The Buchanan's Redemption (4 page)

“Hallelujah,” she retorted dryly. “Sexual education at its finest.”

“Hey, better late than never.”

“I suppose you never worry about getting someone pregnant?”

At that he shrugged but the motion had lost some its signature jocularity as he said, “Shooting blanks. Bad motocross accident when I was kid. Killed my nuts.” The corner of his lips twisted in a brief smile as he said, “So, no little Lairds out there.”

“Oh.” She wasn’t sure why but the need to apologize was strong. Why did she care if he couldn’t go out there and irresponsibly procreate? It wasn’t as if Laird Tiechert was made of great father material. The man was possibly as bad as his best friend, Vince. He had to be, if they were that close. Still, it seemed harsh, even for her, to not offer something. “That sucks.” There. Eloquent and to the point.

Laird grunted something that sounded like “No big deal” and then started picking at her left over chicken. “Do you mind?” he asked as he took the entire chicken breast from her plate and started eating it. She shook her head, though seeing as he’d already eaten half of it, she doubted her answer would’ve mattered. “Damn, that’s good,” he murmured. “I bet he got this at that fancy Italian restaurant down the street. You don’t like chicken?”

“I love chicken. I wasn’t about to let Vince Buchanan feed me like he would a pet. I am not his possession nor his responsibility. I tried to tell him that but he insists on keeping me here against my will.”

“Yeah, he’s stubborn that way.”

“Mr. Tiechert—“

“Call me Laird…my father is Mr. Tiechert and he’s an asshole.”

“Fine. Laird. Can you please help me get out of here?” she pleaded, hoping to appeal to a sliver of chivalry that might still be present. “My sister needs me. I can’t leave her alone for too long. Already it’s been too long.”

“What’s wrong with your sister?” he asked.

“She’s…well, she was injured about six months ago and she’s still recovering.”

“What happened to her?” he asked, scooping up a spoonful of wild rice and shoveling it down.

“I’d rather not say. It’s private,” she evaded. If Laird found out that Lana was the same girl who’d been injured in the club six months ago, he’d likely be just as adamant as Vince about keeping Emma around. “Please,” she said softly, daring to put her hand on his, her eyes filling with tears. “I’m all my sister has in the world. I can’t abandon her. She’s going to be so scared.”

Laird seemed to struggle, clearly affected by her pleas and she sensed victory. “You know, I can appreciate Vince feeling responsible for my care but I really need to get home. It’s urgent.”

“How about this…I will take you to your sister and then you can check on her and see that she’s okay as well as grab some clothes and then we can get back here before Vince returns none the wiser.”

“No,” she disagreed sharply. “I don’t want to come back here. I want to go home.”

“Sorry, I can’t do that.” He appeared apologetic but her temper was returning and she didn’t give a damn if he felt bad for forcing her to stay. “Listen, I know we seem like the bad guys but you have to understand, we have to protect the club. A lot of people have a lot to lose—“

“I really don’t care about your stupid club. As far as I’m concerned your disgusting little club can go up in a powder keg of glitter and lube and the world would be a better place.”

“Ouch. Well, on that note, I’ll leave you to catch some shut eye,” he said, rising to gather her plate. “Take it easy, tiger girl.”

Laird closed the door behind him and Emma swallowed a scream of frustration as she fell back among the fluffy pillows, causing several to bounce from the bed. She truly was a prisoner in a very gilded cage. With no choice but to wait until Vince returned, the fight in her dissipated and she was left with pure exhaustion from her ordeal. Her body demanded rest and she grudgingly gave in. Within moments, she was fast asleep.

Emma’s dreams were a fragmented mess of terror and arousal that she couldn’t seem to shake herself free from. She was back at the club, wearing that ridiculous hostess outfit that barely covered her breasts and behind, and all around her the sounds of sex and lust were unavoidable. Everywhere she turned, she saw men and women touching one another in acts of intense foreplay or worse, blatantly fucking like animals in heat. The music throbbed, nearly drowning out the moans and cries of pleasure, but there was no escaping the gaped mouths and shuddering bodies as they pinnacled to climax. Emma liked sex —
 
the few times she’d tried it —
 
but it was nothing to lose your mind over. Except those people seemed quite delirious in their pursuit of pleasure, almost drugged with carnal endorphins as they went from one partner to the next, handed off and shared like a party favor indiscriminately. She tried to avert her gaze but it was everywhere. And then he was there, towering over her with that damnable inscrutable expression, his eyes roaming every inch of her as if he had the right and her body responded instantly, drenching her panties even as she wished to God she wasn’t so desperately attracted to him. But here in the dreamscape, everything took on a surreal quality, melding and blurring reality until it was like an intense acid trip taken with Ecstasy. Her gaze snagged on a woman as Laird buried his face between her thighs, eagerly ravaging the woman’s most sensitive area until she gasped, twisting and crying her release. Suddenly Vince was behind her, pulling her tightly to him, whispering, “Does the little dove, like to watch?” Her cheeks burned but she nodded. Emma shuddered at the dark, husky chuckle at the shell of her ear and she couldn’t look away. “There’s nothing more beautiful than the sound of a woman cumming
beneath your tongue.” He nuzzled her neck. “I wonder…what do you sound like when you shatter apart? Are you quiet and sweet or do you cry like a banshee, shrieking and shaking until your voice is hoarse?” He didn’t wait for her to answer, which was good because she didn’t know the answer. She was no virgin but she’d never had an orgasm. “I bet you’re loud, little dove. I bet when you come, you leave scratches on your lover’s back.” She squeezed her eyes shut and he reached down to cup her pubic mound, pressing against the sensitive skin and causing her eyes to pop open on a gasp. “You don’t want to miss the best part,” he told her, rubbing her with just enough pressure to make her squirm. “Watch…”

And then the woman stiffened, her thighs quaking, as she came hard. Her naked breasts heaved as she tried to catch her breath but just as she stopped shuddering, Laird shared a look with Vince and Laird flipped the woman over so that she was on all fours and without waiting, plunged himself deep inside her dripping core, ramming his cock into her almost brutally but she seemed to love it, as each thrust elicited a guttural moan. Laird’s ass muscles flexed as each powerful thrust buried his cock deeper into the woman’s body and Emma felt herself growing helplessly aroused until she was squirming against Vince’s hand, pressing against his palm for more pressure. Something was building at her core, something she couldn’t name, but she wanted it —
 
craved it —
 
and it frustrated her that she didn’t know how to attain it but Vince seemed to know and he was effortlessly guiding her there if only she could let go and trust him. But she didn’t trust him and that was the crux of it. She twisted and pushed away from, disoriented and aching from a need she didn’t fully understand. “No,” she cried, and stumbled away from him. “I don’t want this and I don’t want you!”

But even as she shouted the words, the din of the club whisked the sound away and she realized tears were streaming down her cheeks. She didn’t want Vince’s touch. She didn’t want him to be the one who awakened her latent sexuality. He was the exact opposite of everything she appreciated in a man so why was she burning up inside with desperation and need? She turned and bailed, running as quickly as her dream legs would take her, away from Vince and his darkly handsome face and solid strength and away from the scorching shame of her own arousal. “No! No! No!” As she pushed her way through the crowds, she realized she was no longer on the second floor but strung up in the dungeon with her attacker and her confusion coalesced into a cold, greasy knot of fear. There was no one to save her and her attacker was advancing with that wicked implement of torture. She kicked and screamed but no one heard her. No would come. She was in the clutches of a madman drunk on power and if she escaped with her life, it would be a miracle. All those feelings of frantic panic, despair and agony returned in a symphony of pee-your-pants fear and all she could do was scream.

#

Vince heard moaning from the bedroom and immediately got off the phone with Nolan to investigate. At first he puzzled at the faint moans until he recognized the anxious scissoring of her legs beneath the blankets and he grinned. Whatever was happening in her dreams must’ve been pretty hot because her nipples had pearled in her sleep and she was twisting and moving as if someone were caressing her body with phantom hands. Watching her felt wrong but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. She was such an enigma to him, part feral cat — hissing and scratching — and part vulnerable China doll with plainly broken parts. He wondered who was in her dreams that made her wet with need but even as the natural curiosity flitted across his thoughts, he didn’t like the way it made him feel to know that she’d allowed someone —
 
anyone but him — touch her so intimately. But the minute he realized the faint touch of jealousy he shut it down. What the fuck did he care about her sex life? She was nothing to him aside from a detail he had to manage. Just like he had her sister. Once they’d solved the mystery of who was using Malvagio for their own purposes, he’d close the book on Lana and Emma Winters. Emma…her name left a delicious taste in his mouth. Nolan had discovered her identity a few moments ago, which hadn’t been difficult once Emma herself had outed her relationship with Lana. Emma Winters…the name fit her seemingly delicate disposition, which was a total ruse. Emma was pretty damn tough. He’d expected her to crumble after her ordeal but she’d proven to be far tougher than he’d imagined, choosing to bounce back with her fists raised rather than sink into a deep, dark place inside of herself like her sister had. Poor Lana…such a delicate flower. He wasn’t sure who had brought her to the club, no one had copped to it, which was probably because they would’ve been banned for bringing someone who hadn’t been vetted and cleared. Vince kicked himself for not pursuing the matter more aggressively at the time. Now they had a bigger mess. Another moan pulled his attention and he realized she was no longer moving with arousal but jerking in fear. Her lips parted and a whispered cry escaped, her brows pulled in a mask of total terror. He shouldn’t have been so affected by the sight of her whimpering but it pulled at a place inside of him that he’d long since shut down and padlocked. He didn’t stop to question his actions, too intent on soothing her ragged cries and immediately went to her, drawing her gently into his arms. “It’s okay, you’re safe,” he murmured softly against her crown. She hiccupped and clung to him, burying her face against his chest, unknowingly cleaving to him as if he were the only thing between her and death, and his heart stuttered painfully. Someone else had looked to him for protection and he’d utterly failed her. He closed his eyes against the wash of memories that assaulted him, wishing to God he could forget but in all his pleas to heaven and above, none had been answered. He was reminded daily of how he wasn’t worthy of someone to love for his own. Isabel had put her trust in him, yet he’d known her heart had belonged to Dillon. And now he had this little dove who’d managed to stir his blood in a way he didn’t welcome but couldn’t deny? He held her tightly, inhaling the unique scent of her essence and knew she was trouble in more ways than one but he couldn’t bring himself to push her away.

#

Emma awoke with a start and without thinking buried her nose against the solid wall of muscle cradling her. Relief over realizing she’d been suffering from a nightmare and not a reboot of that horrid night blotting out rational thought. But as her nose tingled at the sensual scent of clean male skin and the sharp bite of aftershave, she sucked in a wild breath and pushed hard against the wall of muscle, nearly falling from the bed in shock. “What are you doing?” she demanded to know, pulling the sheets practically to her chin. “Why are you in bed with me?”

Vince climbed from the bed, seemingly unperturbed by her outburst but answered curtly, “You were having a nightmare. I was trying to shut you up before you disturbed the neighbors with your caterwauling.”

“I do not
caterwaul
.”

“Would you prefer the term
screeching
?”

No. That wasn’t very flattering either. “Well, I’m fine so keep your meat hooks to yourself.”

“Meat hooks?” He stared. “You, little dove, have an appalling sense of gratitude.”

“Kidnappers are not allowed to critique the manners of their hostages,” she said, looking away, refusing to be made to feel guilty for her brusque brush-off. No one had asked him to climb into her bed just as no one had forced him to hold her hostage. She took no responsibility for his pique. But she had to admit now that her heart rate had slowed to a normal and steady thump, she’d been wildly grateful to feel his solid strength wrapped around her. In that crazy moment between sleep and complete awareness, she’d been instantly soothed by the feel of his arms holding her tight and her
fuzzed
brain had told her she was safe. Of course, when she’d realized she was in Vince Buchanan’s arms, her
scandalized
brain had told her something completely different, something along the lines of
Run, you stupid idiot!
and she’d reacted accordingly. So, why did she feel like such a jerk? She wasn’t the one who was holding a person against their will. “If you have a problem with my attitude you could always just let me go.” At his dark scowl, she exhaled a short, frustrated breath. “Fine. It’s your funeral. I hope you have a great lawyer because I am going to sue the pants off you.” She realized her mistake the second the words flew from her mouth but it was too late to take them back.

Vince’s mouth curved in a sardonically sensual smirk as he said, “I have excellent lawyers —
 
as in plural —
 
and if you were interested in getting me out of my pants, all you had to do was ask.”

“Oh!” Her eyes widened as she scowled. “As if! Get over yourself, Buchanan. The very idea makes me want to vomit.”

If only that were true. Emma hated to admit but the idea had to be somewhere in her subconscious otherwise why would she have such a shameful dream about him? Ugh. Thank God, he couldn’t read minds. Her mortification would burn her alive. But seeing as she doubted he had mind reading capabilities she was happy to cling to outward appearances. He need not know that her dream had featured him and some quite scorching scenes that she didn’t even fully understand but she knew arousal in its most primal form. And everything about Vince was primal male.

She suppressed a shudder but Vince’s quick eye caught the motion. “Do you need more blankets?” he asked brusquely and she nodded, happy to cover her visceral reaction to him and all his overflowing masculinity. He abruptly left and returned, tossing a thick blanket to her. “Thank you,” she said awkwardly, then ventured to ask, “So…do you have any idea when I might get some clothes? Unlike other women in your company, I do not relish the idea of lounging around naked.”

“Your clothes should arrive later today. But if it were my wish for you to remain naked, you certainly would remain so.”

“Is that so?” Oh, the arrogance, she wanted to scream. “And what makes you think you could make me do anything?”

“I can make you do all manner of things,” he said with a shrug, causing her fingers to itch with the desire to lob something heavy and blunt at his thick head. “The key to motivating anyone is finding their currency. Laird told me that you pleaded with him to release you so you could care for your sister.”

“Yes, that’s true,” she agreed cautiously, not trusting where this was going one bit. “And?”

“And I’ve discovered your currency is your sense of responsibility. So, I’ve had Laird go procure your sister.”

What? “What do you mean procure?” She stilled, her brain freezing. “What the hell are you talking about?”

He smiled, slow and deliberate. “I told you, I would find your motivation. You’ve been fighting me tooth and nail since I rescued you, making this situation ten times worse than it needs to be. I need your help in catching whoever did this to you and your sister. You’d think that you’d be more helpful but instead you’ve been an irritating twit and I’ve tired of your games.”

“Games?” she gasped, outrage blotting out her good sense. “How dare you!”

He waved away her outrage and continued. “Your sister is in good hands. Laird will take excellent care of her while you do your best to be accommodating.”

“You can’t do this,” she protested, unable to believe his nerve. “You can’t just go around plucking people off the street to do whatever you want with them. What kind of world do you live in where that’s remotely okay?” She was beginning to shriek but she didn’t care. She hoped his eardrums burst and bled. “I’ll call the cops and then you’ll go to jail, you miserable son-of-a-bitch. My sister has been through an unimaginable trauma because of your club and now you’re going to make it worse!”