Shelby
“The bitch is back,” someone says, his heartfelt welcome echoing across the Ranch’s great room. The room has a warm, rustic southwestern charm that makes you want to flop down into one of the dark-chocolate-leather winged chairs and simply admire the décor. Which is exactly what I do—or pretend to do, well aware of the wave of heads turned in my direction and the unforgiving glares being cast my way.
I raise my water bottle and take a long, in-your-face sip. Yep, making frenemies.
But I’ve no lingering allusions about the men assembled here on this dismal, rainy morning, and certainly none about Freedom’s Bluff and the man running this dog-and-pony show.
It feels like we’re training for a military position, with ten-mile runs, hours of sparring and strength training, drills, and something I seem to have a knack for: target practice. Two weeks of hard-core physical tasks. And so far, so good. That is, except for the knife-throwing debacle.
But today, I wouldn’t put it past Hayden to send us out into the pouring rain for his twisted version of Iron Man.
I’m quickly learning to expect the unexpected. That everything is not what it seems.
Hayden’s recruits, for instance. Not sinners nor saints. Not demons or angels. Not rule followers yet not completely rule breakers. These men operate within the shades of gray only visible through the cracks. Each man dangerous in his own right, most with backgrounds in the military or with street credibility, whatever that means. There’s a few unknowns, like that stone-cold nonconversationalist Declan, whom I can’t quite figure out. Or Francis—who seems even more out of place than I do. My would-be employer, with his jagged-lined explanation for what TORC really is . . . really does . . . spying on mobsters . . . holding vendettas against Pricks. Yeah, I’m drowning within TORC’s shades of gray.
And then, there’s Jaxson. I didn’t see him coming, not by a long shot. And my instinctively feminine response to him, a constant desire to be near him, to be on the receiving end of his naughty smiles—has my body doing the hot-flush cha-cha.
“You’ll help me through Hell Camp,” he’d said. I never dreamed what that would entail.
His teasing me. His taunting me. His making me want him like I’ve never wanted anyone.
Two weeks and I’m a goner. A walking-talking schoolgirl blushing casualty of lust. Yeah folks, you can keep your apricots and plums. Jaxson’s the ripest, naughtiest, most temptingly ripe bit of fruit around.
I don’t dare look up and give into the urge to scope him out. Not caring to draw attention to my lust-crush on him. Not with all eyes zeroed in on me. Usually when I arrive, the guys either greet me as they’ve done this morning or make these annoying hooting calls, which in a way is much worse. Surprised I’m still here and back for more fun on the Ranch?
Yeah, they’re getting a taste of the unexpected as well.
And I’m growing accustomed to life on the Ranch, probably because Hayden’s allowed me to return home each evening to tend to my mother. No one but Hayden has been told about my mother’s illness. Hey, it’s not exactly the topic for idle chitchat, not that any of these men cared to shoot the breeze. As for Madelyn, I can only hope he never finds cause to dig any further into my private affairs. Keeping her out of my business has always been tough, but the less said about my having a younger sister, the better. Though if my baby sister were running TORC, she’d have the dirt on everyone.
She’s such a nosy thing. Always asking a million questions and wondering where I’ve been disappearing to. What can I tell her? “Hey, sis, I’m training to become a lean, mean spying machine?” She’d have a coronary. There’s no need to drag my family into my business. Besides, with the money I’ll earn, we’ll be taking a turn for better, with no one the wiser.
Better, right. My early-morning conversation with the doctors at Johns Hopkins fills me with hope. Mama’s qualified for several alternative treatments. Screw the insurance company and their mantra, “No, dear, we won’t cover that.”
So Hell Camp it is. And every morning, I faithfully find my way back to Freedom’s Bluff.
I tug my white sleeveless T-shirt with the yellow, black, and fuchsia-pink Sex Pistols album cover Never Mind the Bollocks brazenly decaled on it. Yeah, like most hard-rock fans, my love for music that gets your blood pumping extends to British punk. Not having time for laundry, I’ve borrowed a pair of fuchsia-pink running shorts from my sister, whose a bit shorter than me, which means the hem barely covers my ass instead of falling nicely on the back of my thigh. A fact that became annoyingly clear on the sprint over here, but I was tired and running late, and there’d been no time to change into another pair of shorts stashed away in my overnight knapsack.
I give into temptation, raising my eyes to skim the crowded room in search of Jaxson.
No one is looking my way. Not even Broken-Nose, who’s been a constant thorn in my side after having consumed not one but two bottles of laxi-flavored water. He’s constantly watching me, waiting for a sign of weakness so he can swoop in and get some revenge. Good luck with that, asshole.
When I locate Jaxson, I feel like throwing my water bottle at his fickle, playboy head.
He’s sitting on the arm of a leather sofa across the room. Grinning like a saint and flirting like a fool with a woman seated on the sofa. Her long, dark hair hangs down back and shines like black licorice. She’s in a tight gray pencil skirt, black fishnet panty hose, and three-inch fuck-me heels. A suit jacket has been discarded and lay on the sofa’s backrest. Leaving her in a form-fitted, Victoria Secret–worthy bodice, designed to push up her gals like two white melons offered up for grabs. I suddenly feel drab in comparison, even though my girls are bigger and my body just as rocking.
So much for us being a thing.
I square my shoulders and sit up straighter in the leather winged-back chair. Lesson learned. I won’t be so damn malleable going forward.
Hayden strolls into the center of the room, commanding attention. “We’ll begin. I’ve brought in Sabrina Jenkinson, who has a doctorate in psychology and who has graciously agreed to train you in—”
“Manipulation,” she cuts him off and stands. Quite the attention seeker. I notice how the lines of Hayden’s mouth tighten, the tiniest sign that her interruption—which is in fact, an obnoxious display of manipulation in itself—pisses him off. And it doesn’t take a rocket scientist with a doctorate in psychology to figure that out, though she continues on, oblivious. “Hayden has asked me to spend the morning showing you the ins and outs of body-language cues, anticipating actions and provoking reactions, analytical reasoning and anger-management skills . . .” On and on she goes, though I’m pretty damn sure most of the guys are still caught up on the words in and out. Only Hayden and myself seem unfazed by her spell and how she’s been parading back and forth across the room, her arms on her gyrating hips and her girls bouncing. Familiar moves I know only too well.
Jaxson has this massive grin on his face. One I plan on wiping off his lying mug with a quick heel to the crotch the next chance I get.
“ . . . so this morning I want to get a feel of who I’m working with . . .”
I swear to God, Ball-Busted wiggles his fingers, getting an imaginary feel, all right.
“ . . . and will call two of you up at a time for a role-playing activity. We’ll begin with the oldest form of manipulation, sex play.” She says the last with a throaty tone that has the crotches of every man’s pants in the room pitched like a barn. I allow myself a mental sigh. “For this experiment, you’ll interact face-to-face. I am going to whisper in your ear what response I want to see from your partner. Your job is to use physical manipulation to get that response, and then we’re going to gage the reaction of the other person and evaluate how well they’ve been manipulated, even in the slightest of ways.”
And she’s going to be the expert judge to say yeah or nay? A bunch of bullshit, if you ask me. But the guys seem game so I keep my mouth shut.
“But how are we going to do this with only two women in the room?” someone asks.
Terrific. Now all eyes are cast on me, the forgotten one. Sabrina scrunches her nose like the idea of another woman in the room disgusts her. Snotty and an attention seeker with a superiority complex. Yeah, I’ve been reading people my whole life, honey.
I give her my sweetest smile. Game on, Psycho.
She turns away and gyrates her way over to Ball-Busted. “You’re up. Along with . . . him.” She points to Francis, then gestures for them to head to the center of the room.
As she whispers in Francis’s ear, Ball-Busted boasts, “No way is this pussy going to manipulate me.”
They face each other. Then, quicker than I’d give him credit for, Francis moves in, tugs Ball-Busted’s head toward his own, and soundly kisses him. A French kiss, with tongue and all. A sneaky, unexpected move earning him my thumbs-up.
Ever so damn predicable, Ball-Busted stiffens, then shoves Francis away. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he snarls, “Try that again and I’ll bite off your fucking tongue.”
“Excellent. Give yourself a point. You’ve used sex to achieve your goal of making him angry.” Well, no shit, Sherlock. Then she wiggles her finger at Jaxson. “You’re up.”
He unwinds his big body from his perch on the sofa arm and saunters to the center of the room.
I drag my eyes away but not before they connect with Psycho’s. Terrific. She’s probably caught on to my lustfest over him. It doesn’t take a psychology degree to figure it out. I mean, what woman can resist him? I mentally brace myself, instinctively knowing she’s about to fuck with me. That whatever happens will also be a lesson in how a female pecking order is established, with her believing she’s the head cheerleader and that I’m just some lowly, rock music–loving geek. I’m careful not to give any more of myself away, which judging by the snap of her head, displeases her.
I plaster a big, fake smile on my face then look back the other away. My heart gives a few fist pumps when I realize Jaxson’s attention is directed toward me.
He winks.
Jesus. In a split second, my newfound determination to resist him flies out the window. Damn him. This man is going to be the end of me yet.
“Who else?” Broken-Nose demands.
Psycho shakes her head. No. No one.
What the heck?
Then she reaches up, wraps her arms around Jaxson’s shoulders, and, pressing her big boobs into his chest, draws his head down to her.
He lets her.
I contemplate leaving the room. Or worse, dragging her away from him. Yet that’s what she’s hoping for. Provoking me. Manipulating my insecurities with her sexually charged moves on Jaxson. Targeting me. I grit my teeth. I’ll be damned if I give her the satisfaction, so I lean back in my chair, cross my legs, and pretend the flush on my cheeks caused by the heat and not because my blood is boiling. Because of her. Because of him. Because of my own fickle horn-girl response to him.
His lips hover over hers. Familiar lips. Promised to me . . . to be mine. Damn them both.
Psycho folds into him like a cat who’s ready to lick the cream off the naughty curve of his smile.
At the last second, Jaxson pulls his head away and whispers something in her ear. Her pout turns sinister as he breaks away and steps back.
“My throat’s sore from all the running in the rain. How about another healthier volunteer step up in my place? Someone who won’t make the pretty lady sick?”
Ball-Busted jumps up.
She gives him a vicious sit-your-ass-back-down wave.
I feel like clapping my hands. Outplayed by the player. Why should that surprise anyone, including myself? One hundred points, Jaxson.
“Fine,” she says in a tight voice. “Let’s move on to our next duo.”
I catch Hayden’s stern frown. Guess he’ll be thinking twice about inviting her back. “Her,” she bites out, addressing—you guessed it—me. “Any volunteers?”
Ball-Busted stands.
Terrific.
“Sit,” Jaxson tells him.
Psycho’s eyes widen like they’re going to pop out of her head.
Jaxson shrugs. “Let’s see what she’s got,” he tells her.
For a second I think she’s going to bust a gasket but manages to compose herself. It wouldn’t bode well for the psychologist to flip out, though if there’s one person in the room who excels at pressing people’s buttons . . .
Everyone—Ball-Busted, Psycho, me—glares at him. The room practically sizzles with furious energy.
“Do your best. Intoxicate him, sweetheart,” Psycho says, her tone laced with insincerity.
I wince. Evidently, words even reached her ears about my tampering with the water bottles. Way to rile up the fellas’ vindictive sides, Psycho. God, how I’d love the chance at knocking her down a peg or two.
Jason wiggles a come-hither finger at me.
I roll to my feet and approach him, giving my best overconfident, in-the-know vibe, when in actuality I don’t want to be anywhere near the man-whore. Especially not in a game of manipulation—when he clearly has the upper hand.
Psycho leans in and hisses in my ear, “Get him to want you.” Jesus. Vindictive much?
She steps away, heading toward the vacant seat next to Hayden. Lucky man.
Let’s see what she’s got? How am I going to get Jaxson to kiss me when he doesn’t want to be kissed?
“‘Never mind the bollocks,’” he reads my T-shirt.
“Better mind yours,” I say.
Jaxson stares at me for a second. “There’s no cause to be jealous.”
I bite my lip in indecision. Grabbing his face like Francis had done and surprising him flashes through my mind.
Too easy. Too obvious. It’s what they all expect, right? No way am I going for easy peasy. I might need a few throat lozenges after this, but if I can get him to bend to my will, want me bad enough he’ll kiss me, it’ll win this ridiculous exercise. And if he doesn’t return my kiss . . . at least I’ll know the past two weeks has been nothing but fun and games to him.
Balls to the wall, girlfriend.
Shifting forward, I wind an arm around his shoulder and fan my fingers through his hair. His eyes flash but he doesn’t resist. He leans down, narrowing the distance between us. I lift myself up onto my toes and tug his head forward. I brush my lips against his, testing the waters.
Sabrina screeches as I move in for the kill. Pressing my lips against his, I lick and thrust, hoping, just hoping he gargled with an antiseptic like Listerine. Or even better, that he lied.
I feel his lips lift against mine. Then he parts them and in a sudden, breath-stealing moment, he’s kissing the bejesus out of me. His tongue entwines with mine, probing, searching, arousing me to the point I’m sure both my panties and my running shorts are drenched. I’m pulled flush up against him, my head cradled in the crook of his arm as his tongue plunges deep inside me. French-kissing—man-whore style.
And I love every lick, every plunge, every arousing minute of it.
“Enough,” I hear Hayden say. But either Jaxson intentionally ignores him or the roar of my pounding pulse causes him momentary deafness because he continues his assault. And hey, who am I to resist. Bollocks to the rules, it is.
I lean in and enjoy every blessed inch of him. Pent-up energy that’s been slowly building inside of me releases in one small exhalation after another as I pant against his mouth. Sensation takes over. Me feeling him against me, his tongue inside of me, my happy place zinging to life as my girls sing a blissful tune as he pulls me in tighter against him. My fantasies about kissing him dull in comparison to the blissful reality of him.
“Come on, stud. Show us how it’s done,” one of them shouts, ruining the moment.
God, I’ve lost my bleeding mind. I pull away.
“I can see we’re going to have to have a lecture on obedience,” Psycho says, calmly, though there’s no doubt she’s absolutely, positively livid.
I flash her my sweetest faux smile.
“Five-minute break,” she tells the group before gyrating her way across the great room and out a door.
I can’t help but smile. Let’s face it, there’s nothing worse than a woman scorned. And a woman psychologist . . .
“I’m outta here. Finish this thing later.”
My attention shifts back to Jaxson but it’s too late. He’s moving at a fast clip as he crosses the room. I watch him throw an arm around Declan’s shoulder and almost laugh when Declan tries to pull away as they head out of the great room.
Abrupt? You bet, especially after that kiss. I bring my hand up to touch my lip, then freeze as my eyes lock with Hayden’s and a sense of unease sweeps over me.
I do my damnedest not to show it. Instead, I give him my best what’s-a-girl-to-do shrug, which only seems to annoy him more.
Turning away, I follow Jaxson’s lead, beating a fast exit out of Dodge and dodging our boss all together.
Thinking how no good can come from pissing Hayden off.
Thinking about how damn fast Jaxson is—not simply in his movements but in taking control of a situation. Manipulating Psycho. Kissing me. Thumbing his nose at Hayden.
I pride myself on my smarts yet I’ve been nothing but foolish around the man. Going forward, I promise myself something.
After this morning’s showstopping event, no matter what Jaxson comes at me with, I’ll never underestimate him again.