Relentless (Fallon Sisters Trilogy: Book #1) (14 page)

"How about we continue this at my hotel?"

"Donovan." Two of the men she'd seen Lyle with came toward them. The tall one with the shifty gait pointed his finger at Donovan. "Next Friday. Two A.M. Sweet Creek Stables."

"Sheesh, Driggs, you got a big mouth."

Driggs laughed it off and moved past without a word.

Donovan angled in on Bren. "Now, you didn't hear that, Belinda."

Hell she didn't.

She pulled her hand out from under Donovan's. Wes was as good as gone, the son of a bitch, and she'd be waiting for him when that trailer stacked with horses pulled out of Sweet Creek Stables. He'd go against regulation. She'd bet on it. And she'd have the sheriff and her friends from animal control there to nail his ass.

But first, she needed to get the hell out of here.

"Let me freshen up," she whispered in his ear, "and I'll meet you at the bar while you settle our tab."

He slid out and grabbed her arm, pulling her to her feet. He squeezed her butt. "Hurry up."

If she could have, she'd have smacked him. Instead, she moved to the bathroom to call Jo. Standing in front of the mirror, she washed her hands and smiled at the stranger staring back at her. She bent over and rinsed her mouth and especially her tongue. She couldn't wait to shed this getup for her pajamas.

She reached in her bag for her cell phone and cursed when the words "no signal" glowed back at her. Shit. She pushed open the bathroom door and peeked around the small alcove toward the bar. Donovan was gone. Crap. Maybe he went back to the table? It didn't matter. She was a homing device for Donovan Skidmore. She'd take her chances at the Exxon. If she recalled, there was a large Dumpster. She wasn't above hiding behind it until her ride showed up.

Bren slipped out the door and moved down the hall when she was forced backwards against the wall. "Trying to run out on me, doll face?"

Donovan pressed his bulky frame against her, the heat of his sickening breath hot on her neck while he slobbered kisses against her skin.

She pushed hard. He didn't budge. "You're heavy, Donovan."

"Get used to it. I'm going to be all over you."

Bren's heart sped up, and a shiver shot up her spine. "Get off."

He pressed painfully against her stomach and rubbed his erection into her.

Bren tried to knee him, but he pinned her high and tight against the wall with his massive body. "We had a deal, sweetheart, and I'm collecting."

They were tucked away down from the restrooms, toward a back office. There was no foot traffic, and Bren cursed. She'd isolated herself. The music pumped through the back hall and into the alcove. Her only chance was to scream. Maybe someone would hear her from the bathrooms. She tried to scream, but Donovan Skidmore's lips clamped down on hers. She began to gag when he stuck his tongue in her mouth, and then the pressure of his mouth and tongue disappeared. She coughed and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"The lady said she wasn't interested." A dark suede arm swung, its fist smashing into Donovan Skidmore's face. He slumped to the ground.

Bren didn't have to look directly into his eyes to know who the voice belonged to. She hadn't known Rafe Langston for very long, but she was prepared for his fury at her stupidity.

"You okay, ma'am?"

Ma'am?

Bren straightened. "I can ex—"

He dipped his head. "I'm Rafe Langston. Can I take you home? Or call someone to get you?"

Too funny. He didn't recognize her. Bren raised her chin and looked him in the eyes. She didn't want to wait around for Jo to get there. "What time is it?"

He glanced at his gold watch. "Eleven thirty."

"I'll take that ride. But I need to call my friend and let her know she doesn't need to pick me up."

He nodded. "There's better reception outside." He stepped over Donovan's limp body and directed her around it.

Bren glanced back. "You didn't—"

"Kill the son of a bitch? No. Drunks fall harder. He'll sleep it off and wonder what Mack truck hit him in the morning."

He guided her through the bar and out the door, the air an instant relief to her overheated body. "I'll just be a minute," Bren said.

"Take your time."

Bren moved away from Rafe and dialed Jo's number. "Jo."

"I'm on my way."

"No. You don't need to come. Rafe's here. I'll have him drop me off at your house."

"What happened? You all right?"

"I'll tell you when I see you."

Bren snapped the phone shut. Mindful of her blasted heels, she walked toward Rafe carefully.

"Your friend okay with me taking you home?"

Bren smiled. "Actually, that's where you're dropping me off. But to be safe, I gave her your name and your full description."

"Smart move. I'm the black pickup." Rafe pointed several spaces down from where they stood.

Bren nodded and began to move in that direction. She took a cautious step down from the curb, her ankle rolled, and she stumbled. A silent curse left her lips.

Rafe's strong hand grabbed her arm, holding her in place. "Easy." He glanced down at her shoes, his eyes lingering on her legs before he fastened them on her face. "You walk like a newborn filly."

Bren grimaced. "Breaking them in."

"Or your ankle. Belinda? It's okay if I call you that?"

Tell him the truth.

She wanted to. But she enjoyed listening to his Texas drawl, and the possessive way he held her hand was the exact opposite of Donovan's—and that was a good thing.

"Sure." Oops that came out too Northern. "Sure, honey. I'm Belinda Harrington. I really appreciate you helping me out and all."

"I'm glad I could oblige." He frowned at her. "You think you can make it?"

"With your guiding hand, I'll be just fine."

Rafe nodded, kept his hand in place, and began to walk slowly with her by his side. He unlocked her door and assisted her onto the running board. After shutting her door, he came around to the driver's side and got in. He started the truck and sat back. "Where to, Ms. Belinda Harrington?"

"Just take Route 68 and I'll tell you how to get there."

"Sounds like a plan." He put the truck in Drive and turned on Route 68.

Bren chewed on her lip and stared out the window.
The truth will set you free.
The only problem was she had so many lies stored up inside her, if she opened her mouth the truth might not be the first thing that popped out. If she was going to tell him, she needed to do it soon. She had maybe seven minutes before they got to Jo's.

"Not all men take advantage of a beautiful woman."

"What?" She glanced over at him.

"What I mean is, it's still early." He nodded toward the clock in the dash. "Midnight."

So he liked blondes. And that made her mad. When she was a redhead, he didn't give her a second glance. "What do you have in mind?"

"I have a real nice house in Clear Spring. Been looking to do some entertaining." He glanced over and smiled. "I noticed you like Seven and Sevens."

Ah, he'd been watching her. "Sure, sweetie. You have a liquor cabinet at your place, I'm there."

He reached over and squeezed her knee, and she tingled inside, and then he took his hand away.
Whoa. Back up. I did not experience a flutter of arousal for Rafe Langston.
Then she sagged. He, on the other hand, was squeezing the knee of the blonde tart, Belinda Harrington, which made her angry the more she thought about it.

Bren grabbed her phone from her bag and texted Jo:
Change of plans. He's taking me home. I'll fill you in tomorrow.
She dropped her phone in her bag and settled back into the seat.

The truck turned left down Grace's driveway, her house disappearing in the distance when Rafe passed it, heading toward her childhood home. That irked her, too. He lived in her house. She glanced over at him, and her stomach fluttered.
Damn it.
She liked looking at him, strong jaw, rough with a couple days' growth of beard. Her gaze dropped to his lean legs in jeans, and she bit down on her lip.

Focus. Focus on what?
On Rafe? Not good. She pulled her eyes away from his rugged profile. What exactly was the plan here? He liked blonde Belinda. He said not all men took advantage of a beautiful woman. So she'd test it out.

R
afe helped her from the truck. She steadied herself on the running board and took a tentative step down and wobbled. He grabbed her arm. "Darlin', it'd be a lot faster if I carried you."

She wrapped her arms around his neck, her wondrous blue eyes staring up at him. He took that as a yes and scooped her up against his chest. The tight black skirt rode even higher, and he gritted his teeth at her shapely, smooth legs dangling from his arm.

Rafe smiled to himself and carried her the rest of the way. He sat her down gingerly, unlocked the door, and stepped back. "Ladies first."

She crossed the threshold and swayed. He curved his arm around her and leaned back to shut the door. "Maybe you should take off those shoes."

She gazed up and didn't take those eyes off him. She stepped out of one shoe, then the other, and sank to just below his chin. "You're tall."

He didn't answer. Instead, he frowned at her. "You really shouldn't be traveling alone." He brushed back a long, gold curl, amazed how soft it felt against his fingers. "What kind of business did you have at the Bear Claw?"

She pursed her shimmering pink lips, and his dick swelled. "None. Just checking out the sights."

He caressed her neck and let his hand brush lazily against the soft swell of her breasts. His balls tightened when she rolled those pouty, kissable lips in and a small whimper escaped through her mouth. What did his mama always say?
Play with fire
... His eyes lit on her red lacy top, his fingers tingling as he traced the design of the lace that exposed her pale skin, and he forgot about his mama's warning. "You were turning that guy on in there, Belinda."

"Not intentionally," she drawled innocently.

"No?" He cocked his head.

She shook hers.

Rafe reached up and ran his fingers through her golden hair. And marveled again at how soft it felt through his fingers. Gripping it tighter, he yanked real hard and didn't flinch when it came free.

"Ouch!" Her hands flew to her head, tentatively feeling around for the mass of blonde hair that was no longer there.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?" he yelled, and his dick that had stretched to massive proportions began to recede with his anger. Hell, he knew what she was doing, same as he—searching for answers into Tom's death. That made him pause. He and Bren Ryan thought alike, and that was scary as hell.

"You're an asshole." Bren tried to pull away from him.

"Not so fast, doll face."

Her face flushed. "Shut up."

"Isn't that what he called you?"

She closed her eyes, as if not seeing him would make him disappear, and then those bright blue, unnatural eyes opened and blazed back. "You let that pig slobber all over me. You watched and enjoyed yourself."

"Darlin', it looked like you had it all under control." He reached up. "You have something in your eye."

She pulled back, the anger fading to concern. "I do?"

"Yeah. Hold still." Damn, but he was enjoying himself at her expense. He only had one stab at it, and she'd really be pissed if he poked her in the eye by mistake. There was a teaching lesson in there somewhere. But if he was wrong, she'd probably kick him in the balls. He latched onto a fluttering lash and yanked.

"Ouch!" She covered her eye with her hand.

The one brow he could see furrowed, and Rafe quickly pushed her back against the wall, averting a direct hit with her knee into his groin.

"That bastard could have raped you. What's wrong with you, Bren? You have two boys to look after. You had no business in a bar like that." He made a point of eyeing her breast and tried like hell to ignore the tightness inside him returning. "Looking like a hooker. I thought you had more smarts."

"He wasn't even close. You overreacted." Her chin rose, and she shot him a defiant look. "Did you just call me stupid?"

"Take it any way you like, darlin'."

"I can handle myself. Now get off me." She gave one solid push that amounted to a big nothing.

"Settle down, Bren. You could no more handle that jackass then you could me if I wanted to take advantage of you."

"You're wrong. Now get off."

Rafe reached up and pulled at a bobby pin. A long, deep red strand of hair slipped down to rest against her bare shoulder.

Her eyes darted toward it and then back to him. "What—"

He reached up again and carefully pulled at several more bobby pins until her hair spilled down to caress her soft, pale skin. If she didn't say uncle soon, his plan was going to backfire.

Her mouth opened slightly.

Damn.
As much as he wanted to touch her, to kiss her, he knew he couldn't let that happen.

Not this redhead. Not this town. Not this lifetime.

He pressed up against her thighs, his chest bumping up against her sweet, pert breasts.
Come on, darlin', say uncle.
She straightened, but didn't push him away. If she shoved back, and he prayed she did, he'd let her go.

But he should have known better than to test Bren Ryan's resolve. She'd been through hell, and she was still fighting. He admired her for that. Tom was a lucky man, the poor bastard.

Rafe cupped the back of her neck and tilted her head up so he could look into those eyes of hers and cursed under his breath when he was met with that ridiculous shade of blue staring back. "Your brown eyes are a lot prettier."

She bit down on her lip and didn't say a word, only stared back at him.

Damn it, Bren!
She was tougher than a one-legged Indian in an ass-kicking contest. Rafe brushed her lips with his thumb and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. Nothing. He reached back and slid his arm down her back and pulled her to him and squeezed a firm, rounded cheek and damned if she didn't move closer. His hand traveled up her rib cage and stroked the side of her breast. He angled his head and pondered the sensual curve of her kissable lips. He groaned and let go. She fell back against the wall.