Wilde at Heart (6 page)

Jesus. Christ.

She was going to kill him. He’d die tied to this bed in a Vegas hotel room, and he’d be happy about it.

“Don’t move.” She traced her tongue down his length before sucking him in all the way, and he was lost. His world narrowed to Shelby, her mouth, her hands, and the throaty sounds she made as she tasted him. He didn’t care about the family drama, the blackmail, propriety. All that mattered was the wild need she awoke inside him. He wanted to flip her over the bed and leave his handprint on her perfect little ass before plunging into her, and the frustration caused by his immobility only sharpened the edge of pleasure slicing through him. Heat pooled at the base of his spine, his muscles quaked, and his balls drew up tight. He wasn’t going to last, and she wasn’t showing him any mercy, assaulting him with her tongue and a light scrape of teeth that sent him into orbit.

Unable to hold still any longer, he curled his fingers around the tie holding his wrists, planted his feet on the mattress, and used the leverage to thrust against the soft, wet heat of her mouth. She moaned and the sound vibrated up his shaft, nailed him in the gut, and that was all it took. The orgasm ripped from him, left him breathless and boneless, all but a shuddering puddle there on the bed. Shelby relaxed on top of him, her head resting on his hip, her breath fanning over his still-hard cock. Her skin felt hot against his, and slight trembles vibrated through her into him. Damn, he needed her to release his hands so he could do for her what she had done for him.

“Shelby.” His voice came out raw, and he had to clear his throat. “Let me taste you again.”

For a moment, she didn’t move. Then she pushed herself up and looked at him. Her cheeks were flushed, her turquoise and purple hair tousled, her lips plump and wet, and he was mesmerized by the sight of her.

At least until she said, “No,” and got up off the bed.

Reece blinked. “What? Wait, where are you going?”

She pushed her hair back from her face, then draped a blanket over him. She found his cell phone in his pants pocket and pushed it into his hand. “Maybe the casino. Or a dance club. Haven’t decided yet, but I plan to get shitfaced and forget this day ever happened.”

“You can’t just leave me like this.”

“I don’t understand the problem. You had an orgasm,” she said from the doorway, throwing his own words back at him so sweetly his teeth ached. Then she was gone.

“Shelby!”

He heard the outer door click shut and groaned, dropping his head to the pillow. He gave his wrists a good tug, but that only tightened the tie. He tried again and the material constricted hard around his wrists.

Jesus. What kind of knot had she used?

He looked at the phone and groaned again, then hit the speed dial.

Fuck. He was going to regret this.

“D
on’t. Say. A. Word.”

Greer just stared at him for an endless five seconds, then finally shook his head and walked into the bedroom, drawing a pocketknife from his jacket. “I’d guarantee something like this from Jude. Expect it from Vaughn. Hell, even Cam, I wouldn’t be surprised. But you?” He cut the silk material in one clean slice. “I could live a million years and I’d’ve never expect
ed to find you tied to a bed with your cock hanging out.”

Reece sat up and rubbed his hands together, trying to work some feeling back into his fingers. “I told you, not a word.”

Greer scooped up Shelby’s thong with the tip of his knife and raised a brow. Leopard print. Because of course it was. “Not really a good look for you, bro.”

“You know damn well it isn’t mine.”

“Yeah, and I’m intrigued.” Greer flipped the thong toward him and it landed on his face, the lacy strap getting caught on his nose. He snatched it away, but not before he got a lung full of Shelby’s scent. Lust shot through his blood and settled in his cock.

Jesus. Even with his brother in the room, her scent lit his fuse and set him off like he was a fucking firework. He needed to find her and when he did…

Oh, she was going to pay for this.

“I’d always kinda wondered if you were a tightly closeted gay,” Greer said, and that snapped him out of his lusty thoughts as good as a punch in the balls. “Or…I don’t know. Asexual?”

For a second, Reece’s mouth didn’t work. “Y-you
what
?”

“It’s fine if you are,” Greer added. “I don’t care who you fuck. Or don’t fuck. That’s your business. You’ll always be my brother, no matter what.”

“I’m not gay. Or—asexual.”

“Well, yeah, I know that
now
,” Greer said with the faintest hint of a smirk.

“Why the hell would you think…no, hang on. I’m not having this conversation naked.” He climbed out of bed and fastened his pants, then stripped off his unbuttoned shirt, which was damp from the bourbon, and folded it, set it on the end of the bed. He’d have to send it to the hotel’s laundry or it would stain.

As he turned to face Greer again, he grabbed the bourbon from the nightstand where Shelby had left it and took a long pull. He had a feeling he’d need alcohol for the coming conversation.

Greer eyed him. “Take it easy. You already smell like a distillery.”

“Body shots,” he muttered. And because the memory heated him up more than the bourbon, he took another pull from the bottle.

Greer made a choking sound. “Body shots?”

He lifted a shoulder. “What happens in Vegas…”

Greer pinched the bridge of his nose. “Christ, I need a drink. No,” he added when Reece offered him the bottle. “Not that one. I’ll get my own.”

It was for the better, Reece decided and followed his brother to the living area. He planned to drink until he could no longer feel Shelby’s lips on him, until her scent left his nose and stopped fucking with his brain function. That would probably take every last ounce in the bottle. And then some.

He dropped to the couch and stared out the windows at the glittering neon of the strip. “What the hell made you think I’m gay?”

Greer grabbed a beer from the fridge and popped off the cap without a bottle opener. “Because you’ve never shown any interest in women.”

“And I have in men?”

“No. I just thought you were confused or embarrassed or—I don’t know. You haven’t seemed interested in sex, period, which is what led me to the asexual conclusion.”

“I’ve dated.”

“Yeah? Who?”

Reece fished through his memory for a name, any name, and came up empty. There had been women, here and there, but…

Yeah, he had nothing.

Greer pointed the neck of his bottle like a finger. “Exactly.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Yeah, you had an empire to build. Money to make.”

If he wasn’t mistaken, sorrow tinged Greer’s tone, and that kind of pissed him off. “We both know Wilde Security wouldn’t exist right now if I hadn’t built that empire. It’s the only thing keeping our heads above water.”

Greer paced over to the floor-to-ceiling windows and drank his beer in silence for several minutes. The neon lights from the street below played over his hard-planed face, highlighting the dark shadows under his eyes. Jude had once said Greer looked like their dad. And until that moment, Reece hadn’t really paid enough attention to see it. He did now, though. Those broad shoulders filling out a six foot, five inch frame, dark hair buzzed to the scalp and even darker eyes, a square-jawed face made of hard edges… Jesus, Greer was Dad’s clone and the realization tightened like a vise around Reece’s heart.

Twenty years later, and he still missed his parents every single hour of every single day.

“Would it be such a bad thing,” Greer murmured, “if we went under?”

Alarm had Reece sitting up straighter. “Are you kidding me? Cam left a good job with the police to work for us. Vaughn gave up any number of promising careers in the private sector, and Jude? What else would he do? They’re counting on us.”

“Yeah,” Greer said, and it seemed the weight of the entire world rested on that one word. He rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re right. Forget I said that. I’m tired.”

“I’ve noticed. Don’t you sleep anymore?”

“We’re not talking about me,” Greer said abruptly and jerked his thumb toward the bedroom. “This…thing between you and Shelby needs to stop.”

Reece tried to keep his features blank but had a feeling he’d already given himself away. Still, he tried to laugh it off. “Shelby? Are you kidding? No, it wasn’t her.”

Greer lifted a brow. “Word of advice, stay away from the poker tables. A blind man could read your tells.”

“Fuck.” Reece dropped his head into his hands. “Don’t say anything to Cam. Or Eva.”

“It’s not my place to, but I’m telling you now, end it.”

“There’s nothing to end.”

“Yeah, looks it.” Greer walked to the door, but stopped before opening it and glanced back. “Just remember Shelby’s…well, you’re playing with fire. And not a nice, controlled one either. She’s a wildfire and I’d hate to see you get burned, bro.”

Wildfire. That was an apt description of Shelby Bremer. Hot, oddly seductive, and dangerous as hell.

Reece brooded by himself for several minutes after Greer left and swilled the bourbon, watching the light glint off the amber liquid as it sloshed around inside the bottle. He’d regret drinking more. His head was fuzzy, skin warmed by the alcohol. He set the bottle aside and levered himself up to pace over to the windows, but a rattle from the hallway caught his attention, like someone was trying to get into his room.

Had Greer come back?

Or…Shelby?

He walked over and waited a beat for the knock, but none came. He reached for the knob and a white envelope slid under the door, landing on his foot. His name was printed on the front in a handwriting font.

A hard lump of dread settled in his gut as he picked it up. From the weight and feel of it, he had a good idea what he’d find inside. He sucked in a fortifying breath and ripped open the envelope, dumping the contents out on the small foyer table. Photos. Of him and Shelby, his hand between her legs as he held her trapped against the wall. And then with his head between her legs.

Heart thundering, he yanked open the door even though he knew the person who had dropped this was long gone.

Yup. Hallway was empty.

He shut the door and grabbed a handful of tissues from the bathroom before returning to the table. He didn’t dare handle the photos on the off chance his blackmailer had left fingerprints.

The quality of the photos wasn’t good, printed by an inkjet printer on cheap glossy paper. But nor were they bad enough that he’d be able to legitimately deny the photos were of him. Anyone with eyes could see that he was the man kneeling between Shelby’s legs.

So much for the whole what-happens-in-Vegas-stays-in-Vegas thing.

Jesus, could he make it any easier for his blackmailer?

Except he never expected his blackmailer to follow him all the way here. That was weird. He was no expert on the subject, but he knew that was not normal blackmail behavior.

Okay. So it’s another piece of the puzzle.

One that actually told him quite a bit more about the person behind this. The blackmailer didn’t just want money from him. If that was all, why the unnecessary expense of chasing him across the country? No, this person wanted something else. To ruin him? A distinct possibility.

He used a tissue to spread the photos out and studied each one closely. The person who took them had to have been in the hallway, too, but Reece had been too focused on Shelby to notice if anyone had followed them. He hadn’t seen anyone when he walked away from her, either, but now that he thought about it, he did hear the elevator bell seconds before he pulled away from her—it was the sound that had brought him back to his senses. Had that innocuous ding been his blackmailer fleeing the scene?

On the back of the last photo, he found a message printed in the same cursive font as on the envelope.

What will your business associates think of you slumming it?

Fury lit him up. He wasn’t slumming. Not with Shelby.

Okay, so his business associates might think that, but only because they were all stuck-up assholes. They considered sleeping with anyone who had less than a million in the bank “slumming”. In some circles of older money, Reece himself was considered plebeian because he was self-made, from a family with a long history of career military and blue-collar workers.

Shit. He had to tell Shelby about this. He rubbed a hand over his face, stubble rasping against his palm, and stared at the photos. As much as he’d rather not, these pictures were of her, too, and she needed to know. What if it didn’t just stop at pictures? Already the blackmailer had tiptoed over the line into stalking territory.

What if he was putting her in danger by not telling her?

Chapter Six

S
helby was in a dismal mood, and not even the chaos of vibrant lights and sounds on the casino floor cheered her.

This whole day had sucked.

Well, okay, not the entire day. She quite liked how it had ended and relished the thought of Reece tied to the bed, having to call one of his brothers for help.

Served him right.

But the rest of the day? Ugh. Was it possible to request a do-over from the big guy upstairs? She gazed toward the ceiling, but she’d never had much luck praying. Besides, she’d never set foot in a real church in her life—the chapel here in the hotel was the closest she’d come. If a big guy was up there granting prayers, he wasn’t gonna listen to her.

The bartender arrived with her cocktail and she plucked the stick of cherries out of it, biting off the top one.

She really hadn’t meant to ruin Eva’s wedding day. She had only wanted…hell, she didn’t know. She wanted a mother. Like, the real deal, not the spacey excuse for a mother she’d been born to, and part of her yearned to believe Katrina had changed. But Eva was probably right. Katrina would slip back into her old ways sooner rather than later, and did she really want to put any faith in that woman?

No.

The hurt and betrayal in the days after their mother attacked them last fall had been a bitter pill to swallow. Shelby absolutely didn’t want that heartbreak ever again.