etched on the backs of my eyelids.

“Dear Chastity, You know I loved you.” I could hear his voice in my mind as I read, and I think that made it all the worse. Why “loved?” Why not “love?” “But I’m not really as ready for all this as I thought I’d be. As I’d expected to be. I didn’t mean to feel this way, but I don’t think I can be a father just yet. Not the one I want to be, anyway. I hope you’ll understand one day. It’s better for everyone this way. Yours, Jeffrey.”

That one letter, even though he never gave it to me, and maybe never meant to, still galls me. That he would lead me down this path and then want to leave. That the plans he sold to me, that everyone sold me on so strongly, weren’t what he really wanted.

Ultimately, that one betrayal is something I’ve squashed down inside my soul, and tried not to face or feel. It just seemed easier to go on and pretend it never happened. That’s what I did at the funeral, anyway, knowing I was mourning not only Jeffrey but the relationship I
thought
we had together.

And the baby that would never know the dignity of a funeral. A baby that would be just discarded at the hospital, after a strange parody of a birth. A baby whose father didn’t even want him, it turns out. And as I stood at the graveside, seeing the faces of the other mourners staring at me, all thinking we had the perfect marriage, because that’s the impression that Jeffrey gave—not only to me, but to everyone—it just feels like I’m not only dealing with the pain of losing him but the pain of being completely alone in my grief.

Knowing that in the end it was all a lie separated me from the other mourners and their attempts to comfort me. They looked at me with pity and concern, but that was mostly because they thought what I lost was actually of value. And I can’t tell them, because it would ruin what they thought of him too. What made it worse was that everyone was telling me how much he “loved me,” but I knew the truth. He didn’t “love me” when he passed away. The letter that turned his love into past tense was the core of the betrayal I found in the nightstand, and I could never come back from that.

So I stood, masking my pain with more than the little black veil that covered my eyes, as everyone else cried for the loss of Jeffrey, while I cried for a different reason: the loss of everything I held true.

I know that’s why I said no to Kanen. Because even if it’s real, that’s where love leads, to that kind of pain. One person decides that they’re not in love anymore, and that’s it, they’re gone.

And after he never told me anything about how he felt, never warned me that maybe he didn’t want to be with me anymore, he was gone. Just got me pregnant, on some kind of whim, and instead of creating a family with me, he up and died, just like that, and I only found out after it was all over that he didn’t love me. I wonder if he ever did.

And if he hadn’t passed, he would have found another way to escape.

For many days afterward I felt like I was the one who should have died in that accident—that that would have made things right. The baby and I could go to heaven together and I could stay with him forever, and Jeffrey would be free to pursue whatever life he had always wanted and dreamed about, the life that didn’t have me in it. And I wouldn’t have to go on knowing that my marriage was a sham.

“Earth to Chastity,” says Lacey in a sing-song tone. “Where did you go, girl? You okay? Do you want another beer while we chat?”

“Aw, you know, Lace,” I say. “It is so sweet of you to ask, but I don’t think I’m really up for chatting right now. Turns out that I’m really tired after my shift, but if you want we can get together later.”

I don’t really want to hang out, but it’s the only way I can see to put her off for the time being. All I want to do is to buy some ice cream or something and make some cocktails and stream movies all day. Escape with my head under a blanket.

“Being coy, eh,” she says, but I can tell she senses something is really wrong. She’s just being polite. “Okay, girl, you’re off the hook. I’ll bring your tips over after my shift is done. Sound good?” She rubs my arm.

“Thanks. I can’t wait to put my normal shoes back on.” At least that part is true. These high heels are the worst!

“I hear that,” she says, with a smirk. “Occupational hazard! Okay, you go on, girl, and I’ll catch you on the flip side.”

I force myself to smile back at her, trying to hide the tears that always spring to my eyes when I think of that letter. I lock myself in the bathroom and change out of this ridiculous outfit, all the while wiping away the furious tears that somehow are still falling down my cheeks despite my best efforts to ignore them. I hang up the blouse and skirt and put my tee back on, and my long pants, and comfy shoes. Ugh, I’m not sure what the best thing to do is at this point, but part of it is to stay the hell away from Kanen the Wrecker.

I’ve been wrecked enough.