Jorinda Pearce thought she did everything right – graduated from college, married her long-time sweetheart, established a career. But what does she have to show for it now? A degree she doesn’t use, a job she hates, and an ex-husband that broke her heart.
Looking for a long overdue adventure, Jorie takes a walk on the wild side and attends a masquerade event at The Wicked Horse Vegas. It’s exactly the escape she’s looking for, and even better, she can explore anonymously. Drawn to the man masked in black leather with the body of a god, Jorie finds the greatest pleasures of her life at the hands of a stranger.
Walsh Brooks is the most sought after man in The Wicked Horse. Sex is nothing but a game to him and he’s the type that will always leave at the end of the night without looking back. Unfortunately for Walsh, there’s no way he can walk away from the mysterious green-eyed beauty behind the mask of sapphire feathers, because he knows exactly who she is.
Jorie is his best friend’s little sister and there’s not another woman in the world that’s more off limits.
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“Want another drink?” I ask Micah as he lounges on my couch and takes the final swallow of his scotch. He flew in about an hour ago, and we’re waiting for Jorie to arrive to go out to dinner tonight. My nerves are on edge. I definitely want another drink.
“Nah, man,” Micah says as he pushes up from the couch and moves to take his glass back into the kitchen that opens straight from the living room. “Tonight’s not about getting drunk. It’s about hanging out with my two favorite people in the world.”
I smile at him and nod, my stomach clenched.
“But just so you know,” he says with a laugh. “Jorie’s my first favorite, you’re my second.”
“As it should be,” I reply, and hope that sounds casual enough.
Micah rinses his glass out and sets it on the counter. As he walks back into the living room, he says, “And besides… I figure tomorrow night, you and I are going to hit the town, right?”
“You know it,” I say as I push up from the chair, head straight to the wet bar, and replenish my vodka. There is not enough alcohol in the world to get me through this weekend. I take a healthy slug as soon as I cap the bottle.
“Dying to go to The Wicked Horse,” Micah says with excitement in his voice. “Want to meet Jerico, too. He and I have been emailing about testing out some more of my designs in his club. Plus, you and me, dude… we haven’t had a woman together in a long time. Your stories about the stocks… we’ve got to hit that, man.”
My shoulders tighten and my gut rolls with nausea. How in the fuck I am going to weasel out of this is beyond me, but I’ve got to figure something out. I don’t want another fucking woman other than Jorie.
“Walsh?” Micah says in question, and I turn to look at him. “We good with going there tomorrow night?”
“Damn straight we are,” I say with a smile. “A night of debauchery for the both of us.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Just then, the elevator doors give a slight hiss as they open, and Jorie is standing there. She looks fucking amazing, wearing a dress done in large black-and-white zebra stripes that’s loosely belted around her waist and comes down to her knees. She’s got on a pair of sexy-as-shit taupe heels to go with it and my mouth waters as I take in what they do to her legs. Hair in that sleek, angled bob that hangs halfway in between her jaw and shoulders, and that thick crop of bangs straight across her eyebrows make her green eyes brighter than ever.
I swallow hard and try to appear casual.
Her eyes go immediately to Micah, and she gives a squeal of excitement. He rushes to her, picks her up, and swings her around. The skirt of her dresses rises a bit in the back, and I look away guiltily.
“God, I missed you, squirt,” Micah says with a choked voice. My guilt intensifies over the naked display of love and affection he has for his sister.
Jorie’s voice quavers with equal love. “I missed you, too.”
She hugs him hard and looks over his shoulder at me. Her eyes are wary and nervous.
When Micah releases her, I step up and casually say, “Got a hug for me?”
It’s a shameless move to touch her, but not something that would raise Micah’s eyebrows. I’ve hugged Jorie a million times over our lives together growing up.
“It’s good to see you again,” she says to me as she walks into a very brotherly hug. I make the mistake of inhaling her scent, and I’m hit with a jolt of lust for her.
After we quickly release each other, she steps back and surveys my apartment as if it’s her first time. She told Micah we met for breakfast one day, but he sure as shit doesn’t know I’ve fucked her on almost every piece of furniture in this apartment. He’ll never know she went to her knees right where we’re standing in front of the elevator and swallowed every drop of cum I gave her.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I have an overwhelming urge to fake a stomachache, a migraine, a goddamn stroke for all I care at this moment, and beg off from this entire weekend.
Instead, I put a smile on my face and tell them, “Come on. We’ve got prime seats in Moulineaux tonight. I’ve not eaten there yet, but heard it’s amazing.”
Jorie smiles back at me before turning to hook her arm through Micah’s. She leans over and puts her head on his arm as she’s too short to reach his shoulder. They both stroll into the elevator.
This night can’t get over with fast enough for me.
Since the release of her debut contemporary romance novel, Off Sides, in January 2013, Sawyer Bennett has released more than 30 books and has been featured on both the USA Today and New York Times bestseller lists on multiple occasions.
A reformed trial lawyer from North Carolina, Sawyer uses real life experience to create relatable, sexy stories that appeal to a wide array of readers. From new adult to erotic contemporary romance, Sawyer writes something for just about everyone.
Sawyer likes her Bloody Marys strong, her martinis dirty, and her heroes a combination of the two. When not bringing fictional romance to life, Sawyer is a chauffeur, stylist, chef, maid, and personal assistant to a very active toddler, as well as full-time servant to two adorably naughty dogs. She believes in the good of others, and that a bad day can be cured with a great work-out, cake, or a combination of the two.
Jerico
For three nights, I’ve watched her.
By any definition, I’d totally be considered a stalker.
But from the comfort of my office, I can pull up the security feeds on my monitor and take note of the subtle changes in Trista as she works the condiment tray. Truth be told, I don’t need her working that job and have a much greater need for her to go back to cleaning, but fuck if she doesn’t look a hell of a lot sexier in a thong than a turtleneck and pants.
Part of my training in the military was gathering intelligence, so I can pick up on the slightest of details that could tell me a very important story, and there were a lot of changes I noticed over the last three days with Trista as she settled into her job routine.
The most important and pleasing thing was that Trista’s stopped hiding her sexual curiosity. When she first started working here, she looked around a room in a vague way, not taking in too many details. I think she was afraid to watch.
Afraid of what it would do to her body.
But that has definitely changed.
Now, Trista watches what the patrons are doing. Sometimes, she stares for long moments and much to my delight, the kinkier the acts, the longer she stares. My trained eyes take in her chest rising and falling to keep up with what I’m sure was a racing pulse. She’d adjust the straps covering her breasts in a very minute way either because the pressure on her nipples was too much, or because she wanted to create some friction.
Naughty, naughty girl.
My favorite though was when she would cross one long leg over the other and squeeze her thighs together as she watched, and I had no doubt her clit was probably pulsing with desire.
Trista was getting braver too. She never once took any man up on an offer to join, and there had been some I’d seen. I had told her she could if business was slow, but I also made a spectacle in front of Willis that she was off limits. Perhaps Trista thinks she’s off limits to everyone, and it’s fine by me if she wants to think that.
We’re at a table with six other people who Jerico knows. It hits me suddenly that he’s not just a hermit who hides in The Wicked Horse, but a real businessman. He owns a prominent security-consulting company and is probably very involved with the community if he’s attending functions like this.
I sit quietly, feeling like Julia Roberts in Pretty Women as the men discuss business and politics and the women talk to each other and ignore me. I only hope to God they don’t bring escargot because I definitely cannot eat it, and I don’t feel like being embarrassed by flinging a shell across the room.
When the salad is served, however, the chatter across the table dies down and Jerico turns slightly toward me as we eat. Leaning over, he whispers, “I hate all this polite chitchat.”
I have to swallow down a giggle before I whisper back to him. “Well, suck it up and eat your salad.”
Jerico responds by putting his hand on my leg, giving it a squeeze, and then using his fingers to pull at the silk of my gown. He gets it to rise right to my knees and then his hand is snaking under. I slap a hand on his wrist, look around the table to see everyone engaged in food or personal talk, and then I make a decision.
Not to stop him but to pull his hand up higher. I do this while watching Jerico’s nostrils flare and his eyes darken with arousal. But he does nothing more than squeeze the inside of my thigh before taking his hand away. I grin at him in satisfaction when he leans over once more to whisper, “Would you have really let me finger you under the table?”
“Yes,” I whisper back to him, my skin tingling with the prospect of what I almost let him do.
“Dirty girl,” he says with appreciation in his eyes. “But even I have my limits on what I’ll do in public. Besides, you’re too much of a screamer. We would have never gotten away with it.”
Over lettuce wraps, I let her vent more about her brother but I only let this go on during the appetizer. Once our entrees arrive, I insist we change the subject. She’s not calming down, only getting more worked up, and diversion has always worked best with Trixie.
“Raleigh seems to be a nice town,” I say conversationally in an effort to get her relaxed.
She rolls her eyes at me because as much as I know how to “handle” her when her temper is spiked, she recognizes the fact that I am indeed handling her. Apparently, she finds it adorable. She cuts a piece of her orange chicken and gives in to my attempt to switch the conversation. “It really is. It’s spread out so you don’t have that overwhelming big-city feel, but you have all the luxuries a big city affords like museums, professional sports, fine dining, etcetera.”
“Overwhelming is an interesting choice of words,” I observe. “You didn’t feel that way in Boston, did you?”
I’m surprised when her cheeks turn a bit red. Her voice is reluctant when she admits, “Yeah… it was a bit too much for me.”
My mouth hangs open as I stare at her. How could I not know that? We had made plans to live in Boston, and there was a time when she was completely on board.
“I’m sorry,” she blurts out. “I know what you’re thinking… Why would I have even considered all those plans we’d made if I felt that way?”
“Got to admit… this is a bit surprising to hear.”
Trixie puts her fork down and levels her gaze on me. “Ry… I loved you. And I loved Cambridge. It was small and well… comfortable. It wasn’t small like Whynot, but it reminded me of home a bit. But honestly, I was only considering staying there in Boston because of you. I didn’t like it at all. Too many people. Too much concrete and glass. Too much noise. It’s just not me.”
“You should have said something a lot earlier than you did,” I reprimand her quietly. I can’t help feeling a bit angry over this revelation, because who knows what would have happened had we had some honest discussions about where we wanted to go that could suit both of us.
“Would it have changed anything?” she asks me bluntly. “You were set on Boston. You wanted that job at Hayes Lockamy. You worked your ass off at Harvard and the clerkships to get that job offer. It was everything to you.”
“It wasn’t everything,” I tell her sharply.
“Maybe not,” she retorts. “But it clearly meant more than me. As I recall, I asked you to come to Whynot to practice, and I got a resounding ‘no’ to that offer.”
“You sprung that on me at literally the last minute, Trixie,” I say angrily. “After I’d accepted the job offer at Hayes Lockamy. You didn’t give me any time to process any of it.”
“And you didn’t bother to try to talk me into staying,” she snaps.
“Seriously, Trix,” I say in exasperation. “I’ve been here two days, and I’ve watched you in your element. You were born to live here. This is where you’re supposed to be. Being a small-town lawyer in Whynot surrounded by your close-knit, if not nutty, family is what brings you joy. Are you seriously trying to infer that you would have left all of this to stay in Boston with me if I’d just tried to talk you into staying?”
“No, what I’m saying,” she sneers at me as she leans across the table but I don’t miss the light sheen of tears in her eyes, “is that you and I clearly weren’t meant to be, and we’re both better off for making the choices we did.”
Now that hits me hard, right in the middle of my chest, and I have to resist the urge to rub my knuckles over my breastbone to ease the pain.
Trixie merely pushes up from her chair, grabs her purse, and practically runs out of the restaurant.
“Shit,” I mutter as I stand up. I grab my wallet, take out enough money to cover the meal and tip, and toss it down on the table.
I jet out of the restaurant, scan the area, and see Trixie walking quickly toward her car. I wouldn’t put it past her to jump in it and drive off without me, so I break into a fast trot to catch up with her. My hand latches onto her elbow just as she reaches her car, and I spin her to face me.
“What the hell, Trix?” I ask her with frustration, anger, and a little bit of self-loathing that I let the conversation get so out of hand. I’ve always been the mild-mannered one between the two of us, knowing how to deftly control and sidestep her temper so it doesn’t get the better of her.
Or me.
I brace, expect her to rail and rant some more. Instead, she launches herself right at me, making a tiny hop to throw her arms around my neck. Her mouth comes to mine hard as one of her hands grips into my hair, fisting it tight.
Jesus Christ… stars wink in my vision at the feel of her mouth on mine, so long forgotten and yet completely familiar all at once. I don’t think—just act. My arms band around her tight, hauling her body to mine. I push her back into the side of her car, tilt my head, and I kiss her back with every bit of longing and regret that she seems to be mutually feeling in this moment.
Suddenly, my pole jerks in my hands, and I instinctively snap the tip upward into the air. I feel something catch as the pole bends in an extreme arc.
“Holy shit,” I exclaim as I sit up straighter in the boat.
“That’s a big one,” Pap says, and Trixie laughs with delight. “Now… keep the rod up and reel it in.”
I plant my feet hard on the bottom of the boat and crank my catch in. My heart is racing because I don’t know what’s on the other end of the line, but it feels massive. I reel and reel and reel, watching as the end of the line in the water comes closer to the boat. I see a flash of grayish-brown thrash at the top of the water before the fish dives back down deep, but I keep cranking that spinner.
Pap sets his pole aside, grabs a net, and leans forward, balancing himself with a hand on the edge of the boat. I give another mighty heave on the spinner’s handle, and the fish comes to the surface.
“Oh, my God,” Trixie practically shrieks with excitement as her feet come off the edge of the boat. She leans closer to me. “He caught Ol’ Mud. I was knee high to a grasshopper the last time someone managed that.”
Pap grunts in acknowledgment, scooping the net into the water under my catch. He proceeds to pull it up, and in it is the biggest, ugliest fish I’ve ever seen in my life. Not that I’ve seen many up close and personal. I mean, I went snorkeling in the Cayman’s once, but those were all brightly colored fish with long, flowing tails. This thing is indeed the color of mud, with enormous eyes that seem to be rolling and long whiskers sticking out from around its mouth.
“What the hell is that thing?” I ask in horror.
“That’s a flathead catfish,” Pap says as he hauls him in and carefully maneuvers him out of the net with practiced efficiency. He pulls the hook out of the corner of the fish’s mouth and then holds him up for me to see.
The fish is massive and thrashes in Pap’s hands, but he grips him firmly before pushing him my way. “Want to hold him?”
I recoil slightly. “Um… no, but thank you.”
Trixie snickers behind me. “Oh, God… ain’t he precious?”
Pap snorts but doesn’t give me too much shit. “Suit yourself. Take a picture, Trixie.”
I turn in my seat and watch Trixie pull her phone from her pocket. Pap scoots closer to me and holds the damn fish up over my shoulder—which, in addition to fish, smells like mud too—and chuckles, “Smile for the camera, city boy.”
Trixie holds the phone out, grinning as she takes a picture of Pap and me as he holds that slimy, nasty-looking catfish. I know my manhood took a bit of a ding with my refusal to hold it, and I can’t say I’m thrilled that Trixie thinks I’m precious, but screw it… not going to apologize for my failure to bond with that smelly thing.
To my amazement, Pap leans over the side of the boat and slides it gently into the water while murmuring, “Until we meet again, Ol’ Mud.”
“You let it go?” I ask incredulously. While the thing was scary looking as all get out, I’ve eaten catfish before and it’s delicious. I have also witnessed Catherine’s cooking firsthand, and I bet she’d do heavenly things to that fish. Besides… I thought that’s what you did in the south. You hunted shit and you ate it.
“Ol’ Mud’s been in this lake for years,” Trixie says by way of explanation. “He’s rarely been caught, but we always release him. He’s like an icon around here. The fact that you caught him, and in the morning, is amazing.”
“Really?” I ask, a small pattering of pride thumping in my chest.
“Flathead’s normally sleep during the day, usually down under lake debris,” Pap explains. “They’re easiest to catch at night, but I don’t think Ol’ Mud’s ever been caught in daylight hours, right, Trix?”
“Right, Pap,” she says and then winks at me. “We might turn you into a southern boy yet, Ry.”
