LEATHER AND LACE (BAD BOYS & GOOD GIRLS, #1) (3 page)

Startled, she replied, “Oh...hello.”

The way her eyes widened gave her an innocent look and provoked a tightening of all his muscles.

“Can I help you?” he offered, barely able to piece two words together.

“Umm, I don’t believe so.” She adjusted the black-framed glasses she wore and bit the side of her full bottom lip as her gaze flicked down his body. Christ, he’d like to bite that lip on his way to licking every inch of her incredible golden skin.

Instead of wearing a provocative smile like most of the women he encountered in his club, this little filly remained pensively poised as though considering her options. Again he stared at her mouth dumbfounded, wondering how those pink-glossed lips would feel against his. He reminded himself to close his own mouth. But this girl’s sexy pin-up smart-as-fuck look did shit to him and his dick.

“Are you a reporter?” he asked, not certain if it even mattered at this point.

“Me? No. Just looking around.” She stared back at him, folding her arms in front of her body, and giving off a vibe that she was uneasy. “Do you work here?”

“I manage things and deal with the headaches.” Okay, now his curiosity was more than pricked by her submissive posture.

She glanced at the club. “I was admiring the building. It’s a landmark, I think.”

Did she even realize she stood outside a sex club?
The only sign was the covert plaque near the door with the club name and address. He tested the waters. “This place was part of a large rectory. Built right after the Civil War.”

“Yeah, I thought so. The architecture is amazing.” As she spoke, she slid one booted foot backward. “It’s unusual for this part of town.”

“Nowadays. Most of the historical buildings were torn down to make way for that outlet mall nearby. I gather you’re aware.”

“Kinda. I’m not an expert in historical stuff. More like an interest.” Behind her glasses, her dark eyes shifted nervously around the parking lot and the cords in his neck tightened.

He walked a step closer. “Would you like to see inside? I’d be happy to show you around.” He motioned to the back door.

“Inside? No! Really, it was the stained-glass windows that caught my eye. The colors in the sun,” she explained in a rush, her face turning an enticing shade of pink and flustered. She gazed back at him with a hint of a smile. “I mean thanks, but I can’t. Maybe another time.”

Jesus, it was early afternoon in the city, but she reacted like his invitation included riding bareback on a bucking bronco.
Well, shit maybe it did.
He clenched his jaw, observing this girl’s skittish moves. Something akin to a filly feeling trapped. He didn’t try to stall her as she backed away, her body tense and ready to bolt at his slightest move.

Instinctively, he stilled. “No problem. But if you’re interested in the glass, there’s more,” he spoke in a low voice, trying to keep her from turning tail. “Inside we hung a couple of the original stained-glass windows over the bar. The rest are upstairs in storage. Sitting around, gathering dust.”

“Are you going to sell them?” Shivering, she tugged on the red cap on her head.

“Why, are you interested?” His heartbeat thrummed. He wanted to keep her talking until she relaxed. Absolutely no pushing—he totally got she wasn’t the pushing kind. One wrong move and his chance with this chick would be canned. The idea of her leaving him, well fuck that didn’t set well. “The others are even more amazing. We even have the artist’s drawings and designs. Some windows are small. About this size.”

He held up his hands forming a small circle about ten-inches wide. The perfect viewing window to watch her face. For a long as hell second, she stared back at him and he felt the flicker of a spark race over his skin.

She had the most exotically shaped dark eyes. Innocent and wide, yet unwavering like she was weighing what to say. “Thanks, but antique stained-glass has to be super expensive. Even if it’s a small piece.”

“Naw. C’mon. Take a look at them. Make me a fair offer.” He couldn’t get a fix on her, other than an urge to stop her from leaving. “I’m sure we can work something out. Creative financing, if you’re open to thinking outside the box.”

His long-dormant desire for female company awoke hungry. Moreover, watching this woman backtrack—well damn, his hunger spiked.

It had been a stretch since any type of desire other than getting through the day, did more than tempt him. Taming and training horses back on the ranch, he succumbed to only one jagged impulse that threaded through him and it was a reminder to temper his recklessness. A wrong move equated to a kick in the head.

But in a flash, he understood this girl presented a risk of another shade. Being near her and not acting on his hunger ignited a sharp craving for skin-on-skin contact. A craving in him that he’d locked down for far too long.

“You’re almost too hard to resist,” she replied and looked back at the windows on the building.

Only a foot of space separated them. The closer he got, the more alluring she appeared—but dammit she was inching away. “What have you got to lose? Come in out of the cold. Would you like a drink, or a cup of coffee?” What else could he offer her that didn’t sound like a blatant invitation to his bed?

“That’s all right. I don’t want to bother anyone.” She shook her head and waved. “It’s getting late and seriously, I have to get going.”

A white sports car halted next to them and honked. She gasped and actually sprinted around the hood of the car. He went to follow but the driver stepped on the gas and pulled forward, stopping him in his tracks.

“Wait,” he hollered as he made his move to take off after her. “Hey, don’t leave!”

In boots, that spitfire could run like the wind, and he sharply motioned to the driver to stop. But again the sports car jerked forward, tires screeching and horn honking.
Fucking A!
Some jokester was pulling his chain good.

With his pulse hammering in his temples he glanced across the roof as the beautiful stranger unlocked her car door. She climbed in, and started the engine. He noticed her rear bumper had a few stickers mostly from the women’s college in town.

Shaking his head, he scowled at the car in front of him. The driver’s window smoothly lowered and he clenched his jaw.
Aw hell.
Had he known it was these two, he would have called 911 and reported them for harassment. He lifted his face as the dark-eyed girl drove out of the lot.

“Howdy, Brandon,” one of the women inside the car called out. “We gonna see you later?”

Sunglasses tilted in tandem, twin blonde heads nodded to him and he decided there was no time like the present to back away from this type of nonsense: the Jamison twins in all their glory, and what a mess.

A round of giggles, and then the other one hollered, “Or you could let us in for a sneak preview?”

Glowering, he warned them, “I’m this close to reporting you two to the sheriff!”

“Why?” Two high-pitched shrieks made him silently curse.

“We’re only playin’. Please Brandon, don’t!” one of them pleaded.

“What is it about bothering me that you enjoy so much?” he snapped, and regarded the two grinning faces of Esme and Selma Jamison warily.

They looked so much alike he couldn’t tell them apart, not that he was interested. The farther he could stay away from these two, the better. They’d overstepped in sending him a letter, describing in detail what they wanted to do with him. He’d given them a stern ultimatum to stop bothering him or he’d talk to their father. Then when he thought they’d moved on to another unsuspecting target, they’d gotten his phone number,
sexted
him and he had their numbers blocked.

“Come on now. Don’t be like that.” The one in the passenger seat shook her head. “Brandon, just give us a few minutes and we’re sure to put a smile on your face.”

“Don’t start that stuff! I’m busy.” He walked away from the car as whichever Jamison sister seated behind the wheel started to lift her skirt.

The muscles along his neck pulled taut, and he pushed his hat up off his brow. Even in the frigid temperature, he felt his face heat. These girls were way out of control and had been on his tail back in Annona for a couple of years now. Somehow, they’d found out that
Spurs and Leather
was his club. He didn’t know how much they knew, and so far, he refused to discuss the club with women who weren’t much older than his younger sister.

“Don’t you have church?” he scoffed over his shoulder.

“Done hours ago. We attend the sunrise service. You ought to come by someday. We’d love to show you the chapel. Up close and personal.”

They were the proverbial preacher’s daughters, and without a mother figure, they’d torn up their hometown, hitting the local watering holes in Annona when they were barely out of high school, and now, it seemed, had graduated to a larger city and racier establishments. Two times the temptation for some men, but not him. Overindulged chicks didn’t interest him. If and when he wanted female company, he’d seek out an encounter with a full-bodied lover, nothing short of a hot-blooded woman who wanted to take what he had to give.

“Ladies.” He tipped his hat, scaling the back steps. “Gotta run.”

“We’re not fibbing, Brandon. We’ll be back. See you later. All of you.”

Keying in the security code, he didn’t respond nor did he turn when they honked their horn, peeling out of the parking lot. They’d better not plan on
seeing him later
. With club security stationed at the entrances and side door, only members were admitted, and those two were a no-go when it came to gaining admittance to any club he owned. But there wasn’t much logic in contemplating that point, not with the ton of work waiting for him inside.

It was four in the afternoon, and hours before club clientele showed up. Hours or not, he still needed to get the place set up and ready to roll. Standing at the back door, he pressed his lips together from the burn scalding the muscles along his back and running down his upper arm. His thoughts returned to Rebellion, the stallion he’d worked with all week on his family’s ranch,
Evermore
.

He broke and trained horses when he wasn’t here and Rebellion, a blue roan specially bred for racing, tested his patience. He sported a sore shoulder due to the tumble he’d taken on account of that stubborn horse from hell.

His phone buzzed with a text message. Under the overhang and out of the new falling snow, he checked his cell and read the message from his partner, Phil Penrose.
Special member coming in tonight. I’ll be there to explain.

He texted Pen:
New members—we don’t need.

They had a membership waitlist from the crowd around Paris and beyond. Requests came from all over Texas, and had started to appear in weekly emails from as far away as London, with several high roller inquiries from Chicago and NYC. From the submissive crowd at least. He refused to accept more business than they could handle. Unlocking the rear door, he paused to shake the snow from his sheepskin coat and stomped his boots before stepping into the rear hall.

His phone buzzed again.
Worth the work. Might get you to reconsider your hiatus.

Holy shit.
He typed,
This better not be double trouble. As in twins.

Pen went mute. The muscles over Brandon’s shoulders knotted with that strange apprehension he got around a horse about to kick. It boiled down to gut instinct. That’s how he trained horses
and
ran this club. Except at the moment, he lacked time to think about anything besides a mountain of bookkeeping. No sense buying into an issue that had yet to materialize.

Shoving his phone into his pocket, he entered the main section of the club, completely dark without the lights on overhead. He flipped on the stereo and the under-the-counter lighting and started a fresh pot of Joe. While the coffee brewed, he checked out the main floor, turning on the hallway lights and inspecting the guest rooms.

An hour flew by and he returned to the main bar finally grabbing a cup of coffee. Sipping, he surveyed the area in the dim light. He and Pen had spent days, refinishing the original hardwood floors. Gleaming mahogany-paneled walls lined the place. The splash of crimson and gold from the stained-glass and the matching fixtures along with the new leather furniture recently delivered amped up the atmosphere from the usual level of décor for a bondage club. He’d sunk some serious money into the place since last year.

The entire downstairs had been redone. A main lounge surrounded by private well-equipped rooms on the perimeter where members could ‘meet’ or hire a stud. The club rooms were housed within three select hallways, and each hall had a single theme. To the south: the typical S & M dungeon rooms. The center hall contained semi-private rooms complete with viewing windows. The last corridor was strictly private, housing a large, fully stocked suite. His domain and it was his prerogative to decide who entered. He hadn’t gotten involved with a submissive, or any woman, for months and no one else, not even his partner, had the key to that room.

Topping off his cup of coffee, he trounced up the back stairs toward his office. At thirty years old and working since he could pick up a hammer, he’d learned a thing or two about running a profitable business. He preferred to deal with the nuts-n-bolts aspects when it came to ranching, and gladly left the headache of paperwork to his brothers Matt and Miller. But he’d made a mistake once in letting someone else deal with the club’s finances. Never again.

Today he had an appointment with his digital ledger. He opened the door to his office just down from his lonely apartment and glared at his computer. No way to escape the ordeal. He had to bite the bullet in dealing with the club bookkeeping he’d let slide to the last weekend of the month. For the last two years, he came up from Annona to Paris and stayed in the apartment above the club. Not easy, but he and Pen had finally established the S & L as high-class.

“Now or never,” he muttered, preparing to untangle red from black as he shrugged out of his coat.