Wicked Need (The Wicked Horse Series Book 3) (2 page)

While I can
certainly afford bigger and better, I don’t
see any need to spend my money on my living conditions as I’m
rarely here. Over the last several years, I’d gotten used to
sleeping in small quarters or hotels, so I’m comfortable as is.

Jake’s
different. He has a family that includes the pretty wife who’s
a local, an adorable two-year-old daughter, and another kid on the
way, although you can barely see Lorelei’s baby bump at this
stage.

As I try to creep
past a sleeping Catherine, I wish I had bigger digs so I could have
offered her a guest room so she could get some rest. I actually did
offer her
my
room when we got to my apartment last night, but she refused.

Staunchly.

Said she didn’t
want to inconvenience me and she was already feeling like an
imposition.

I assured her she
was not and tried to push my room on her.

Her eyes immediately
turned warm, and then sizzled with blooming sexual heat that made my
dick start to get hard. “I’ll
only take your room if you let me pay you, and well… you know
the only thing I got to offer at this point is my mouth or my pussy.
Want it?”

Fuck yeah, I wanted
it. I’ve
had both before and they’re fucking fantastic.

But not last night.

Last night,
Catherine was in a bad spot. I wasn’t
about to take advantage of that offer. I wanted her to see she could
get something from someone without the expectation of needing to give
something in return. It’s called friendship and that’s
what friends do.

And I think
Catherine and I are friends.

Maybe.

Fuck, not really
sure.

So even though I
really wanted to fuck her, I saw the stubborn pride bubbling low
beneath the sensuality in her eyes, and I knew my dick was going to
bed alone. Since she wouldn’t
take my room without feeling the need to basically prostitute herself
in return, I conceded and fixed up the couch for her complete with
pillow, sheets, and a thick quilt. I also offered her up a t-shirt
and a pair of my sweatpants, of which she accepted only the t-shirt.
It swallowed her whole and made her look even more vulnerable than I
was already considering her to be.

She doesn’t
stir as I walk behind the couch that sits perpendicular to the
mudroom wall and essentially creates a living area that opens right
up into an L-shaped kitchenette that houses my stove, refrigerator,
and enough cabinet space to barely hold my dishes. A small, round
table with two chairs completes the set up.

As quietly as I can,
I start making coffee, but the minute I open a squeaky cupboard door,
I can hear Catherine starting to stir on the couch. After I fill the
pot, measure the coffee, and start the brew cycle, I turn to find
Catherine now sitting up with the quilt pulled demurely over her lap.
She must have slept fitfully because her hair is a tangled mess and
she has mascara smeared under her eyes, which reminds me of
something.

“Your bags and
stuff in the trunk of your car?” I ask her.

She blinks at me
once, grimaces, and rubs a finger under one eye. She pulls it away,
looks at the black smear, and wrinkles her nose. “Um…
yeah.”

“Give me your
keys. I’ll go get them so you can get cleaned up and changed,”
I tell her.

“Yeah,”
she says as she stands from the couch, her voice still rough with
sleep. “I should get out of your way.”

“I didn’t
mean it like that,” I tell her as she pulls her purse from the
coffee table and reaches inside. “There’s no rush for you
to leave.”

Her face clouds
over, almost as if she refuses to believe someone could be nice,
before tilting down so she can look around inside her purse. I take
the brief opportunity to appreciate that even with tangled hair,
mascara smears, and a baggy t-shirt on, she’s
still one of the sexiest women I’ve ever seen. Hell, she may be
the absolute sexiest, and I’m only judging this by the fact
that, in this moment, I seem to be more attracted to her than ever
before. I’m not sure if it’s her vulnerability or my
white-knight complex, but I’ve seen Catherine dressed in any
number of sexy outfits with perfect hair and makeup, and I never
wanted to fuck her as bad as I do right now.

When she turns to me
with car keys in hand, I hope she doesn’t
notice the hard-on I’m sporting. Not that I’d be
embarrassed about it because Catherine’s gotten me hard before
and she knows it, but because I don’t want her to think that’s
all I’m interested in from her. I especially don’t want
her thinking she has to pay me in that way.

I take the keys from
her and head for the door. “Mind
pouring me a cup of coffee? I take it black.”

“Sure,”
she murmurs, but I don’t look back at her. I need to get my
dick under control.

In the trunk of her
car, I find a large suitcase, a carry-on, and a duffle-type bag, all
done in the classic brown leather and gold lettering of Louis
Vuitton. I’m
totally not into fashion, but I’d bought my fair share of that
designer for both my mom and Tarryn, so I know how expensive this
shit is. I can’t help but think that Catherine might find
herself in a situation where she has to sell her fucking luggage to
get some cash, and that’s a shitty place to be.

I cart the bags up
the outside staircase to my garage apartment with my hard-on back
under control. I find her sitting at the small kitchen table, a cup
of coffee in her hand. My cup is poured and sitting by the coffee
pot.

“Listen,”
I tell her in my most casual voice so she doesn’t feel like a
charity case. “Why don’t you stay here for a few days
until you can get your bearings?”

“I couldn’t—”
she starts to say, and I knew she’d rebuff the offer.

“Come on,
Catherine,” I cut her off sternly. “We’re friends.
That’s what friends do.”

“It’s
Cat,” she says.

This throws me off
because I’d been expecting an argument. “Excuse me?”

“Cat. The name
I prefer to go by is Cat.”

I blink at her,
stunned for a moment by the change in subject. “I
didn’t know that.”

She shrugs
nonchalantly and lowers her gaze to her cup. “No
one ever bothered to ask. Catherine is what Samuel insisted on
calling me. It’s how he always introduced me.”

Fuck.

Just…
fuck.

I can almost see her
identity disappearing right before my eyes. What did this asshole do
to her? He left her destitute after already stealing who she was
right out from under her.

Taking my cup from
the counter, I walk over to the table and sit opposite of her. I make
a command decision, knowing it’s
the right thing to do in this moment. I know Jake will tell me I’m
slipping into my savior role, but fuck him. Cat needs help and I
don’t think she has anyone else to turn to right now.

“Here’s
what we’re going to do,” I say in a firm, take-control
voice. Her eyes immediately snap up to mine. “You’re
going to stay here in my apartment with me. If you want to remain
stubborn and stick with the couch, that’s fine. No argument
from me. That will let you get your feet underneath you. You can take
a bit of time, figure out what you want to do… or where you
want to go.”

“I don’t
have any money—”

“If it’s
that important to you, you can pay me back when you get some.”
I don’t even consider trying to talk her out of just accepting
my generosity because I can see Cat has pride. I can see that’s
about the only thing she has of value to her name, and I’m not
about to steal it from her. “How’s that sound?”

She turns slightly
away from me, letting her gaze roam over the tiny space of my
apartment. It takes her two seconds before returning to me. “You
don’t have a lot of room here. I wouldn’t want to get in
your way.”

“I’m not
here a lot,” I tell her as I stand from the table with my cup
in hand. “I have a full-time day job. Between that and being at
The Silo, we probably won’t run into each other that much.”

And why do I feel a
crushing sense of disappointment over that thought?

“I’d
want to pay you rent once I maybe get a job or something,” she
says, her chin lifting higher. Christ… the sexy seductress
looks just adorable right now, all bowed up with dignity and
determination.

“What kind of
work would you want to do?” I ask her, thinking I’ve got
contacts in this area. Maybe I can help her out that way too.

“I’ve
only ever done two things to get by in this life, Rand,” she
says softly with just a trace of bitterness. It sucks to hear that
tone the first time she calls me by my name. “And that’s
dancing and fucking.”

“Dancing?”
I ask, because I can’t bear to think of her prostituting
herself to make a living. Although really… wasn’t that
what she was doing by marrying an older man?

I mentally curse at
myself for letting my head go there.

“I was an
exotic dancer in Vegas,” Cat says with a grim smile. “That’s
where Samuel met me.”

I’ve
seen Catherine naked many, many times and yeah… she has a
dancer’s body. Long limbs, soft curves in just the right
places, and breasts that are spectacular. I bet she put on a fucking
fantastic show.

But that wouldn’t
benefit her here in Jackson as there aren’t any titty bars and
the thought of her returning to Vegas isn’t all that appealing
to me either for some weird reason. So I point her in the next best
direction for now.

“I suggest you
work on finding out more about your legal rights,” I tell her
with a pointed look before lifting my cup to my mouth for a sip.

“My legal
rights?” Her eyes blink in confusion.

“Well, yeah. I
mean… you thought Samuel was going to take care of you, then
some attorney shows up and tells you to get out of your house. Did he
even show you a copy of the will giving him that authority?”

Cat shakes her head,
cheeks turning red with embarrassment. “I
didn’t ask. He was pushing me hard to get my stuff packed and
to vacate.”

Even though I may
not have gone to college and only have a degree from the school of
hard knocks, I know enough to know that doesn’t
sound right.

“You need to
go to that attorney’s office and ask for a copy of Samuel’s
will,” I tell her. “As his wife, you’re entitled to
see it. I seriously don’t think they can just kick you out like
that. I’m sure there’s some long process they have to go
through or some shit.”

Cat’s
cheeks turn even redder. “I didn’t even think to ask for
a copy. God, I’m so stupid.”

Before I can stop
myself, I take one step to her chair, grasp her chin with my hand,
and squeeze slightly to get her attention. “You
are not stupid. You’re in a bad place and that attorney took
advantage of that. But now you’re on solid ground and I’ll
help you figure this out. Okay?”

For a moment, I
think she might cry on me, and I brace myself for it. I don’t
do well with tears. I’m a sucker for them. If I see one drop
spill, I’ll pull her in my arms. At that point, I’ll
really have to take shit from Jake that I can’t seem to help
myself when it comes to a lost woman.

She surprises me
though and nods against my grip. “Okay.”

Though I’m
loathe to release her, I do it anyway. “Okay then. I think your
goal for today is to go to that attorney’s office and ask for a
copy of Samuel’s will.”

“Just show up
without an appointment?” Cat asks with hesitation.

“Yup. Just
walk in and ask for it. You shouldn’t need an appointment for
that.”

I think. Fuck, I
don’t
know, but it’s a start.

“I can do
that,” she says as she stands from the chair.

For the first time
since last night, I actually see a glimmer of hope in her eyes that
perhaps things will turn out okay.
I don’t
know that they will, but I know for sure I’m not going to
abandon her.

Jake’s
going to give me so much shit.

Cat

So I have a plan.

A temporary one, but
at least I have a plan.

I also have a roof
over my head for the time being, and since Rand told me to help
myself to anything in the apartment, I will also have food in my
belly. While he takes a shower, I make use of the carton of eggs in
his refrigerator and scramble some up for both of us. I have a plate
waiting for him when he emerges from the bathroom, wearing nothing
but a pale blue towel wrapped low around hips.

I know that body
well. It’s
tall and lean with just the right amount of muscles gracing a broad
chest and strong arms. I happen to know when he flexes his abs,
they’ll tighten into a six pack, just as I know his pierced
tongue feels good between my legs. I know well those green eyes that
will stare at me with frenzied lust and the soft brush of his blond
beard against my skin.

Rand is a beautiful
package, no doubt. He’s
edgy with his golden hair shaved on the sides but long on top. He
often brushes his fingers through it, pushing it away from his face.
I find it amusing that he always seems exasperated by the length, but
he never cuts it any shorter. Add in a multitude of tattoos over his
chest, back, and upper arms, a silver ring through his left nostril
and a matching one through his left eyebrow, and you have a man who’s
edgy, cool, and sexy all at the same time.

So I feed him
scrambled eggs while he sits at the table. I try not to stare at the
gap in the towel that rides up his right thigh and instead focus my
attention on his apartment.

It’s
small in and of itself, but it’s cramped with so much clutter
that it feels like you’re in a closet. Not the type of small
clutter like unwashed cups left on tables, but rather his mudroom has
at least four pairs of ski boots shoved under a bench along with a
pair of snowshoes in the corner and puffy ski pants and coats hanging
on hooks on the wall. In his living room, two corners have various
skis and poles leaning in causal stacks. A bookcase holds trophies
and glass-encased medals I briefly noticed last night as he was
making up the couch. So many, in fact, they appear just haphazardly
jammed on the shelves, not to display but merely to just put them
somewhere out of the way.