Bad Girl by Night (8 page)

She forced her gaze upward to find Dana’s husband, Hank, a tall, burly guy who was as kind as the day was long. She blinked, her throat going dry. “I’m fine, Hank,” she lied. “Just . . . a smidge under the weather today . . . and the sun’s getting to me. I’ll be better once I get back to the shop and eat.” She held up her bag as proof she would soon be well.

Still looking concerned, he said, “Want me to walk you?”

“No, I’m good—really,” she said, then trundled past him, unable to concern herself right now with what he thought. She’d explain it all away later. For now, she just had to get inside, keep the door locked—screw the customers; this was an emergency—and somehow figure out how to deal with this.

Except . . . there
was
no answer. She already knew that. There was no way to remedy it.

The stranger whose cock she’d sucked to oblivion was now a resident of Turnbridge, and he knew her worst secret. She felt frantic inside, desperate to fix this somehow, to stop the inevitable outcome, but no fix existed. None.

She imagined the horror on Frank Schubert’s face when he heard the ugly, unthinkable truth about her. Her mother, Dana, Hank, Beth Anne, the whole damn town. Every person she’d ever known, since birth.

Maybe they wouldn’t believe him. He
was
a stranger, after all, and no longer the rescuing kind. And such a tale—that Carly Winters led a secret life as a world-class slut—would be hard to swallow by anyone’s standards.

But no matter
who
believed
what
, this would be ugly.

Ugliest most of all, she realized, because it was all true.

 

 

J
ake tried not to seem like he was rushing off as he hurriedly paid Frank Schubert for his burger and fries. He also tried not to seem weirded out. Because he was. Big-time.

Frank was still talking about Carly. Damn—her name was
Carly
. Not Desiree. “Everybody loves Carly—she’s a sweetheart,” the man was saying, even as Jake climbed down off his stool and said so long.

As he pushed through the heavy door out into the sun, he could barely process what had just happened, what he’d just seen. The same girl who’d been with him and Colt last month—but . . . not the same girl at all. She didn’t even have the same name. And he wasn’t about to let her get away.

Talk about shell-shocked. He couldn’t remember a time in his thirty-four years when something had left him so stunned.

The truth was, ever since that night he’d been mystified, intrigued, and a little obsessed with thoughts of her. He’d been sorry to wake up and find her gone afterward—and he’d had a hell of a time getting her off his mind. He hadn’t really succeeded, even now, even after a move and starting a new job. In fact, the very notion that he now lived closer to Traverse City had pleased him, as it increased his opportunities to party with his buddies in the area, which increased the chances that maybe he’d run into her again sometime.

She’d been
so
fucking wild, more than any girl he’d ever been with, and it had aroused him more than any other experience in his life. And at the same time, she’d sported an air of sophistication that had left him intrigued.

The girl he’d just been introduced to—
Carly
—didn’t seem wild
or
sophisticated.

But her eyes were the same, minus all the makeup.

And she’d been unable to hide her shock at seeing him again. So he knew it was her—no question.

As he jogged up the street, he tried not to call attention to himself and was glad no one here knew him yet and wouldn’t question his hurry. After a block and a half, he spotted her up ahead, her long blondish ponytail hanging down her back—one more thing that looked entirely different about her than on the night they’d met. The night they’d fucked. With Colt.

He’d thought he’d had some pretty wild sex in his day, but he’d never done anything like
that
before. And when she’d first suggested it, he’d been a little worried it would be awkward with a longtime friend—but at the same time, he hadn’t felt inclined to say no. She was hot as hell, and she’d wanted to get nasty with him and his buddy, and that had been a lure too strong to resist.

She walked briskly, her ass swaying quickly back and forth in old blue jeans that looked naturally sexy, even with a loose T-shirt. But he was in good shape—he had to be for his job—so catching up with her didn’t even leave him winded. As he came up behind her, he said, “Carly.”

She peeked over her shoulder, her hazel eyes growing wide with fright just before she turned back around and picked up her pace again.

“Wait,” he said, and when she ignored him, he came up beside her, took hold of her arm.

She stopped then, looked up at him. And they froze like that for a minute. Both thinking back, he supposed. To the last time they’d touched. To nakedness, and lust, and explosive orgasms. And seeing each other now, unexpectedly, in such a different setting—it was just plain strange. “What’s the deal?” he finally asked, lowering his voice.

“Please let go of me,” she said, her tone soft but firm, “before people start staring.”

Okay, fair enough—he released her.

But in response, she resumed moving forward—so he did, too. “What—you’re just gonna walk away and pretend nothing ever happened between us?”

Despite the season and the sun, her face went noticeably pale as she stared straight ahead. “Yes. If you’ll just let me, that is.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he informed her.

After which she stopped again to blink up at him, appearing frantic, angry. “Why not? Why can’t you just forget you ever recognized me? Why can’t you just let me go on with my life in peace?”

Jesus—what the hell was she so mad about? A long, belabored sigh left him before he said, “Look, it’s not like I’m out to torment you here.”

“Well, that’s exactly what you’re doing.”

“It’s just that . . . when you meet somebody a second time and they seem so . . . uh, different, not even with the same damn name . . . Hell, how can I not want to know what’s going on?”

Her breath came thready now, and it made him feel bad, like he really
was
tormenting her. “I don’t care
what
you want to know—can’t you just be a gentleman and let it go?”

He exhaled an irritated breath . “Don’t take this the wrong way, but . . . you didn’t seem to want a gentleman the night we met. I never got the chance to
be
a gentleman.”

It made her face turn red. Shit. He hadn’t meant to embarrass her—but it was a little hard to swallow her request to be a “gentleman” given the things they’d done together on that deliciously dirty night. She started walking again, so he followed behind, coming up beside her once more. “I’m sorry—I didn’t say that to upset you. I just want to understand. Why did you lie about your name?”

She seemed to be ignoring him now, digging a key from her purse as they stopped before one of the quaint Main Street shops—like Frank had mentioned, the lettering on the window said WINTERBERRY’S. And she made
furniture
? He was just beginning to process that part. His mind still spun. As she unlocked the door and pushed it open, he started to follow her in, figuring she was just seeking privacy to talk to him—until she turned on him with angry eyes and said, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Coming in.”

She blinked, looking as incredulous as if he’d just suggested they have sex again. Maybe that’s what she thought he was after. “No, you’re not.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. Please just go away and leave me alone.”

Okay, her snotty attitude was beginning to piss him off—because he’d done nothing wrong here and she was acting like he had. “I can’t come in your shop?” he asked a bit more harshly. “What if I want to buy something?” It was a store, after all. How could she keep him from going inside?

“I’m closed for lunch.”

“Shit—can’t we just talk for a few minutes? Like civilized human beings?”

When she turned back to meet his gaze this time, though, she was actually trembling. All over.

Aw, hell—snotty or not, it made him feel like an ass.

Now she spoke more slowly, her rudeness laced with a true sense of desperation.
“Look, if you have even an ounce of kindness inside you, you’ll forget you ever met me
.”

The words, the look in her eyes, made Jake go still, frozen in place on the step below the entryway—as she went inside, shut the door in his face, and audibly turned the lock on the other side.

J
ake stood there for a minute, as if waiting for her to change her mind and open the door. After all, she was right on the other side. Maybe she’d suddenly see reason.

But then he remembered the shocking new fact he was still trying to wrap his brain around. Desiree wasn’t
quite
the same woman he’d just met. And while Desiree was the kind of woman who’d open the door, this Carly chick was someone else entirely.

Finally, he stepped down onto the sidewalk and started slowly back up the street, completely baffled as he continued trying to reconcile that the person who’d just locked him out of her store was the same welcoming, aggressive woman he’d met a month ago.

The woman he’d shared with Colt. Sometimes the memory still shocked him—for lots of reasons.

He’d gone through a special hostage ops program with Colt at police academy ten years ago, and while he’d always gotten along with him, they weren’t particularly close. If someone had told him an hour before it had happened that he’d be having a threeway with the guy that night, he wouldn’t have believed it. It was just dumb luck they’d been hanging out together on that particular evening of their yearly reunion. Colt had taken a business call on his cell as they’d headed toward the bar, and he’d stayed in the lobby to finish it, requesting, “Somebody get me a beer,” as the other guys went inside. Jake had complied, and they’d taken turns buying beer for each other all night.

Was he sorry Colt had been involved in his tryst with Desiree? Wait—shit . . . Carly. Her name was Carly; that was hard to get used to. For the past month, Desiree had been giving him wet dreams that had left him waking up in the morning feeling all of thirteen years old. But he didn’t feel like a kid when he really let himself remember that night—nope, then he felt about as much like a lusty adult male as a guy could.

And the truth was, he
didn’t
regret Colt’s involvement. The evening hadn’t turned out like he’d initially envisioned it might—he’d never been with a woman so bold, so uninhibited. But it had set his blood racing, drawn him to her in a way that had felt . . . almost magnetic, like he couldn’t have resisted if he’d tried.

And then, in the midst of all that sex—he’d begun to see tiny hints, the quickest glimpses, of something softer underneath her lust. And in the midst of all
that
had come his frustration at times that she was so . . . controlling. Of the sex.

It shouldn’t have mattered—she’d willingly pleasured them both, and given that he was a red-blooded American guy with an appreciation for a little kinkiness from time to time, it seemed stupid to care who was in charge. And yet,
he
needed some control, too. At the very least, he needed an even playing field. He wasn’t used to being with a girl so aggressive and commanding in the bedroom—or anywhere else he’d ever fucked someone.

He wasn’t oblivious to the fact that, his whole life, he’d picked girls who were just a little bit submissive, or at least not dominant. He’d always had control issues, especially with sex—but he’d always thought he’d handled it pretty capably. Yet now he was forced to realize that . . . well, maybe he’d handled it only by gravitating to girls who weren’t so bold—and now that he’d finally been confronted with one who was, that’s when he’d found himself consumed with the driving urge to make sure things went the way he wanted. He’d gotten edgy, tense. And then an old, familiar surge of self-preservation had kicked in, along with an archaic compulsion to . . . be a man—a big, strong, masculine man.

There had been those moments when Colt had pulled away and Jake had unwittingly found himself in a weird, silent sort of sexual struggle with her. Partly because he’d ended up pretty drunk by the time she’d invited herself and Colt back to his room, and he’d been acting on pure instinct. But partly because . . . of that need for some control. He’d needed to get her under him. He’d needed to feel a little power over her. And when he’d begun to feel her dominating him, something in him had instinctively rebelled. Finally turning her over in the bed, fucking her the way he wanted to fuck her, had been deeply satisfying.

Now, of course, he knew that he hadn’t been imagining those few softer expressions in her eyes. He hadn’t realized it at the time, but they’d been like chinks in her armor. And if he’d had the time to chip all that metal away, what he’d have found underneath was . . .
this
. Carly Winters. A girl who clearly tried to look plain, almost tomboyish—but she didn’t quite succeed. She couldn’t. Her eyes were too large and expressive and pretty, her lips too lush, her body too curvy, even in that T-shirt. A girl who—each time he’d met her—appeared to have something to hide.

So who was she really? The confident bombshell? Or the uncomfortable, nervous plain Jane? Or was she neither of them at all?

What had she come to Traverse City looking for? Sex, obviously. But had there been something more on her agenda? And had she gotten it?

He ran a hand back through his hair in frustration, the sun making him too hot in his dark uniform.

Of course, she might want him out of her life, but he couldn’t be completely. Turnbridge was a small town. And getting smaller by the second, it seemed.