Nauti Nights (Nauti #2)

Nauti Nights (Nauti #2) Page 5

Dawg tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “You ran from me every chance you got,” he growled back at her.

Not every chance. Not one dark night when she had found him too drunk to drive and helped him home. And then helped him break her heart.

“I was smart then,” she said, feeling the regret that welled inside her. If only she had been smarter.

If only she had faced the truth then, and what had happened. Maybe the past eight years would have been different. If nothing else, she might not have been tormented with so many what-ifs and the fact that she had been a coward.

Dawg grunted at that. “Too bad you weren’t smart enough to stay out of dark warehouses at night. If you had, you wouldn’t be here now.”

Too bad she hadn’t been smart enough to stay in Virginia to begin with. But no, she had to come home. She missed being home. She missed the mountains, the lake, and home. And she had known it was time to lay old ghosts to rest. She had come home to make peace with the memories and with herself. And with Dawg. She just hadn’t expected to make peace with him in quite this way.

Instead, she found more demons. She found herself in the untenable position of relying on Dawg for something as imperative as her freedom. And there wasn’t a doubt in her mind exactly how he intended to manipulate this one.

He had been after her ever since she had returned to Somerset a year ago. He hadn’t stalked her.

He was just always around. Always smiling that rakish grin of his, giving her that mocking once-over, that invitation to play. If he wasn’t doing that, he was glaring at her. And he filled her dreams. Heated dreams, memories of one unforgettable night and the consequences of it.

She watched the miles pass by, feeling his hand on her knee when he wasn’t shifting gears in the powerful pickup, and feeling the warmth of his touch burning through her skirt.

At least he wasn’t groping her. Her body was so hyped on nerves right now that she wondered if she could bear that. If her heart could bear it.

She thought she had learned her lesson before leaving Somerset. After all, she knew what Dawg was, she knew what he intended, and she knew she could never live with it.

The Nauti Boys were legendary in Somerset and the surrounding counties. Their prowess, dedication to a woman’s pleasure, and insistence on sharing those women had been well-known. Her brother, Alex, had warned her about Dawg repeatedly.

Her head had warned her about Dawg, but her heart hadn’t wanted to listen. She could tame the bad boy, she had assured herself. Love would make him possessive. All she had to do was touch him, love him, and he would realize he loved her.

She snorted silently as she peeked a look at his hard profile.

What a fool she had been. Naive, impossibly innocent, incredibly foolish. And she still hadn’t learned her lesson, not all the way to the soul. Because a part of her had never forgotten that one night.

That sultry summer night when he had taken her with singular determination and fiery lust. When he had taught her the true depths of carnal pleasure and the ultimate despair.

“This isn’t going to work.” The words tore from her lips as he pulled into the small marina his uncle Ray Mackay owned.

She could feel the panic building in her chest now, the certainty that the Nauti Dawg was going to hold more memories and more heartache than she could bear.

“I can’t do this.” She was shaking as Dawg pulled the truck into the private parking slot in front of the marina.

He turned off the motor. Pulling the key from the ignition, he turned and stared at her silently.

Him or jail. She could see it in his expression.

Crista shook her head slowly before swallowing tightly.

“I’m not one of the Nauti Boys’ whores,” she whispered harshly. “I can’t play one to stay out of jail, Dawg. I’d rather rot in prison than buy my freedom at the expense of my soul.”

He stared back at her, his light green eyes icy, unemotional, as he watched her. His expression was as dark as the shadows around them and as still as death.

This wasn’t the man she had known eight years ago. Charming, though brooding, James “Dawg”

Mackay had had a will of iron, but he hadn’t been cold. He’d been hard but not unemotional. Not as he was now.

He had joined the Marines just after she left town; she knew that. He’d spent one tour, when he had been shipped home because of a wound that shattered his kneecap. Not that she had seen any sign of an injury in the way he moved.

But right now, he was rubbing his knee almost absently as he watched her.

“We’ll talk about this on the boat,” he finally said warningly. “Not here.”

“No, Dawg.” She reached out, gripping his arm as he moved to open the door. “Not at the boat. I won’t go out to that boat, and I won’t spread myself for the Nauti Boys. I wouldn’t do it when I was too stupid to know any better, and I sure as hell won’t do it now. You’re fooling yourself if you think you can convince me to do otherwise.”

“And if going to that boat didn’t mean spreading yourself for anyone but me, Crista?” he asked her. “Would you go then?”

THREE

Eight years ago, she had slipped from Dawg’s upper-deck bedroom and stolen from the Nauti Dawg like a thief in the early morning mists. But she had left something behind that morning, a part of herself she had never regained.

Now Crista stepped back through the reinforced French door that led into the living room and stilled herself against the memories that threatened to overwhelm her.

He still left a low light shining on the small table that sat beside the couch. It was a maroon plush couch now, where before it had been black leather. A matching recliner sat by the side of the same table.

The television was now mounted on the wall on the side they entered, and across the room on the opposite side sat a small dining table and four chairs.

A teak bar separated the dining area from the kitchen, two captain’s barstools placed under it.

The rug was a rich, thick forest green. Eight years ago it had been a dark tan. The living room and kitchen were more refined now, stating a mature taste in furnishings but still a broad male influence. Dark woods and few frills.

A picture of his Marine Corps unit sat on the table by the couch alongside a picture of the Nauti cousins in camouflage greens and a picture of Rowdy and his fiancée, Kelly Salyers.

There were no pictures or prints on the wall. There was nothing to decorate the rooms. Beyond the kitchen was another large bedroom and small washroom as well as an extra bathroom. From where Crista stood, she could also see the curving staircase that led to the upper deck and master bed and bath, as well as the steering controls.

She flinched as the door closed and locked behind her.

“I need a beer,” Dawg announced. “Want one?”

Crista shook her head as she gripped her purse and watched him move across the living room, then into the kitchen. He pulled a beer from the refrigerator before unscrewing the cap with a quick twist and tossing the cap beneath the bar, where the garbage can must have been hidden.

He moved to the sink first, pulled a dish towel from a small stack on the counter, dampened it, then tossed it to her.

“Clean your face.”

She felt her stomach heave at the thought of the blood that had sprayed over her. It was on her face, her clothes. She scrubbed at her flesh quickly, harshly, hoping she managed to clean it away as he stared at her.

He tilted the bottle of beer to his lips and drank deeply, his gaze never leaving hers.

He had stripped the bulletproof vest, but he still wore the shoulder holster and weapon. His black T-shirt stretched over his wide chest and thick biceps. Black jeans rode low on his hips and outlined long, muscular legs and a more than impressive bulge.

“You’re clean,” he announced, holding his hand out. “Give me the towel.”

Her gaze jerked from that area. It was more than obvious he was aroused, ready for her. And she hated admitting that her body had been ready for his since the moment he asked her if she was willing to spread herself for him alone.

She tossed the towel back to him, ignoring his mocking grin as he caught it and dumped it in the sink.

She was insane. She should have run from him while she had the chance.

“One night,” she whispered. “That’s all.”

The bottle was smacked on the bar top so hard beer sloshed from the top, and Crista jumped at the sound.

“You aren’t making the deal here,” he informed her, his expression hardening. “You didn’t catch me possibly breaking the law and consorting with criminals, Crista. I caught you, remember?”

Her fingernails dug into the leather of her purse.

“And I know what you want in exchange for my freedom,” she snapped back. “Fine, you want to fuck. You want something you haven’t been able to con me out of this year: my body. You can have it.

For one night.”

“And if I want more than one night?” The black velvet tone of his voice had a tremor quaking through her womb, clenching at the muscles of her stomach as she stared back at him in shock.

“Why would you want more than one night?” She shook her head in confusion. “How many women have you kept more than one night, Dawg?”

She still had friends she had kept in Somerset, and they liked to gossip. Dawg was as newsworthy now as he had been eight years ago.

“You aren’t every other woman, Crista,” he drawled. “I’ve never had to chase one for eight years before. It’s built up a hunger. One that I doubt one night is going to sate.”

She blinked back at him in shock. She had expected what he wanted, but she hadn’t expected this. One night she could handle. More than one night?

“How many nights?” She kept her voice from trembling, barely.

Dawg’s expression hardened further. “I haven’t decided.”

“You haven’t decided? So I’m supposed to just be ready and available for you whenever you get a hard-on?”

Mocking consideration filled his face then. He nodded slowly. “That would work for me.”

Crista clenched her teeth and calculated how long she still had to wait before Alex returned. He had been gone three months. Her last conversation with him, he had indicated that he could return within the next few weeks.

Could she handle being Dawg’s lover that long? Could she walk away with her soul if she did?

“Don’t think about it too damned hard,” he bit out irritably. “I might change my mind.”

Crista wrapped her arms over her breasts and stilled the anger beginning to rise inside her. She couldn’t afford to be angry at this point; she had to think. Dawg always managed to mess up her mind.

She couldn’t afford to let him do it this time.

“You’re being a bastard,” she told him forcefully. “You know I wasn’t involved in whatever you were doing there. I don’t deal with drugs, I never have.”

He shrugged easily as he propped himself against the bar. “I haven’t seen you in eight years, Crista. People change in that time.”

“Oh yeah, and people dealing in drugs work as waitresses at crappy little diners where they don’t even make minimum wage, too,” she snapped. “Don’t play with me; I don’t like it. At least admit that you’re using this to force something out of me that I wasn’t willing to give you.”

A frown snapped between his brows, causing her stomach to clench nervously. “I wouldn’t force you.”

“Then what do you call it? I can fuck you or I can go to jail? Hell of a choice there, Dawg,” she sneered.

Crista watched the muscle at his jaw tighten, a heavy tic rippling through it as he watched her.

“I thought I was being rather charitable,” he growled. “Deny you’re interested in being in my bed.”