Читать книгу Unleashed - Lori Borrill - Страница 8

THE RING of her phone stirred Jessie from what had been a light and restless sleep. Not that she was troubled. On the contrary, she felt like a kid on Christmas Eve, excitement and anticipation keeping her too pumped up for anything more than a turbulent doze.

Granna Hawley had been right. Get out of Texas and all the bad luck that had plagued her life would come to an end. And if Jessie had doubted her paternal grandmother before, these last few days proved the woman had been right. Life had definitely been on the upswing since she’d stepped off the plane in San Francisco, the latest in her run of good fortune being an incredible night of sex with the gorgeous cop beside her.

Rolling off the bed, she grabbed her purse and his charcoal-gray T-shirt and headed for the front room, wanting to close the door behind her before the phone woke him. Although, looking over the broad mound, she doubted a hurricane would pull the man from sleep. Every inch of him was crushed against the big bed, those sharp, chiseled features sunk so deeply into his pillow she had to do a double take to see if he was actually breathing. Only when her phone sounded again, prompting the slight twitch of his right index finger, did she turn and step out of the room, satisfied her handsome lover hadn’t slipped into a sex-induced coma.

The thought made her smile, and as she flipped open the phone, the memory of the last few hours brought a layer of steam to her voice.

“Hello?”

“So you are alive.”

It was her friend and roommate, Georgia. “Of course, I’m alive, though when my strong and studly sheriff wakes up from his nap, I might be indisposed.”

Georgia didn’t sound impressed. “You forgot the rule.”

“What rule?”

“I’m serious, Jessie, if you can’t remember the rules, I’m not letting you go home with strangers.”

The giddy smile wilted from Jessie’s face as she recalled the drilling she’d received from Georgia earlier that evening, before the two women stepped out for the bars. “I was supposed to call.”

“Ding-ding-ding-ding! We have a winner.”

Still clutching Rick’s T-shirt in her hand, she pressed it to her forehead and lowered to his couch. “I’m sorry,” she replied, her voice muffled through fabric that smelled deliciously like musk and man.

“I’ll give you a break this time because it’s your first pickup date, but I’m serious. If you want to play the cosmopolitan woman, you’ve got to think like one, and that includes remembering that you’re not in Tulouse, Texas, anymore.”

And wasn’t Jessie thankful for that? Not that she had a problem with cowboys. She’d heard plenty of favorable stories about the rugged men on the range. It was just that the men in Tulouse were more boy than cowboy, and especially after this evening, she’d take the dangers of the big city over what she’d found back home.

“Tell me where you are so I can forget my miserable evening and go to bed.”

“What happened to the blond, beautiful beat cop you were hanging on to when Rick and I left?”

“Beat cop was right. He beat me to the orgasm then took off before I could even work up a decent flush.” Jessie heard the crunch of a taco chip through the phone—a sure sign Georgia wasn’t exaggerating about her miserable evening. She always drowned a bad day in a bag of Doritos. “Tell me your night went better than mine.”

Jessie smiled as she recalled the events of the evening, starting with the stormy look of intent in Rick’s sizzling blue eyes and ending with her desperate cries of release as she’d dug her fingers through his thick, dark hair and climaxed one last time. Still she tempered her excitement for the sake of her friend. “Marathon Man,” she said. “If I wasn’t so excited about my meetings tomorrow, I’d be dead to the world like he is.”

“Beginner’s luck,” Georgia droned.

Could be, but Jessie knew it was more than that. It was Georgia who had convinced her to take Granna Hawley’s advice—and inheritance—and come out to San Francisco. And once she got here, it was Georgia who taught her how to put herself ahead of everyone else. Lesson one being to stop looking at men as potential husbands and start using them for what they’re good for: sex and vehicle maintenance.

Okay, so maybe Georgia’s ideals were soured by one too many jerks, but Jessie had to admit a certain liberation in having sex with a man she had no intention of getting serious with. For the first time ever, she abandoned concern over making a good impression and decided to go for broke.

And in the process left her dark and sexy companion completely and utterly spent.

Perhaps it was beginner’s luck that she’d found a man who could keep up with her. Or perhaps it was that, away from her hometown roots, she’d had the nerve to step into the driver’s seat and have the kind of sex she’d always wanted. Either way, this newfound freedom was working, giving Jessica Beane yet another reason to be thrilled with the new life she’d been given.

“I’ll take luck however it comes,” she said, prompting Georgia to finally laugh.

“Hon, you deserve a good time after everything you’ve been through.” Another crunch and Georgia added, “Now tell me where you are so I can send you back to Marathon Man and put an end to my own disastrous evening.”

“Hold on a sec,” Jessie said, trying to remember where exactly Rick’s two-story flat was. She recalled turning off Nineteenth Avenue, but that was about it. There’d been an Asian market down the block, but she’d forgotten the name, and with an Asian market on every street in San Francisco, that wouldn’t help her.

Her sexy sheriff had driven all the way from Scotty’s with one hand up her skirt, and by the time they’d turned down his street all she could think about was how many steps to the bedroom door. Street names and house numbers were just a lusty blur. Still, she and Georgia had a pact. If they went home with a new beau, they were to call each other with addresses just to be safe.

Something Jessie had completely forgotten about while she and Rick were testing the limits of sexual acrobatics.

Pulling his shirt over her head, she was pleased to see the hem nearly reach her knees. No surprise since the man had more than a foot on her five-foot-two frame. But it helped that she wouldn’t have to go back to the bedroom in search of her underwear, and after picking up the phone from the couch, she crossed the front room and opened the drapes of the large window that faced the street.

A wall of two-story row houses lined the opposite side of the street, each one painted a bright pastel, some topped with clay tile roofs, others adorned with iron balconies. All had single-car garages on the ground floor next to wide stucco stairways leading to the top-floor entry. Ornate iron gates guarded each doorway, and grand bay windows hung like turrets over the garages, providing an unobstructed view of the public sidewalk below.

It was the picture of just about every street in San Francisco.

She looked one way, then the other. “I can’t see the street name from here. I think I’m in the middle of a block.”

“Missing Persons will probably want more information than that.”

Jessie scowled but relented. She’d gone home with a cop for heaven’s sake, but Georgia had always told her to stay aware of her surroundings and never trust a soul.

Advice she could have used long before she moved to San Francisco.

Making her way to the front door, she unlocked the dead bolt and the latch on the painted white gate and stepped outside, finally locating both the street name and house numbers and relaying them to her friend.

“See how easy that was?” Georgia asked. “Now, if you show up missing, someone knows where you went. Congratulations, you’ve just passed your first course in Casual Sexual Encounters, albeit you’ve barely squeaked by with a C minus.”

Jessie laughed. “I’ll be home earlier than later. Remember, I’ve got interviews with assistants in the morning.”

Just saying the words sent a shiver up her spine. Her Assistants. Her assistants. She was actually going to own a business…with employees.

“Swan will be opening the shop. If one of your candidates gets there before you, I’m sure she’ll keep the girl rapt by showing off her latest in Native American jewelry.”

Chuckling, Jessie said goodbye and tossed the phone in her purse, the conversation a reminder that she really should still try to get some sleep. She’d never interviewed anyone for a job before, and she wanted to be clearheaded enough to make the right choice. So after making a quick stop in the bathroom, she headed back to the bedroom to do that when her phone rang again.

She picked it up and huffed. “Yes, dear?”

“Was he good?”

The low, familiar voice slithered through her veins like ice, trapping the air in her lungs and freezing her feet to the cold wood floor.

She opened her mouth and tried to speak, but the only thing that came out was a low gurgle.

“Aw, c’mon, Sugar. When a woman cheats on her husband, the least she can do is share the gory details.” She heard the draw of a cigarette before she added, through an exhale, “Is pretty cop-boy good in bed?”

Her heart thumped and her knees buckled causing her to brace a hand to the back of the couch. A hundred questions spun in a flurry of disbelief, blurring her thoughts and reducing her words to a stutter.

Rounding the couch, she slowly lowered to one arm. “Wa-Wade?”

“Well, since you forgot that I’m your husband, I’m glad you at least remembered my name.”

She blinked and sputtered then finally managed to hiss, “You’re not my husband.” Not that that was the primary thought going through her head right now. She just wanted him to stop saying it.

More importantly, she wondered how he got her cell phone number, why he was calling her and how did he know where she was?

The thought put her feet in motion and she scampered to the front window, peering down to the street below. There were cars parallel parked up and down the quiet avenue, but other than that, it looked deserted in the wee hour of the night.

She heard him blow out another puff of smoke and she darted her eyes back and forth before seeing an old battered pickup parked two doors down in front of a pale yellow stucco. The windows on the truck were fogged and she caught a faint puff of smoke escape from the driver’s side.

“Yeah, well, that’s where you’re wrong, Sugar. You and I are still entirely conjugated.”

“You’re in jail,” she whispered, hoping that saying the words out loud would make it true.

“Not anymore, Sugar Beane. And I’ve come all the way to California to reunite with my loving bride.”

“Stop calling me that! I’m not your wife. You signed the divorce papers in jail.”

“You know, I should be angry,” he said through another drag of his cigarette. “Coming all this way only to find my woman leaving a bar with another man. You’re lucky I’m not the jealous type.”

Coward was more like it, but she shook the remark from her thoughts. She needed to stay focused.

“Most men would be barging up there with a shotgun.”

She snapped her eyes to the truck. “You—” was all she could utter.

Had Wade ever handled a gun? She didn’t think so, but then again, there’d been a lot of things she hadn’t known about Wade Griggs up until a year ago.

His laugh was raspy and cold. “I’ll forgive you as long as you give me the same favors you gave Officer Hard-On there.” Another suck off his butt and he added, “You always were the best at giving head.”

A wave of nausea stumbled her back a step. The image of her and Wade—

She cupped a hand over her mouth and tried to block it from her thoughts. No way would she let that animal turn something beautiful she’d shared with a deserving man into the dirt and grime he crawled from.

“My cock’s getting hard just thinking about—”

She snapped the phone shut and tossed it on the couch as though it were a grenade about to explode. Her desire to run from it underscored the feeling. Her heart raced, her hands went clammy, and as she glanced over the dark shadows of the room, she went dizzy with disgust and confusion.

What was Wade Griggs doing here? Why wasn’t he in jail? And if he was released, why hadn’t anyone called to tell her?

And then the big question: What did he want from her?

She and Wade were through. They were through the moment the cops had shown up at her house and informed her that the body shop she and her husband owned was a front for a car theft ring. That her husband was being indicted for grand theft auto. That she was considered an accessory until proven innocent. And that everything they owned was being seized by the county, the state and the Internal Revenue Service.

He’d lied to her from the start, her trust in him landing her in a pile of trouble so deep it took every last cent she had to get out of it. As such, she was left with nothing more than a quick divorce and a bad credit rating.

He’d drained her of everything, and less than twelve months later he was back—wanting what?

The phone rang again, and she reluctantly picked it up, her fingers trembling and tears threatening at the backs of her eyes.

This can’t be happening. Not now.

She pressed the phone to her ear in time to hear the end of “…used to love it when I talked dirty—”

“What do you want?” she snarled.

“I told you, Sugar Beane. I came to find my wife.”

“I’m not your wife.” How many times did she have to repeat it?

“Now, that’s where you’re mistaken, honey cakes. You see, that divorce you set up never got finished.”

She blinked, her nausea easing into simple confusion.

“What are you talking about?”

“You and I are still blissfully wed, Sugar Beane. And that means everything that’s yours is mine.”

She stood up and stepped back to the window, this time to find Wade standing casually at the rear bumper of a red Honda Accord parked directly across the street.

“You’re wrong.”

Though he was one story down and across the wide street, she could see the rough-edged smile on his long, narrow face. He was tall and more bulky than she’d remembered. His jeans bagged around his boots and the button-down shirt made him appear more kept than usual, even though his right shirttail hung over his leather belt.

He’d apparently dressed himself up for the reunion.

“Check your papers, darlin’. You don’t have anything signed by me.”

Of course, she did. Though not recalling offhand exactly where the papers were allowed an inkling of panic to creep in.

She remembered specifically having them drawn up, signing them in her lawyer’s office and having them couriered to the county jail. She remembered that day as if it was yesterday. She’d signed them. They’d been notarized. Wade had signed them, too.

Hadn’t he?

“Things got a little hectic back then, what with Old Lady Hawley up and dying like that,” he drawled.

She squeezed her eyes shut. No, no, no. This was Wade playing games with her. He signed those papers. She knew it as well as she knew her own name. “The lawyer called and said you’d signed,” she contended, though a tremble in her voice watered down the affirmation.

“You sure about that? Are you sure you aren’t thinking about the call you got from that lawyer telling you old Granna Hawley left you all her money?”

Her eyes shot open and she glared at him through the window.

“Half of which is mine, you realize.”

Shaking her head, Jessie thought about the time, through a fever of distress and ire. The lawyer did call. She’d gotten the package in the mail. She was sure of it.

Wasn’t she?

A slow swell of bile rose up her throat. She’d signed those papers the day before Granna Hawley died. Sure, she’d been devastated by the loss. Gran was the only person Jessie could ever count on. And then there’d been the funeral arrangements and the impending feud between her father’s side of the family and her mother’s—the former insisting the latter had no business anywhere near the cemetery. It had been a mess, with Jessica slammed right in the center.

But in the middle of it, she knew Wade had signed those divorce papers. The lawyers told her so. The package came in the mail.

She was sure that it had…

The bile hit the back of her mouth and she nearly choked. All these doubts, this was Wade and his games. He’d gotten out of jail and come here just to screw with her. He was only feeding his own sick sense of humor, hoping to get her back for dumping him the moment she’d learned the truth about him.

“We’re divorced,” she said again, this time with more velocity than the last.

“My lawyer says you got almost a hundred thousand dollars from the old woman after taxes. Plus half of that ten thousand you just borrowed.”

Her mouth fell open.

“Yeah, as your husband I know all about your finances.”

“Then you know I don’t have any of that money anymore.”

“No. And you don’t have the five hundred dollars you’d stashed in that black velvet box, either.” He patted his back pocket. “Consider it your first installment.”

He’d been in her apartment?

And if he’d rummaged through the place, how much had he found? She had Granna’s jewelry and Grandpa Hawley’s watch.

Georgia had a diamond ring that belonged to her mother. She cherished that thing. Had Wade found that, too?

She nearly doubled over. If her friend lost anything thanks to that snake, she’d never forgive herself.

“I’m disappointed, Sugar Beane. I came all this way looking for my wife and my money only to find you broke and in bed with another man. Now, what do you think a husband should do about that?”

Clutching the phone so hard she thought it might snap, she repeated through clenched teeth. “You’re not my husband.”

“Oh, yes, I am. And as your husband, you owe me somewheres in the neighborhood of fifty thousand dollars.” He pushed off the fender of the Honda and stood straight, the smile drained from his face and his eyes black as sin. “Get me the money, Sugar Beane, and you can have your divorce.”

“I already have my divorce, and even if I don’t, I don’t have that kind of money. It’s gone. Sunk into my business.”

“Yeah, your momma told me all about that movie star who’s gonna make you famous. I’m looking forward to sharing half your wealth.” Then flashing a grin she could see all the way from the street, he added, “Now, why don’t you come down and share a little of that sweet ass, too? Or am I not as worthy as your fuck buddy?”

She snapped the phone shut then turned it off, not willing to hear anymore.

Wade was wrong. They were divorced. And the moment she got home, she’d find those papers and prove that she had nothing to worry about.

Scattering about the dark space, she went in search of her things. Rick was still sprawled like a stone tablet across his bed, the slow rise of his back the only indication he was still breathing.

Moments ago, she’d been on top of the world, this sexy, chiseled cop sending her to all kinds of heavenly places and leaving her feeling like a queen. And with one phone call, her past had come crashing back, storming through the gates of her new life like an angry mob intent on raping and pillaging everything she’d created.

Clenched fists at her sides, she vowed not to let it happen. She wasn’t sweet, little Sugar Beane anymore, dumb and ignorant and ready to roll over for every con artist who crossed her path. Her tryst with Rick underscored that. Here in California she was an independent, grown woman capable of taking on the world, and no car-stealing felon of an ex-husband was going to topple her now.

For a second, she considered waking up Rick and sending him downstairs to throw Wade back behind bars where he belonged, but she quickly extinguished the thought. It was time she stopped believing anyone would come to her rescue. In her twenty-seven years, Granna Hawley was the only person she’d ever been able to lean on, who’d stood up for her and defended her when she needed someone in her corner. That made one person among a half-dozen family members who should have helped but only disappointed—Wade Griggs being the last in a long line of them.

How she could think a practical stranger would come to her aid only proved she hadn’t yet wised up, so instead of waking him, she quickly threw on her clothes, grabbed her purse and took off out the back alley. She ran up the street, only stopping to call a cab after she was blocks away from Wade and his threats.

She needed to take care of this herself. And as soon as she got home and found the papers she knew were there, she’d succeed in sending Wade Griggs right back to the swill he came from. Doing so would be a message to everyone that Jessica Beane couldn’t be screwed with ever again.