Unbound (Crimson Romance) (10 page)

“I don’t understand. You guys have been on my case to ask her out for months. What’s the problem?”

Kalvin rolled his eyes. “Call me crazy, but I didn’t think you’d listen. You never listen to me.”

“You’re pissed because I listened to you?”

“She’s my friend, Dean. You fuck this up, you’ll get your ass kicked. Get me?”

Dean stared at him.
Who is this angry shithead, and where’s Kal?

Kalvin shrugged. “Just thought you should know.”

“Now I know.”

“All right,” Kalvin said. “Jonah has a thing in the morning at his parents’ house. We’ll probably be done after the next set. Does that work for you?”

“Sure.”

“We can call it a night now if you’d rather.”

“Don’t worry about it. Let’s play another,” Dean answered.

Leaving Kal to his blonde, he crossed the bar to meet Payten back at their table. He thought about what Kalvin said. It would be so easy to fuck things up with Payten. He hadn’t dated since high school. He wasn’t sure he wouldn’t mess up and tank the whole thing before it started.

No pressure,
he thought sarcastically.

He’d take things slow. He was already filling in at the diner and spending time with her there. As long as he could spend time with her there and take things slow outside the diner, he didn’t see how he could mess up.

Since it was their first date, he’d do the gentlemanly thing tonight. He’d drive her home, walk her to the door, kiss her goodnight, and leave. Simple. No room for mess-ups. He told himself that was exactly what he’d do when they left the bar. He lied.

• • •

“I need to go.” His lips slid across her collarbone.

“What?” She heard her voice rise when he nibbled at a particularly sensitive spot of skin.

“If I don’t leave in the next two minutes…” He paused as he pushed her dress out of his way. Using his tongue, he traced a hot, wet path along the top of her breast. The hand on her waist squeezed. “… I’m going to fuck you on this kitchen table.”

Jolted out of her haze of pleasure, she looked down at him. The bluntness of his statement matched the determined focus on his face.

“I really need to go.”

Since he was staring at her chest when he said it, she realized he wasn’t trying to convince her. He was trying to convince himself. Amused, she pulled him into another long kiss.

“You have to go?” she asked when he pulled away.

“Really bad,” he answered taking a step away from her.

Sitting on her kitchen table with his eyes on her, she’d never felt sexier. Her knees were spread wide from where he stood between them and her feet dangled in the air. The position forced the bottom of her dress high, revealing a strip of skin between the dress and the top of her stockings.

The top of her dress didn’t cover much more. The deep V neckline had allowed him to push one side down past her bra. A thin layer of lace was all that covered her breast.

Her hair fell into her face. When he buried his hand in it earlier, it had loosened the pins holding it back. He really seemed to like her hair.

Have to remember that,
she thought.

Desire raced through her. Her heart raced, and her breathing was fast. Arousal dampened her panties. Her skin felt too tight, tingling where he’d touched.

“Are you sure you have to go?”

He nodded. “I wasn’t lying.”

He was probably right.
Not quite sure I’m ready to dive into “fucking” quite yet. Slow and steady’s more my pace.

She pulled the top of her dress back into place. Hopping off the edge of the table, she stumbled. He caught her. Pressed tightly against him, she forgot why she was hesitating.

He groaned. “Really have to go. The floor’s looking good too.”

She laughed.

“When I make love to you, it’s going to be in a bed. Nice and comfortable. Because it’s going to take days.” He squeezed her gently, then let her go.

She grinned. “I’m a little inexperienced in the whole sex thing, but I don’t think it really takes that long.”

“It’s going to.”

“I’ll look forward to that,” she teased. “Come on. I’ll walk you out.”

At the door, she kissed him goodnight. On the porch, he kissed her goodbye. During the walk to his truck, she kissed him for the hell of it.

“Seriously, it’s time for me to go.”

“Yup,” she agreed before she kissed him again.

“Payten, if Ms. Clarke peeks out her window, the whole town will believe we had sex on your lawn by tomorrow afternoon.”

“In that case, you might as well stay.”

He laughed.

“All right.” She kissed his cheek. “See you tomorrow.”

Chapter Thirteen

On her way into the house, she listened to the low rumble of Dean’s truck until it was gone. She couldn’t stop smiling. Inside, she rushed straight to the kitchen to grab her phone. It was silly — she knew it was — but she had to call Bridgett.

Bridgett answered on the first ring. “Payten?”

“Hey.”

“Tell me everything that happened from the time the two of you left the bar,” Bridgett ordered. Payten could hear the excitement in her voice.

“Do you really want to hear about that? Or do you want to hear about what we did on my kitchen table?”

“Payten Erin Bailey! You little tramp,” Bridgett teased.

Payten laughed as she moved down the hallway to her bedroom. She couldn’t wait to get her boots off. The heels were killing her feet, but they had been so worth it.

“Tell me everything. You have to.”

She pushed open the door to her bedroom. “Of course, I wi — Oh, my god!”

“What? What is it?”

Standing inside the doorway, she had a clear view of her bed. She didn’t know what was sprawled across the silky comforter. When the smell hit her, she gagged. How had she not noticed it earlier?

“Payten? Are you there? Payten?”

She swallowed back the bile in her throat. “Britt, I’m going to have to call you back.”

She hung up before Bridgett could ask any questions. Without moving from her spot in the hall, she dialed the number for the police station. The sight in front of her tugged at her. She couldn’t turn away even though she desperately wanted to.

Dean’s father answered the phone. “Hartsville Police Department.”

“Chief Whitley, sir?”

“Yes.”

“This is Payten Bailey, sir. I — Well, I think someone broke into my house.”

“Are you inside?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Payten, I want you to go across the street. Now,” he ordered.

“To Ms. Clarke’s?” she asked, fidgeting in the doorway.

“Ms. Clarke’s is fine.”

“I’d rather go to the Hendrix’s, sir.”

“Go there, then. I’ll be there as soon as I can, but I want you out of that house. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.”

He hung up the phone, leaving her alone with only the dial tone in her ear.

She glanced down the dark hallway. She hadn’t bothered to turn on the hall light. The dark had never bothered her before while inside her house. It did now.

When she felt the hair on the back of her neck rise, she didn’t stop to think. She bolted down the hallway and out of the house as fast as she could. She didn’t stop long enough to close the door.

She didn’t stop running until she reached the Hendrix’s house next door. She rang the doorbell. A few seconds later, she rang it again. She was looking over her shoulder anxiously when Mr. Hendrix opened the door.

“Payten?”

She whipped around to look at him. His loosely tied robe did very little to cover his underwear or anything else. The sight almost turned her panic into laughter.

“Oh, Mr. Hendrix, I’m so sorry to wake you. I think someone broke into my house.”

“Well, hell,” he muttered. “Did you call the police?”

“Chief Whitley is on his way. He told me not to stay in the house,” she repled. “I didn’t even think about it being so late. I’m really sorry, sir.”

“Calm down. You’re fine,” he assured her. “Why don’t you come inside? We’ll wait for Carl together.”

“Thank you.”

She stepped inside as Mrs. Hendrix came into view. Her hair was in curlers, and she was dressed in a bathrobe and matching pink slippers. Obviously, Payten had awakened them both.

“Oh, Mrs. Hendrix, I’m so sorry to wake you up.”

“Payten’s house was broken into,” Mr. Hendrix told his wife.

“That’s horrible,” she said. “Did you call the police?”

“Carl’s on his way,” he answered.

“Thank heavens. Payten, can I get you something to drink?”

“I think I’m all right,” Payten said.

“I’ll get you a glass of water. You look pale as a ghost.”

Mr. Hendrix huffed out a breath. “Sandra, she’s terrified. Leave the poor girl alone.”

“I’m only trying to help,” Mrs. Hendrix muttered.

“A glass of water would be wonderful,” Payten decided.

Mrs. Hendrix nodded and left the room.

“Sorry about that,” he apologized.

“It’s fine, Mr. Hendrix. Really.”

“Call me Tom. You make me feel old when you call me Mr. Hendrix.”

Payten smiled a little. Mr. Hendrix was at least seventy. Lots of things probably made him feel old.

Mrs. Hendrix came back in the room with a glass. “Here you are, dear.”

Payten took the glass from her and sipped the water.

“Well, hell,” Mr. Hendrix grumbled, looking out the windowpane of their door.

“Tom!”

“Ms. Clarke’s light is on,” he said.

“Oh, dear.”

Payten understood their reaction. Ms. Clarke was the last person she wanted knowing anything about what was happening. That was why she had come to the Hendrix’s instead of Ms. Clarke’s house. Even overwhelming panic and fear wouldn’t send her running to Ms. Clarke.

“She’s nothing but a nosy old busybody,” Mr. Hendrix huffed.

“Tom!”

“She is!”

“I know that as well you do, but you can’t go around saying it,” his wife told him.

“Why not?”

The sight of Chief Whitley’s car pulling into her driveway prevented Mrs. Hendrix’s answer. Chief Whitley had pulled into the driveway without any lights or sirens. He’d even shut off his headlights. He stepped out of his car and went into the house. Several long silent moments later, he stepped back out. Payten heard Mrs. Hendrix’s sigh of relief.

Chief Whitley must have seen them in the doorway because he waved her over.

“I’d better go,” Payten told the couple.

“Would you like me to go with you?” Mr. Hendrix asked.

The thought of Mr. Hendrix walking outside with her in his underwear and a robe almost made her giggle. Then, she remembered Ms. Clarke was looking.

God! I hate to think what she’d turn that into.

“That’s all right. Thank you for letting me wait here.”

“It was no trouble at all,” Mrs. Hendrix told her.

“And sorry again for waking you up.”

Mr. Hendrix waved away her apology. He took her glass. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”

“I won’t,” she said. She walked slowly across the lawn to her driveway. Chief Whitley waited for her.

“The house is empty,” he told her. “Pierce will be here shortly.”

They waited in the driveway. Burke arrived minutes later, still dressed in the same outfit he’d worn to the bar earlier that night.

“Payten. Chief?”

Chief Whitley shook his head. “There’s no one inside.”

“Why don’t we talk inside where you won’t be quite so cold?” Burke suggested to Payten.

She nodded. She knew it wasn’t the weather outside that made her shiver, though. The bloody body sprawled in her bed chilled her to her core.

• • •

Inside she led Chief Whitley and Burke to her room. Chief Whitley had already been inside during his search, but he seemed to understand her need for another look. That look confirmed her suspicions.

She spotted a collar lying in the puddle of blood. It had been blue at one time. It wasn’t anymore.

She felt the bile rise in her throat and ran for the guest bathroom. After emptying her stomach — repeatedly — she trudged to the living room. The image of what she’d seen didn’t leave her head, but it couldn’t be as bad as actually standing in the bedroom.

Payten paced her living room until Officer Smith arrived. She pointed toward her bedroom, and Smith disappeared in that direction. Payten resumed her pacing.

Only minutes after Officer Smith arrived, Dean came storming in the house.

“Payten,” he yelled.

“In here.”

He came in the living room. He pulled her into his arms and held her tightly. “Are you all right?”

She nodded against his chest.

“You’re sure?”

“No.”

He scooped her off her feet and carried her to the couch. She didn’t protest. She simply held on. He had asked if she was all right, but it wasn’t any comfort. Sitting there in his lap with his arms around her and his breath warm against her forehead, that comforted her.

After several long minutes, he kissed her forehead. “I’m going to go find out what’s going on.”

“You shouldn’t see it,” she warned him. “It’s awful.”

“I’m just going to go grab Burke,” he told her.

She pulled away to look at him. “It’s the Wilders’ dog, Dean.” The last look had confirmed what her brain couldn’t process the first time. “They have kids. Two little kids. Who is going to tell them?”

“They’ll take care of it,” he assured her. “Let me go get Burke.”

“I don’t think I can let go,” she said, quietly. “I’m afraid I’ll lose it.”

He rubbed his hand over her back. “I won’t go, then.”

“I was doing all right. I went to the Hendrix’s, and Mr. Hendrix was in his underwear. I thought it was so funny, but I shouldn’t have. Not with that — I’m being a baby. I know it, but I can’t help it.”

“Payten, this is serious. It’s scary, and it’s sad. There’s no point in denying any of that. Understand?”

She nodded, then burst into tears.

He pulled her back down to his chest. She pressed her face against his neck and cried. She didn’t want to, but he was right. It was scary and sad, and there was nothing else she could do right then. So she clung to him and cried for the sweet dog she’d known since it was a puppy.