Clay: Armed and Dangerous (21 page)

Parker let out a howl like a coyote with its leg snapped in a bear trap. He threw
himself backward and fell beside her, then rolled back and forth kicking his legs.
Blood didn’t just trickle, it poured out of Parker’s groin, spurting between his fingers
as he held himself like he was trying to make sure none of his pieces fell off.

“Good luck with that,” Rylie muttered, feeling a flicker of something like total,
jabbering insanity.

Quinn started yelling. Rylie still had hold of the knife, but as she staggered to
her feet and turned toward Quinn, she saw his gun, drawn and aimed right at her face.

Okay. Here’s the fear.

Icy terror flooded her in one huge, crippling rush. She shook all over, staring at
that muzzle of his service pistol. She dropped the bloody knife and put both hands
up like the bastard would really care that she was surrendering.

This is it. This is where I die. And I didn’t even get to tell Clay I get it—and that
I’m sorry.

“Bitch!” Reggie screamed, whipping back and forth on the ground and bleeding like
crazy. “The bitch stabbed me! I’m cut. I’m dying!”

Quinn’s hand shook. He stared at Rylie. “Didn’t want to have to do this, but—”

The shot blasted through Rylie’s senses, and every muscle in her body failed. She
hit her knees, eyes closed, breath hitching, waiting for the agony of her face shattering
into a dozen pieces.

Nothing happened except two more shots, a lot more hollering from Reggie, and Deputy
Quinn falling backward, big bloody patches blooming across his T-shirt.

The night seemed to explode all around her then, with headlights and searchlights
slicing in from every direction.

“Get down, Rylie,” somebody bellowed. “Get down now!”

She knew that voice.

Clay.

Rylie went face-first on the ground, her arms covering her head. Shouts erupted like
fireworks, four voices. No wait, five or six. Maybe even seven.

“Secure the perimeter!”

“Thermal scanner says it’s just these three and the shooter by the big rocks.”

“DEA. Nobody move!”

And then some guy, sounding a little queasy, rasped, “Jesus. Man down. Call an ambulance.
I think somebody cut this dude’s dick off—right through his jeans.”

A more familiar voice called, “Wayland, is that you behind the boulders?”

“Hunter,” Clay answered. “About damned time you showed up.” “Good shooting,” Zack
Hunter called back. Then to his men, “He’s clear. Let him through.”

Rylie lifted her head out of the dirt and saw Clay coming. Her chest squeezed, and
she thought her heart might actually dissolve. She got to her feet before he reached
her, swayed, then felt his arms around her, felt the hard muscle of his chest against
her face.

“You crazy little shit,” came his low, warm rumble in her ear. “Don’t you ever do
anything this insane again, you hear me?”

But he never gave her a chance to respond. He kissed her face, her hair, her nose,
and then her mouth. A hard, passionate, feral kiss that seared through Rylie like
wildfire. She felt marked and possessed, and for once in her life, she reveled in
it.

When he finally raised his head, he looked down at her with so much caring and love
she couldn’t think straight.

“I don’t care about your issues and all that no-commitment crap. You and I are getting
married. And the sooner the better, ’cause I sure need to keep a closer eye on you.”

Rylie blinked as what he’d said sank in. A warm feeling spread through her, a feeling
like nothing she’d ever known before. She licked her lips, and then smiled. “All right.”
Her voice sounded shaky, but she kept going. “But only so I can keep an eye on you,
too, Sheriff.”

“Damn, Rylie.” Zack Hunter loomed beside them then, catching her attention. His dark
hair seemed to glimmer in the moonlight, and searchlights glared against the scar
than ran down one side of his face. “Did you take a sword to this guy? He might bleed
to death before we can—you know—get it all sewed back together.”

Rylie shrugged, still feeling hazy and now giddy on top of that. “What can I say?
He pissed me off.”

“Do the world a favor,” Clay said through clenched teeth. “Don’t get in any hurry
to put Humpty Dumpty together again. He tried to rape Rylie in high school, and he
would have gone after her again tonight if she hadn’t defended herself.”

Zack looked from Rylie to Clay, then back to Rylie. “Reggie Parker. I remember that
bastard now. Sky’ll be impressed, after she gets through being nine kinds of mad that
you took such a huge chance with your life.” He paused, then shot Clay a grin. “Friendly
word of advice, Sheriff. Don’t piss her off.”

Clay gave the man a solemn nod.

As Zack walked away, Rylie yelled, “I want my knife back as soon as it’s processed.
It’s special, okay?”

Zack waved a hand to let her know he’d heard her. Then more ICE agents came swooping
in, and Clay was kissing her again, and Rylie didn’t want to worry about anything
else, ever again.

I must be out of my mind,
Rylie thought as Clay led her from his vehicle.

She was blindfolded, her hands tied securely behind her back with a silk scarf. He
held her close, his arm draped around her shoulders as he guided her forward.
Yeah. Out of my mind in love.

She could hardly believe that she was now Rylie Wayland. She’d thought about keeping
her maiden name, like Skylar had done, but Rylie Thorn-Wayland sounded like the name
of a corporate lawyer, or maybe a bad British porn star. It had been a week since
they’d taken down Quinn and Parker, and Clay insisted he couldn’t wait any longer.
Clay had been cleared on the righteous shooting, and Parker was still in ICU—though
the docs quietly assured Clay that his raping days were over for good. If he ever
got out of prison, he wouldn’t have the equipment to pose that kind of threat to a
woman. They still hadn’t found any connections to a larger criminal operation—seemed
like the two idiots were in it alone, just for the money.

At the moment, Rylie couldn’t care less about Reggie, or the thefts, or anything to
do with Cochise County’s criminal world—though she was glad her trucks had been recovered,
along with most of the others that hadn’t already been hauled across the border. She
didn’t want to think about anything but Clay.

Truth be told, commitment phobia aside, she hadn’t wanted to wait any longer, either.

Clay and Rylie had been married just an hour ago at the Bisbee City Hall by the Justice
of the Peace. Skylar and Zack had been in attendance, along with Levi, Chloe, and
her son David. Rylie had an idea that Levi might be heading down the aisle real soon
himself.

Being blindfolded heightened every one of her senses. A car passed in the distance
and a small dog yapped somewhere nearby. Beneath her heels she felt asphalt then sidewalk
as Clay helped her along. A gentle wind stirred her short hair against her neck, the
warm air carrying the fragrance of spring with the tiniest hint of summer just around
the corner.

Rylie’s skin tingled with absolute awareness of the man with her, his muscled arm
holding her secure. The light scent of his aftershave enveloped her, along with his
own unique masculine smell. Even if she were blindfolded in a roomful of men, she’d
know his elemental scent, the taste of his skin, the feel of his hard body against
hers.

“I can’t believe I let you do this to me.” Rylie lifted her head and tried to peek
beneath the blindfold, but the black scarf was too well wrapped around her eyes. “Now
that we’re here, why don’t you tell me where we are and what we’re doing?”

Clay laughed, his husky chuckle shooting a fireball straight through her belly. “Be
careful. In about two more steps we’re gonna head up a set of stairs.”

Her feet faltered and Clay murmured, “What the hell,” and then the next thing she
knew his arms were around her waist and he was raising her up and throwing her over
his shoulder.

“Clay!” She cried out and laughed all at once as blood rushed to her head and she
felt his body move beneath her as he climbed the stairs. The necklace of linked gold
hearts and diamonds slid up over her chin, probably making her look even more ridiculous.
She wished her hands weren’t bound so that she could pound on him or something.

Her wedding dress was an ocean-blue silky affair that only reached the top of her
thighs. She’d loved how it looked on her, and by the way Clay had eyed her all morning,
she knew he liked it, too.

“Let me down. Someone’s gonna see up my dress.” And they’d get one hell of a view,
since as usual she wasn’t wearing any underwear.

His boots clomped up the wooden steps as he smoothed down her silky skirt, holding
his arm tight under her ass. “Quiet down, woman.”

“You know you’re going to pay for this, don’t you?” She sank her teeth into his western
dress shirt and the firm skin beneath it, giving him a playful bite.

“Hey.” Clay shrugged beneath her mouth and swatted her ass. “Watch it, wildcat.” He
reached a landing, the hollow sound of wood beneath his boots as he started across
it. “Or I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson.”

“Ha.” The squeak of a screen door met her ears, and a rush of warm air washed over
her as he stepped onto a throw rug or flooring that must have been carpeted since
his boot steps were now muffled. She caught a potpourri of smells: warm bread, cinnamon,
and spices. “You can let me go now.”

He shifted her in his arms, his grip tighter than ever. “Pipe down.”

Before she had a chance to tell him off, a woman laughed and said, “Welcome to Navaeh’s
Bed-and-Breakfast, Sheriff Wayland. And that must be your bride?”

“Good to see you again.” Clay swatted Rylie’s butt a second time, and she gasped from
the contact. “Rylie, I think you know Navaeh from the ranchers’ charity bash each
Christmas.”

Heat rushed through Rylie from the tips of her toes to the ends of the hair that was
hanging in her face. How embarrassing. Navaeh could see her butt sticking up in the
air, and she was blindfolded and trussed up like a roped calf at a rodeo.

“Hi, Navaeh,” Rylie muttered. “Can you knock this guy over the head with a shovel
or something? I’d appreciate it.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Humor infused Navaeh’s pleasant voice. “Here’s your key,
Sheriff. I reserved the best room we have to offer. Just head up those stairs, then
down the hall, and it’s the last door on the left.”

“Thank you kindly,” the big oaf replied and Rylie’s head spun as he turned. His boots
thumped against wood flooring again.

“You are so dead, Clay Wayland,” Rylie muttered as he climbed another set of stairs
and she bounced against his back. “Right after I ride you like a wild bronco, I’m
gonna kill you.”

He chuckled, the deep sound reverberating from his body and straight through her.
“You’ll be too worn out once I get through with you, honey.”

Clay’s entire body throbbed as he slid the key into the lock and opened the door to
the room. The woman over his shoulder was going to get the biggest ride of her life,
just like she wanted. After he shut and locked the door behind him, he strode across
the hardwood floor to the curtained four-poster bed, and sat down on the mattress.

He carefully swung Rylie from his shoulder and laid her face down across his lap,
her belly across his thighs, her wrists still tied securely behind her back.

His wife.
Rylie was now his wife, and he couldn’t be a prouder man.

“Untie me and take off this blindfold.” Her voice was muffled. “I can’t wait to get
my hands on you.”

“You’ll just have to wait a little longer, honey.” He adjusted her across his lap
so that her ass was sticking practically straight up. “If you don’t behave, I’ll have
to gag you, too.”

“Clay—” she started, but when he pushed her skirt up over her bare butt, the threat
in her voice turned into a moan.

“Damn, you have a beautiful ass.” He placed his palms on the smooth cheeks and squeezed.
“After that stunt you pulled last week and almost getting yourself killed, I think
you need to be punished real good.”

“You’re not going to spank me, are you?” Rylie sounded both worried and aroused. Definitely
aroused.

“I kept warning you that I’d have to if you didn’t behave.” Clay swatted her ass and
Rylie gasped. “And you were a bad girl, honey.”

“Clay.” Her voice was hoarse as she wiggled her butt and squirmed on his lap, her
belly rubbing against him. “How bad was I?”

“Real bad.” Clay grinned, rubbing his calloused fingers over the slightly reddened
flesh. He swatted her again and her moan made him ache to take her now. Hard and fast.

Instead, he slid his fingers down her crack and between her thighs to the shaved skin
he so loved to touch, and she spread her legs a little, giving him better access.
The scent of Rylie’s juices mingled with her vanilla musk scent, and he had to taste
her.

“Please...” she groaned as he dipped his fingers into her creamy heat.

“Damn, but you’re wet.” Clay moved his fingers within her folds, then thrust them
into her core. “But you still need to be punished before we can get any relief.”

“Clay.”
She gasped and pushed her hips against his hand.

He drew his fingers out of her and brought them to his mouth, tasting her juices before
delving back into her wetness. When his fingers were slick again, he trailed them
over her crack to her cheeks, smoothing her fluids over her. And then swatted the
flat of his hand against her ass again.

Rylie cried out, damn near climaxing when he spanked her. Her ass tingled, thighs
trembled, and abs tightened, her body so stimulated that one touch would send her
over.

The man was about to drive her out of her mind. She never realized how much of a turn-on
being tied up, blindfolded, and spanked would be. It felt unbelievably erotic lying
across Clay’s lap, her skirt up to her hips and her ass bared to him.