Hard Ride (4 page)

Chapter Ten

Houston was going to kill the bastard. Rip his head off and shit down his neck. Put the fat fucker on an open spit. Then piss on
the asshole as a marinade.

He drove Katie to his little condo, hearing all of her injuries first hand tamped the lust, and put all of his instincts into protecting her. Not that she couldn’t do it herself. It was on the news, an accident outside of Conway
involving two parties, one in intensive care.

Glancing at her, half asleep in the passenger seat, the thought of why he needed to protect her slipping through his mind. He’d had a crush on the spitfire from the first interview. She’d laid out a carburetor, took out a stopwatch, and told him to reassemble it. That was two years ago, and since then he’d seen signs she was interested in something physical, but
nothing more. He’d not been totally surprised at the instant Body Guard Mode.

“Why are you taking me back to your place? I want to go home,” she mumbled.

“I know, but you need care, especially with the drugs.”

She mumbled something else, before her body sank into the seat and her
head lolled to the side. She was out.

Driving the last few miles, the outline of downtown Little Rock in the setting sun a relief. Parking in the underground garage, he gently unbuckled her,
taking her limp body and pulling it tight to his chest. The sensation making his heart swell just a little.

He had no right to expect more than maybe a few fucks at best. He wanted more, and that was the crux of the problem.

Having settled her into bed, he sat in front of the TV, staring at the screen. A baseball game was on, and normally he’d drink a beer content to be the armchair pitcher. Instead, he sipped two fingers of Jack on the rocks, scheming.

Grabbing his laptop, he pulled up the spreadsheet showing all the people
with access to her accounts. He’d done a little digging of his own, using all the skills taught in college and part of his time in the Navy as an intelligence officer. Instinct said her assault and the embezzling were linked.

He’d narrowed the names to four. Michael
Collins, Bethany Harrows, Clint Brown, and the one he suspected, Carter Jones. Each had unlimited access to all accounts, ordering, and the books. Carter, however, had a past under lock and key. Unless you had the key. Houston’s contacts had the entire keying.

Sending out a few emails on his encrypted program, he looked at the name of the man currently residing in Intensive Care. James Robert Parker, known to family and friends as Jimbo, age thirty six, divorced, not paying child support, and owner of a rival repair shop. He’d been a boil
on the butt of Hard Ride
since Katie took away a premium account worth one hundred grand in profits annually. How Katie hadn’t recognized the jerk, even in the dark, was beyond him.

Four hours later, he looked at the clock, a little surprised it was past five. He put the laptop and his research aside, and checked on Katie. She was trying to sit up, and he rushed the bedside.

“You know, I can take care of myself,” she grumped.

He smiled, “Yep, and now you’re going to let me have my way.”

Her needs taken care of, he cooked dinner and carried a tray into the bedroom, setting it on the dresser when he saw she was almost finished dressing. “Why are you getting dressed?”

“It’s getting creepy, trying to make me stay here.” She gave him a narrow eyed glare. “I want to go home.”

The comment hit Houston between the eyes like a sledgehammer. “If that’s what you want.” He took the tray to the kitchen, tossing it on the counter. Is that what he was doing? Forcing her to stay because he was content to have her close and needing him? Or was it because he didn’t like how she’d brushed him off and he wanted to prove something? The last question hit too close to home.

He grabbed his wallet and keys, tucking them into pockets, and walked into the bedroom. He calmly gathered her things, packing
a small duffel bag. Escorting her to the car, he let the silence hang in the air. Her body was tense, and he had the impression it wasn’t because of his hovering. Something else bothered her.

In the car, he turned, “Where do you live?”

“Off Cantrell,” she stared out the window, giving the rest of the address.

He nodded and left the parking garage, having a good idea of where to go. Maneuvering through Saturday night traffic, he glanced her way often. Even in the waning light, and the slight puffiness around her injuries, he admired the perky nose, the too-strong jaw, full lips, high cheekbones and almond shaped eyes. Her skin was a light tan color, with a light dusting of freckles crossing the bridge of her nose.
For the first time in two days, his libido returned.

Turning onto Cantrell, “Can I at least take care of you in your house? I don’t want you alone, especially if Jimbo has friends.” He watched her using his peripheral, gauging her reaction.

“Jimbo? What does that moron have to do with it?” she kept her gaze out the window.

“You didn’t recognize him? He’s the one
in the hospital.” She turned to meet his gaze.

Surprise
skittered across her features, followed by a sigh of frustration.

“You did. Why didn’t you say anything?” He turned into a suburb of large residential homes, most fifty years or older, filled with upper middle class families. A majority of the homes were made of brick, two stories, with manicured lawns, and higher end vehicles parked in driveways.
It spoke of old money, and people who liked luxury. “Which house is yours?”

She pointed to a two story brick Georgian on the corner, “The one with the barely mowed lawn.”

He stopped himself from openly gaping. He knew the house, and for the first time, he understood who she was. Her father had been a business tycoon, and she’d been all over the news for a couple of years after having systematically dismantled the business. The media slaughtered her reputation, powerful people targeting her for killing a billion dollar corporation. Many admired her balls, since there were rumors of corruption among the higher ranking corporate officers. Whatever the opinion, she’d done something unprecedented.

He looked at her with new admiration, knowing it must have been hell in a handbasket to do such a thing. To start over, from the ground up, by herself, with a reputation, and only her grit to keep the momentum.

He parked the car in front of the garage, staring. The house itself was enormous, one of the biggest in Little Rock. Built in the later years of the Great Depression, it spoke of money and influence, with eight chimney stacks, twelve windows on each floor along the front, and six columns supporting a large portico covering an oversized circular drive.

He’d automatically parked in front of the eight car garage, as if not worthy of showing up at the front door. Realizing what he’d done, he put the car in reverse, driving to the front door. “Sorry. Not sure why I did that.”

“Believe it or not, that is not unusual. People are often intimidated by Dad’s house.”

It didn’t slip his notice she called it her father’s house. Shaking it off, he got out, and helped her to the front door. Before he could open the door, it swung open on silent hinges. A woman in a pantsuit rushed out the door, putting Katie’s arm over her shoulder and led the way inside.

The inside of the house caused Houston to stop in his tracks.

Chapter Eleven

Katie lurched forward as Houston came to a stop. He stared openly at the opulence of her father’s house, and
she cringed. The will stated she couldn’t sell it, the house must remain in the family. She’d grown up in the house, the fourth generation to do so. It was a point of pride, and a slight embarrassment. The house was meant for the very wealthy, to network, for dinner parties, and long visitations. Instead, she lived in the house with her butler, a retired chef who did what little cooking she required, and two maids. Forget having people visit, she’d long since been exiled from extended family, having killed their ability to freeload.

She tried to see the house through Houston’s eyes, noting the enormous crystal chandelier hanging in the foyer, the split staircase leading to the second floor, honey oak paneling, and
polished oak floors. Before the staircase, a round mahogany table stood, it’s only adornment a vase filled with daisies. To the left was the parlor, filled with Louis XIV furniture, and on the right, another parlor leading into the dining room. On the upper level was seven bedrooms, all with sitting rooms and full bathrooms. If she led him around the staircase, he’d find a sitting room large enough for fifteen people, and her favorite, the converted ballroom, now a massive entertainment room.

“
Heather, will you please have Ramone make dinner? Something light. Houston will be staying the night, so set out extra towels in my bathroom. Also, don’t disturb us in the morning.” She straightened, shuffling forward under her own power. “Houston, will you please help me up the steps?” giving him a small smile.

She noted how he shrugged, and pulled himself together. She gave a little squeal of surprise
as he scooped her up, and held her close. He took the steps with ease, his breathing never changing.

He stopped at the second floor landing, and a little part of her didn’t want to
be put her down. She squashed it quickly.

“Put me down. I can walk fr
om here.”

“No. Which way do I go?” he hugged her closer.

Giving in to the impulse, she grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his head back, biting into the muscle between his neck and shoulder. A small growl matched his deep moan. Releasing the hold on his head, she narrowed her eyes, “Put me down.”

“Not a chance in hell.”

The look of determination and lust proved to be a powerful combination. She pointed to the bedroom at the end of the hall on the left. He turned and followed the silent directions.

The door was slightly open, and he tapped it with a foot, putting her down inside. His big body was tense, and Katie knew why. The master suite was the biggest room in the house, and mirrored the opulence found in the foyer. It was masculine, with the dark wood paneling, cream colored carpet, blood red drapes, and a bed situation in the middle of the room showcased by a raised dais. The bed itself was a California King,
four poster made of rich tiger wood, covered in the gunmetal gray silk sheets, and a dark red, tufted duvet. Each side of the bed stood matching tiger wood tables, with genuine Tiffany lamps gracing the polished wood. On the far side of the room, a pony wall separated the sitting room from the bedroom. Two high-backed chairs in the same gunmetal gray as the sheets surrounded a small round table, a cream colored Victorian chaise lounge, a roll-top desk in tiger wood, and a small forty-two inch HDTV on the opposite wall.

She worried what he’d do when he saw the bathroom.

“Come in, it’s okay. Nothing will harm you in here. Except, maybe me.” She winked. He blinked rapidly.

“Katie, this is a bit much for me. I feel like a damned pauper.” He gave her a wide eyed look.

She put a hand on her hip, one in her hair, pulling lightly. “Yeah, but don’t let it fool you. This isn’t me, Houston.” Why it mattered what he thought bothered her more than she wanted to admit. Having growing up with the wealth, it was just a part of her family history, not who she was. Yet it seemed to be affecting him, and it was probably best to send him home. Return to the employee – employer relationship with the occasional bout of hot sex. Relationships were too damned complicated in normal circumstances, but apparently their differences in wealth was going to make things worse.

“You don’t have to stay.
Heather can take care of me. Go ahead and go home, I’ll be fine.”

He threw her a look of reproach mixed with anger, “Like hell I will.” His stance
changed a little, becoming less the Houston she knew, and more … dangerous. Dominating. He leaned over her slightly, and she fought the temptation to take him down a few pegs.

“Then kill out the tail between the legs attitude. Come with me, I’ll show you where everything is, we’ll eat and I’m going to have a bath, followed by a long, hard affair with my pillow.” She turned on her heel, forgetting the injuries. She stumbled, and strong arms caught her.

“I’ll carry you instead. It’s a mile away.”

Being carted around was demeaning. So why didn’t she fight him? Glancing at the growing bruise around her bite, she withheld a smile. She’d marked him, and like
d it.

The bathroom contained a sunken Jacuzzi bathtub in black, surrounded with beige tiling. The counters were black and gold granite, matching raised glass sinks, dark bronze fixtures, and a long mirror topping it. On the far end of the bathroom, a two person shower, with a waterfall showerhead, the sam
e dark beige tile as the floor, and glass doors. It included a sauna option, speakers for music, and a long bench on the backside of the wall.

“Can I stand on my own now?” she whispered in his ear.

He gently put her on her feet, holding her close.

She pointed to a closet in black mahogany, “Towels, and all you need is in that closet, including
a men’s shaving kit. If you go through the door next to it, you’ll find the head. Which is where I’m going.” She gave him a raised eyebrow, “Alone, by the way.”

She put an arm out, making her way one tiny step at a time.

She returned, almost laughing aloud at his touching everything in the bathroom. He stopped and turned, a guilty look on his face. “Explore to your heart’s content,” she said over her shoulder, making her way to the bedroom.

She made it to the walk in closet, aware it was the size of most people’s master suites. She opened one of the drawers of the built in dresser, reaching for her favorite flannel pajamas. Her hand hesitated, wondering if she was supposed to wear flannel when sleeping with a man. He would never know, but he was the first man she’d brought home,
much less let stay the night. She didn’t own sexy lingerie to show off her figure, although Victoria’s Secret thongs and bras were numerous. Perhaps she had to wear nothing. Standing at the dresser, she remained undecided.

“Grab the flannel, you’ll look good in anything.”

She jumped at Houston’s deep voice, turning bright red realizing he’d caught her trying to decide. Trying to cover her indecision, she grabbed the oldest pair, in a bright blue plaid, shoved the drawers shut and turned, “Wasn’t sure which comfy pair to put on.” She hoped he believed it didn’t matter. The amusement in his gaze said otherwise.

Trying to stalk out of the closet didn’t work, since her muscles were shaking. Her ego and dignity were taking a pretty big blow thanks to Jimbo’s bull. She gleefully made plans to beat the hell out of him with a tire iron next month.

Moments later, dinner arrived, and the smell of steak permeated the air. Heather set dinner in the on-suite, and left.

“So much for a light meal,” Katie commented with a grin.

They ate the steak and loaded baked potatoes, and Heather returned to run the bath. Katie glanced at Houston, knowing he wasn’t used to the luxury.

“Well? Are you going to just sit there, or can I talk you into taking a bath?” she stood, peeking at him from beneath hooded eyes.

He jumped out of the chair, picked her up without losing stride, and quickly made it to the bathroom. She clung to his neck, burying her nose just behind his ear, letting her breath brush against the sensitive skin.

“Honey, you’re injured, and that isn’t helping me remember.” He jiggled her gently, and set her
down. He grabbed a handful of t-shirt, and put hot hands on her waist. She flinched, and goosebumps rose on her skin. “I’m sorry. Let me undress you, please.”

Katie stood still, enjoying the feel of his callused palms gently sliding over her skin.
He kneeled before her, brows furrowed, lifting the shirt, and she watched him wince at the bruise over her ribs. It was a dark purple, ugly. He leaned forward, laying a feather-lite kiss. She shuddered, wondering how she could be turned on when injured. A gasp escaped as his tongue followed the line of purple to her stomach. She looked down, seeing the imprints of the five point seatbelt. A large round impression of bright red over her belly button glared at him. Houston kissed it, shook his head and as he stood, and removed the shirt. She watched his expressions. He’d seen the initial injuries, but day two was the worst. His jaw muscle ticked, eyes going hard, nostrils flaring as he traced the bruises and lacerations.

“I’m going to kill him,” he whispered.
He lifted her chin with one finger, leaning down, mouth only inches from hers, “Nobody fucks with my woman.”

His lips slid lightly across hers, the barest of friction. Katie shivered at the gentle contact. Her hands held his shoulders, her knees becoming jelly when he li
cked and sucked on her top lip, avoiding the cut. Her nails dug into his skin, hands pulling him closer, silently begging for more.

“I’m not going to hurt you. Let me,” he whispered, breath little more than gentle puffs against the sensitive skin of her mouth.
He grasped her wrists, pulling them behind her back, and holding them with one hand. His other hand tunneled into her hair, grasping the base of her skull. With gentle insistence, she was held tight to his body, could feel his thundering heartbeat through the sensitive tips of her nipples.

Her body reacted. Normally in control of her body’s reactions during sex, she was pure instinct. Her hips moved against his, the hard steel of his erection pushing into her stomach. The pain was delicious, and it only took her a moment to decide she liked the sensations.

“Put your arms around my neck,” he ordered, voice deep, commanding as he let go of her wrists.

She nodded, eyes wide, wondering what he was going to do. Arms locked around his neck, he grabbed her ass and lifted her onto his hips. With one hand holding her stead
y, he turned on the shower, letting his hand feel the temp of the water. Her head fell back as he nuzzled the skin between neck and shoulder, lightly scraping his teeth.

One hand between her shoulder blades, he stepped in the water, both half dressed. She squealed, laughing as her
jeans suctioned to her skin. He grinned, setting down, peeling off his shorts, and bending as he grasped the waist of her pants, and sliding the wet fabric off. She balanced on his shoulders as he lifted one leg then the other.

She saw a hard expression sculpt his face into stone, as he noted the deep bruises on the outside of her thighs, the two long cuts from a hip to her knee. She grasped his chin, making him meet her eyes, “I did worse to him.”

He nodded once, putting his face between her legs, above the knees. The water went from warm and comforting to erotic against her heated skin. He licked, nibbled and gently bit his way to the apex of her thighs. Grasping her hips, he pushed one leg to the side, and nuzzled the soft wet curls. His tongue slid along the seam of her core, and she shuddered. A gasp escaped when two fingers pushed inside, stretching her. His mouth licked and sucked, from hard to soft, as her hips thrust forward, wanting more. She clenched, feeling the orgasm barreling to completion.

Houston pulled back, and she growled.

“Not yet, Hellcat,” he grinned. Turning her around, he pushed her against the cold tile wall, kicking her feet further apart.

Her body throbbed, and he dipped low, the head of his cock sliding through the slick folds. Finding her opening, he shoved deep.

She moaned, muscles grasping him, the orgasm roaring back with a vengeance.

He slammed twice into her, and she lost control. Pushing her ass against him, she begged him to keep going, not to stop.

“As you say,” he growled into her ear, pumping his hips hard and fast.

“Help me,” she moaned, not sure what she was asking for.

He slid one arm around her waist, lifting her to her toes, and pushing against the tensing muscles. “I can’t hold out much longer, Hellcat.”

Katie screamed into the tile, unaware of her words, of begging for more, only aware of the explosion of sensations riding her as hard as the man in control.

One large hand was next to her head, as she leaned into the tile, glad of his arm around her waist. He bit her shoulder, and another shudder raced across the raw nerves.

“Are you okay? Was I too rough, Hellcat?” he mouthed on her shoulder.

She shook her head.

Time stood still, only the water sluicing over them from overhead keeping it from being a frozen moment.

Houston slid out of her, and she felt strangely bereft. A vital part of her missing.