The Wicked Horse Boxed Set (The Wicked Horse Series) Read online

  Logging onto my laptop, I check my emails. I respond to a few before logging back off. Standing up, I tell Bridger, “I’m going to go grab a late breakfast. Want to come?”

  “Nah, man,” he says without looking up from the computer. “I’m going over last month’s reconciliations the CPA sent me.”

  “Alright. I’m out.”

  Just as I reach the door, Bridger stops me. “Hey… we’re going to be christening Bacchanalia tomorrow night. I think you should be there as a show of support to the patron members.”

  Normally, the thought of breaking in a new cabin would excite me, especially one built for group sex and swinging. It’s probably the thing that excites me the most… fucking amidst the masses who are fucking. Skin slapping, the air filled with moans and musky scents. Wet dream come true.

  But for some reason, immediate refusal to participate comes to mind, and I think to myself, What the fuck?

  “Maybe,” I hedge as I pull the door open. “We’ll see.”

  Bridger laughs hard behind my back and when I turn to look at him over my shoulder, he’s smirking at me.

  “Dude… you need to go for it with Callie.”

  “What in the fuck does one thing have to do with the other?” I ask him, irritated beyond belief. And there is no doubt in my mind he’s taking my reticence to participate tomorrow night as being directly related to Callie’s return.

  “I’m just saying… you might be passing up something amazing, and since when do you ever back down from a challenge?”

  “She’s not some stupid challenge, man. You, out of everyone, should know that,” I growl at him and then I stomp out of the office, slamming the door shut behind me so I can drown out his taunting laugh.

  She’s not a fucking challenge, I repeat over and over again in my mind as I get in my truck and turn it toward Jackson.

  Callie is many things, but she is not a challenge.

  Callie is warm and sweet. Innocent. Endearing. She’s kind and beautiful and sheltered. She is every fucking reason in the book why someone like me could never be good enough for someone like her.

  I know that.

  Hell, even she knows that.

  I told her as much almost eleven years ago when I came just a hair’s breadth away from taking her virginity. I had been drinking and mourning the loss of Callie’s brother, Richard. We had lowered him into the ground the day before, and the day after I found myself at a party where I ran into Callie.

  Drunk. Bitter. Angry at the world. It was not a good recipe in normal circumstances, but it was a complete disaster when I found myself alone with Callie. She had just turned eighteen two weeks before. She was only a few months into her freshman year at Duke University when we came together again at Richard’s funeral. I hadn’t seen her in almost a year… the prior Christmas, in fact.

  And there she was the next night at a party, tipsy from a few beers with big, glistening tears in her eyes. I hugged her and she hugged me back, and I remembered feeling shame that I would think she felt so good in my arms just a day after her brother was buried. Not comforting good, but sensually good. She was willowy angles and soft curves, innocent freckled face seeking solace in my arms.

  I wanted to fuck her.

  Bad.

  It wasn’t the first time I’d thought that about my friend’s little sister. It was only about the hundredth time. I started noticing her when she was about fifteen. I mean, Callie was always around while we were growing up, but soon she stopped being the pesky little sister of Richard and started filling out in all the right places.

  And say all you want about her beauty and budding breasts, what started me thinking about fucking her was the way in which she would look at me sometimes. Even at the age of fifteen, she knew she was a woman with desirous feelings. She aimed them at me sometimes with quick peeks from under veiled eyes that would get my dick hard.

  God, Richard would have killed me in the most vicious of ways if he knew the way I looked at Callie sometimes. Even in college, as I was fucking my way through the years, immersing myself in kink and debauchery, I often though of Callie. Sometimes… even while fucking a woman, I’d picture Callie as I came.

  It was obsessive behavior for sure, but I couldn’t help myself. And the irony isn’t lost on me that I’m a man who likes my sex down and dirty, rough and kinky, and yet I obsess about a woman who is built for soft touches and gentle words.

  Everything changed that night when I thought just to hug her, and she looked up at me with tears slipping out of her eyes and asked me to kiss her. I was drunk, I was horny for the woman in my arms, and yet… I still knew better.

  I told her “no.”

  She pressed in tight to me and said, “Please.”

  She begged me to kiss her.

  And so I did. I went ahead, gave in to my fantasy, and I let myself get swallowed up by Callie Hayes. I kissed her like I had never kissed another woman before. I kissed her with something that bordered on almost holy reverence for that woman and when she pushed her pelvis against me, my cock responded mightily. It took over… held my brain and common sense hostage, and demanded I do whatever it took to let it get inside of her sweet heat.

  I grabbed Callie’s hand, and we made our way upstairs. We were at a mutual friend’s house… and, of course, in our circles, most of our friends lived in thousands of square feet. Just like the Wyoming range, our class of people didn’t like to be cooped up. I fortuitously found an empty bedroom on the first try.

  In seconds, I had her on the bed where I was kissing her again. And Christ… the way she moaned and writhed as my tongue worked against hers. On one of the darkest days of my life, Callie tasted like sunshine and rainbows and sweet cream. I could have almost been satisfied with just kissing her, except she made the mistake of taking my hand and pushing it between her legs. She was wearing jeans that seemed to be painted onto her body, but my fingers tingle right at this very minute as I remember the heat that seemed to radiate from her.

  Making a command decision, I moved efficiently. I didn’t pause to think. The alcohol made sure I wasn’t going to second-guess my actions. My hands were down the front of her pants and my fingers were on her clit, and when I first felt the bite of her fingernails into my shoulders, I knew I had to make her come hard.

  And so I did.

  I got her off with fast and practiced fingers while I kissed her deeply to swallow her cries. I was going to fuck her too, but as I pulled my hands out of her underwear so I could grab a condom, I asked her, “You’ve done this before, right Callie?”

  She gave me a shy, hesitant look and shook her head.

  And just like that, my cock went on hiatus. My blood turned cold. A pain shot through the center of my chest as I came to the realization that what I just did with Callie… that was all it would ever be. Getting her off and watching her come was one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen, but that was the only taste I would ever have of her.

  I was not about to take her virginity. She deserved way better than me for that.

  I don’t know if it shames Callie to remember that night, but it actually shames me. I feel slicing guilt when I remember the way she actually begged me to “make love” to her and I told her simply, “I just can’t.”

  I don’t know that I’ll ever forget the pain in her eyes that came from my rejection.

  I try to shake loose the memories of Callie Hayes and all the things she’s meant to me and how she plays at the top of my fantasy list. Sadly, I call it “The Fantasy That Could Never Be”. The minute I pull onto the town square, I see that Zed’s is jam-packed and I have to park a few blocks over. It’s one of the more popular restaurants in Jackson. They have the best buckwheat pancakes, which are what I’m craving right now.

  If I’m lucky, she’ll find a nice vanilla man to make her happy, and I can get back to the way my life is supposed to be.

  Chapter 4

  Callie

  “Your order should be up in just a minute,
Callie.” I glance up at Carmen as she tops off my coffee. She’s been serving at Zed’s for as long as I can remember, and yet, she still looks the same. Even when I was a little girl, she had that dark hair liberally streaked with strands of gray, laugh lines around her kind, brown eyes and in the corners of her mouth that bespoke of a woman who enjoyed good humor.

  “Thanks, Carmen.” I smile at her, reaching for the creamer and sugar. As I doctor up my coffee, I turn on my phone to check my messages.

  Immediately, my screen is filled with incoming texts from Will. Except I changed his name in contacts from Will Tynnick to “Judge’s Bitch”. Petty, I know, but it does sting slightly the lengths he had to go to have some “excitement” in his sex life. It’s just one more reminder to me how pathetically dull I must have been.

  More stinging is the fact that we clearly didn’t have the type of relationship where he could have asked me for something spicier if that’s what he wanted. Why he considered me a doormat, I have no clue.

  Well, wait… yes I do.

  Because I acted like a fucking doormat.

  I grimace over that sad realization as I flip through the texts.

  I’m going out of my mind with worry. Will you please call me and let me know you’re safe?

  I’m so sorry, honey. Please, please talk to me so I can explain.

  Callie… I love you. I’m going insane here. Call me.

  Nothing all too different than what he’s been sending me for the past three days. I wondered if he was going to call my parents at some point and tell them what happened. Any sane person at this point would do that if someone had been missing going on four days now, but I don’t think he’s prepared to let my mom and dad know exactly what happened. Hell, I’m not prepared for that either. I just told them when I showed up on the doorstep at the Governor’s Mansion in Cheyenne that we had broken off the engagement and I didn’t want to talk about it. They abided by my wishes but then ushered me home to Jackson where my dad’s been working from so he can keep an eye on me. I know he’s worried but I’ve assured him I’m okay, and I expect he’ll head back to Cheyenne soon.

  I read the last text. If you don’t respond to me before the end of the day, I’m going to the police. I have no clue if you’re dead in a ditch somewhere. I get you’re mad, but now you’re just being selfish by not at least responding so I know you’re okay.

  A small tremor of guilt rumbles through me. I know Will is worried. I totally get that from his texts, and I can’t have him calling the police and filing a false report, because I am very much okay. I think for a moment and choose my words carefully.

  I’m home in Jackson and I’m fine. I’m not ready to talk but hopefully one day. Don’t bother texting or calling me. I’ll call when I’m ready.

  I read over it twice and satisfied, I hit send.

  His response is instantaneous. Please, please just call me right now. I need to talk to you.

  I set my phone down and ignore it.

  “Here you go,” I hear, and a plate with eggs, bacon, and home fries clatters in front of me. I look up and see Kelley Jacobs looking down her nose at me, which is nothing new. Kelley is one of those locals who just can’t seem to get her shit together and thinks all of her woes are to blame on others. She seems to think that I, as the governor’s daughter, have something to do with the fact that she dropped out of college five years ago and now works as a waitress.

  The bell over the front door to the restaurant jingles, and my eyes flick up at the sound. Kelley’s head turns too, and she even hums approval to herself under her breath. “Mmmmmm. Mmmmm.”

  Yeah… that would describe the man walking in the door.

  Woolf steps inside, takes his hat off, and looks around the crowded restaurant. His eyes stop on me, and I give him a cautious wave. I’m feeling a little awkward after last night. He gives me a tight smile and continues to look around for an empty table. His eyes come back to mine, and I make a motion toward the empty chair opposite of me.

  I don’t miss the subtle grimace and for a moment, I think he may just walk back out the door, but then he looks resigned to sit with me and heads my way.

  Woolf pulls out the chair, throws his hat on the chair next to it, and gives a beautiful smile to Kelley. “Hey, sugar. Can I have some coffee and a buckwheat stack?”

  Ugh. He called her sugar… and it sounded all sexy too.

  Kelley beams at him and gives him a flirty wink. “Anything for you, darlin’.”

  I clear my throat. “Can I get some hot sauce?” But she’s already spinning away from me. I watch her retreating back for a moment, and then sigh as I turn to face Woolf.

  “Sugar?” I ask him blandly. “Isn’t she a little young for you?”

  Woolf throws his head back and laughs, and seriously… were his teeth always that white and straight? I know his lips were always that full, and that must be why I never noticed his teeth.

  Shaking my head, I pick up my fork and scoop up a tiny piece of scrambled egg. I shouldn’t have indulged in that last whiskey with Woolf last night, which tipped me over the edge from buzzed to drunk. My stomach’s been swimming a bit this morning.

  As I put the food tentatively in my mouth, he says, “Gotta hangover?”

  I don’t fail to notice he didn’t address my last question, but seriously… not any of my business. Nope. Doesn’t bother me at all who Woolf is interested in. I learned my lesson a long time ago. It’s never going to be me, so why wish for it?

  “I’m feeling a little poorly,” I admit with a smile and then try a bite of bacon.

  Woolf seems to think that’s good enough opportunity for him to get all brotherly on me. He leans in and murmurs softly but with chastisement. “Seriously, Callie… what were you thinking last night? Getting up on that bar… flashing your shit for everyone to see?”

  My cheeks start to burn not only from embarrassment, but also from anger. “Who are you to judge me?” I grit out.

  Woolf pushes back and shoots me a surprised look. “Hey… I’m not judging. It’s just… that’s not you. It’s not the girl I know.”

  “I’m a woman,” I point out as I turn my attention back to my food.

  “That you are,” he mutters, but I don’t look back at him, keeping my gaze on my plate. I eat in silence and don’t even bother to look up when Kelley brings Woolf his coffee. They chat for a bit. He asks her if she’ll be coming by The Wicked Horse anytime soon, and she giggles and simpers for a bit, assuring him she’ll be by. Woolf turns on the charm and flirts right back with her, and she giggles some more.

  Makes me even more nauseous.

  After Kelley totters off, I just can’t seem to help myself. “So… you and Kelley, huh?”

  Woolf gives me a knowing grin. The type that knows I might be a little jealous and he finds it amusing. He places his forearms on the table and kicks his legs out, brushing them against mine under the table. “Come on, Callie… that was just a little bit of harmless flirting.”

  Hmmmm. That sounds sincere and my shoulders sag a bit, telling myself with brutal honesty that I had been a little on edge over the thought of Woolf with another woman. Which was just utter ridiculousness. He doesn’t think of me like that. He was painfully clear about that after Richard died.

  And then he knocks away any remaining doubt about that issue. “Besides,” he says as an afterthought as he picks up his coffee cup and looks me square in the eye. “I don’t go out with brunettes.”

  Kelley is a brunette.

  But then, so am I.

  My mouth drops open slightly at the blatant and backhanded slap at me. I mean… I don’t know if that was directed at me intentionally, but it hit me squarely. And my shoulders sag just a bit more as I realize that maybe I am still harboring some feelings for Woolf.

  Oh, who the fuck am I kidding?

  I’ve been carrying a torch for this man for as long as I can remember. I think even when he put frogs in my bed at age nine that I loved him then. I know for
sure that when he kissed me the night after Richard’s funeral, and then gave me my very first orgasm, I loved him. Yes, it was definitely love, or otherwise, why would I have been so shattered when he wouldn’t have sex with me? I can remember that night with painful and vivid detail. I’ll never forget what I believe was actual disgust on his face when I told him I was a virgin.

  That night, he not only gave me my first orgasm, he gave me my first broken heart.

  In fact, it’s been my only broken heart.

  I nursed it for two years and finally started to let some of it go when I met Will in college at Duke. I gave my virginity to Will instead. I also gave him my love and promised to marry him. I tried to push Woolf Jennings to the back of my dark closet and leave him in there.

  I not only tried, but I succeeded, because he rarely crossed my mind as I lived out my days as the model bride-to-be beside William F. Tynnick, Esquire. He stayed buried away, popping out on occasion if we ran into each other during holidays, but for the most part… Woolf was nothing more than a family friend.

  Something he’s just made abundantly clear again.

  A change in subject is in order.

  “So what’s the real story about The Wicked Horse?” I ask genially before attacking my home fries. The grease actually seems to be settling my stomach.

  A brief flicker of anxiety passes over Woolf’s face, and he asks cautiously, “What do you mean, the real story?”

  “I mean,” I say dryly as I wave my fork at him. “Why is Woolf Jennings, CEO of JennCo, spending his time running a bar? Or for that matter, how in the hell do you have time to even do that?”