Bo (Bad Boys of Retribution MC Book 3) Page 2

  My cock quivered in my pants, and there was someplace I wanted to bury it to the hilt.

  That shit was insanely sexy. And I needed to get fucking laid pronto by someone other than my would-be-therapist.

  “Screw Maverick. We want the hot doc on our team.” Tail stared at the woman as if maybe he could change her mind about him by sheer force of will alone.

  If anyone else called her hot doc within my hearing range, I might have to go bloody warfare on him.

  “Where the hell did you learn moves like that?” I asked, my voice gruff.

  “You’re not the only one with hidden talents, Captain Maverick.” Veronica marched up and stood in front of me, her hands on her hips.

  No shit. I hope her talents extend to some serious cock sucking.

  In the high heels she reached my nose. The suit didn’t hide her figure at fucking all. The short jacket that flared below her waist and long flowing pants only served to highlight full breasts, hourglass hips, and that ass.

  Her ripe body, her sensual face, and her shiny red hair all shouted sexy-as-fuck, but she seemed to be trying to tone it down with the suits and hairstyle and severe glasses.

  Hated to tell it to her, but her blazing sexuality had no dial-down.

  She was exactly how I’d dreamed her, only this time her generous lips weren’t wrapped around my dick but busy giving me another kind of tongue-lashing. How the hell had I remembered her looks just so, just right, after one meeting the night before? That was my payback for being a trained scout and sniper. Photographic motherfucking memory.

  Make that a pornographic memory.

  I tuned back in as her tirade petered out. The crew chuckled—completely entertained by the doc taking me to task—while I went all duh-huh?

  “What was that?” I rubbed my palm over my jaw then crossed my arms over my bare chest.

  Only this time Veronica didn’t hear me. She was too busy taking her own inventory. I widened my stance and stared down at her through half-lidded eyes. Her gaze walked all over me from the top of my head to my face, to my tense neck and down over my arms and torso. She didn’t stop at the low waist of my jeans, either.

  Interesting.

  “What’s up, Doc?” I dipped my chin lower with a smug grin.

  She lifted her head, a sneer on her lips. “Like I haven’t heard that one before.” She held up the hand. “You can stop right there. I’ve heard all the jokes, listened to all the excuses. I’ll tell you what’s up. You. Made. An. Appointment. I bill by the hour, and I always give and get my money’s worth.”

  I opened my mouth to reply, but she stalked forward and slammed her hand over my lips.

  “Now you’re coming with me if I have to drag you out of here on your ass.”

  Damn. Ronnie was ripshit pissed. I tried to hide it with a scowl, but I seriously liked it.

  “Oh yeah? You and what army?” I was only half serious as I mumbled behind her hand.

  She dropped back. “I’m the only army you need right now. Stop showing off, put on your damn clothes, and hustle.”

  “Right on, Doc!” Kinkaid knocked his knuckles on the bar top.

  “Woman, you’ve got balls. You just lemme know if Bo gives you any guff.” Tuck leaned into her.

  Jerking on my shirt, I muttered obscenities about my so-called brethren under my breath.

  “We got your back, bro!” Hunter shouted after me as I trailed Veronica to the door, no small amount of amusement in his tone.

  The MC door shut behind us, and she swerved toward a gleaming black Jag. I stomped in the opposite direction to my Triumph.

  She spun around and caught my forearm. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “To my motorcycle so I can follow you?”

  She snorted. “I don’t think so. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  Veronica towed me to her Jaguar and I considered dragging my heels, but I was twenty-eight, not a petulant three-year-old toddler about to throw a tantrum in a parking lot.

  I only pouted a little.

  Opening the passenger door, she motioned me to get my rear in gear and get inside.

  I gave her a long slow look. “For someone so small, you sure got a hell of a nerve, lady.”

  As soon as I folded my legs inside she leaned over. “Get used to it.”

  She slammed the door in my face.

  Damn.

  Seemed I’d met my match.

  Chapter Two

  CRUISING ALONG IN VERONICA’S Jag, I took in the landmarks whistling past the window as we headed toward Ravenel Bridge, which connected Mt. Pleasant to downtown Charleston. We zoomed past Patriots Point, forever docked down below the bridge, the decommissioned aircraft carrier a big draw as much as the golf links nearby. Huge cargo ships maneuvered up Cooper River, dolphins cresting waves in their wake. Hundreds of church steeples spun across the peninsula’s skyline, the reason this place was called the Holy City of the South.

  We sped off the bridge ramp landing right in the middle of downtown. Tourist season had begun, although any given month, holiday, and even Sunday—when King Street was blocked off for pedestrian traffic only—seemed enough to bring people out full force in this historic city.

  Too many people. Too many unprotected areas and alleyways. Everything felt like a threat.

  As Veronica navigated us deeper through the narrow one-way streets, I sat with my ass glued to the leather seat even though I wanted to fidget like fuck. Or draw out one of my KA-BARs to have at the ready.

  “Do you suffer from agoraphobia?”

  The doc was too perceptive for her own good.

  “Are you asking personally or as a psychologist?”

  “Personally.” Interest colored her eyes as she glanced at me.

  I let up on the death grip on my thighs. I cracked my knuckles with a loud pop and flipped the air vent up to my heated face. “Just don’t like people.”

  “You seemed pretty at ease at the motorcycle club.”

  “That’s different.”

  “Why?”

  “No expectations.” I toyed with the sleek buttons on the door.

  “Do you worry I have expectations about you?”

  “Why, Doc, are we on the clock already?”

  “No.”

  “Everyone has expectations of me. My platoon. My team. I let them down last mission.” Aware I’d said too much without meaning to, I clammed up.

  “You don’t like disappointing people,” she stated, swerving past a carriage tour.

  “Correction. I don’t like watching my people die in front of my eyes.” Big fucking difference.

  Veronica tuned the stereo into the local classic rock station, maneuvering deeper into the territory of antebellum mansions and cobblestone streets, magnolia trees and live oaks.

  “We’re here.” She pulled up in front of a whitewashed Charleston Single house in the French Quarter.

  The place butted the road, classic architecture complete with a glossy red door, gas lanterns flaring, and flower pots blooming outside.

  “This doesn’t look like an office.” I reached for my door handle.

  “It’s my house. Office is on the third floor.”

  “And you feel safe bringing me here?” Hooking an eyebrow at her, I hesitated before letting myself out.

  She gave me a nonchalant smile. “I already showed you what I can do with a knife, didn’t I?”

  Good point.

  After she unlocked the front door, I held it open for her, hoping against all hope I could keep my most guarded secrets, not to mention my baser instincts, under wraps around her. She made it hard, swiveling that plump ass as she led me upstairs.

  Paintings lined the stairwell, colorful splashes against the wallpaper. The banister beneath my hand was solid wood—aged and polished. The moldings soared, and the windows ran from floor to ceiling, sunlight flooding her house from all sides.

  I’d probably have to take black paint to all the damn windows to be able to
sleep at night.

  I followed her into the office. Inside the furniture was plush, none of the straight-angled glass and metal modern shit. Antiques covered the walls like my mother’s country kitchen bric-a-brac. Intrigued, I detailed the room—was it an extension of the woman or props meant to make patients relax?

  I wanted to delve inside Doctor Hartley’s head, not vice versa.

  I trod across the earth-toned Turkish rug. Authentic. I knew that to be true because I had one like it in storage. I’d picked up the rug on R&R in Istanbul. Like many of my belongings, I couldn’t bring myself to unpack it because it brought back memories I wanted to forget.

  “Can I get you a drink?” Veronica watched me from several feet away, her eyes pinpointing me through the tortoiseshell frames of her glasses.

  Settling myself in the farthest corner so I had a visual of all access points, I said, “Vodka. Whiskey will do in a pinch.”

  “Sweet tea it is then.”

  She disappeared, my growl echoing after her.

  I prowled the room. By the time she returned I held an African mask carved from ebony wood. “You travel a lot. I’ve seen enough to know this isn’t World Market shit.” More like Marrakech market.

  “I like to visit foreign places when I get the chance.” She removed her little jacket, revealing something silky that dripped beneath her collarbones and bared her arms.

  My mouth went dry.

  “You’ve travelled as well,” she commented.

  “Where the government told me to. Not usually sightseeing.”

  “Maybe you just haven’t seen the right sights yet.”

  I was seeing one right now. Me, between her thighs, her liquid heat spilling over my tongue. Maybe it was her beauty or her take-no-prisoners ’tude that got to me, but whatever it was, Veronica had me tongue-tied.

  She sat on the sofa and kicked off her heels, bringing her feet beneath her legs on the cushions. “Do you feel safe here, Bo?”

  “Enough.” I eyed the exit points again.

  “If I asked you to disarm would you feel naked?”

  “Yes.” My nostrils flared as I went for the hilt of my knife at my waist.

  “Then I won’t.”

  I took a sip of the ice-cold tea she’d set on the sofa side table then rolled my neck. Dropping into a leather club chair diagonally across from her, I purposefully put my back to the door to prove I was capable of being a normal human being when I wanted to.

  “So, what should I call you?” Because I was pretty sure hey babe, come suck my cock wasn’t what she had in mind even if that was all I could suddenly think about.

  “Ronnie, or Doctor Hartley.”

  “Veronica it is then.” I smiled before taking another sip of sun-sweetened tea. The southern beverage made my teeth ache, but not as much as I suddenly ached for her.

  I pushed to my feet and turned my back. Adjustments inside my jeans were in order.

  Her cool exterior was still in place when I pivoted back and sank into the chair. “You don’t like Veronica?”

  “This isn’t about me.”

  “Ahh. Classic shrink chess moves.” I swilled the amber liquid in my glass, flicking my eyes to her left hand and confirming her unmarried status.

  “You won’t get inside my head.” She lounged comfortably on the couch.

  “Won’t I?” It wasn’t really her head I wanted to get into.

  “I’ve had excellent training.”

  “Mine was top class, and make no mistake, I was best of my class at everything.”

  “Is that something you’re able to be proud of, Bo?” Just like that, she found her opening.

  I glared down at my hands. Then around her office. The whole damn place was posh. Her hourly rates probably more than I could afford. I’d start with that tactic first.

  “Listen.” I set down my glass and stood. “You probably cost too much. I should just go.”

  “I waive the copay for vets.”

  Greeeat.

  Hating Hunter even more now.

  Sitting back down, I lounged against the opposite end of the couch from her, putting my don’t care face in place. “Go ahead then. Bring it on, Veronica.”

  I expected her to start with the usual rigmarole:

  Would you say you’re depressed?

  When was the last time you were happy?

  Care to talk about those icky sticky dark places that keep you awake at night?

  Do you ever feel suicidal?

  Bla bla bla . . .

  Instead she sat there all la-di-fucking-da without saying a word while I faced her, struck dumb and stupid like a regular Lance Corporal Schmuckatelli.

  Suicidal? I’d thought about it once or twice. It was why I carried my knives and not my firearms because slicing one of those fuckers across my throat would hurt a hell of a lot more than a bullet to the brain, and I didn’t want to listen to my own death-gurgle sound affects.

  Wouldn’t say I was depressed though. More like . . . lost, maybe. Alone, although I didn’t particularly want to be around other people either. It was state of mind kind of thing, and I did not do well with inspecting all that inner-turmoil BS.

  I was a man of action not introspection. My gung ho attitude and my cool head in combat had made me prime material for the Corps, but at this point, it was nearly impossible for me to function outside of the military. Now I used what I had left—my body—in order to make a living. I hoped one day I’d be able to walk around a corner without wishing I’d been able to scope out the unseen area first.

  Today was not that day.

  By the time my skin itched all over my body and I’d drained my glass dry, when I was so motherfucking uncomfortable I couldn’t take any more torturous silence, I bent forward. “Aren’t you supposed to ask me if I have nightmares and shit like that?”

  “Do you?” Veronica appeared totally unconcerned and ten silent minutes had already elapsed.

  “That’s not the point.” I leaped to my feet to take up pacing around the room.

  “What is the point?” She followed me with her eyes, appearing more relaxed by the minute while I was wound up tight.

  “I do have nightmares, okay? Sometimes I even have them when I’m fully awake. Fine.” I watched for her reaction. She showed none. “Shouldn’t you be scribbling this down or something?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  I held in a frustrated groan. I’d been trained in interrogation tactics—how to torment for intel, how to survive both physical and mental suffering—but this woman unraveled me faster than any T-Man warlord ever had.

  I needed to turn the tables. I’d always been a quick thinker in combat, able to wriggle out of any impossible scenario. This was no different.

  “I also had a dream about you last night, Veronica.” I approached slowly, and my swagger drew her sherry-rich gaze. “Wanna hear about it?” I dropped down directly beside her.

  Catching the sudden tightness of her grip on her glass, I swallowed my satisfied smile. She uncrossed and crossed her legs, intentionally moving her thighs from the press of mine against her.

  “Sure.” Her voice didn’t tremble, not yet, but we’d just see about that.

  “It started as usual, a nightmare that almost had me screaming in my sleep. You see, Doc, that’s what being in a kinetic situation, for days on end with no help coming, will do to you.” I took the glass from her hands, setting it on the table in front of us before she could cover any reaction with another feigned sip. “And no, I don’t want to talk about that.”

  I ran my arm along the back of the deep sofa, almost curling my hand to the nape of her neck that looked so delicate and unprotected with her hair swept up in a bun. “Want to talk about my dream of you. I was naked. Don’t like to sleep in clothes, they just get in the way.”

  Following the bob of her throat as she swallowed, I coiled closer, but not close enough to make contact. “I didn’t realize it was a dream of course. All I knew was whatever was happening
to me felt damn good for a change. Wet and warm, female and . . . greedy.” My voice hit a hoarse note with the last word. “That’s when I looked down and realized it was you.”

  The good doc’s eyelids lowered, and I dragged my bottom lip through my teeth before baring them in a wolfish grin.

  “And you were good, let me tell you. You headed down my body, my bare chest, down to my balls. It was hot as hell, the way you slurped me into your mouth. Then you licked all over my cock until I thought I’d rip right through the sheets on the bed.”

  Veronica’s breasts moved up and down with her rapid breaths.

  My lips nearly touching the spiral of her ear, I husked, “Sure you want to hear the rest?”

  “If you think it will help you.” Finally her so-sure and confident voice trembled and turned breathy.

  The only thing that could possibly help me now would be if she reenacted my dream, but I pressed on. “When you finally wrapped those perfect cocksucking lips around the head of my dick I jerked up my hips. You took it all, moaning in the back of your throat. You liked it almost as much as me, Veronica.”

  “I think that’s quite enough, Captain Maverick.” She took back the reins, easing ever so slightly away from me.

  “So you don’t want to know what happened next?”

  “I don’t think anything happened. I think you’re full of shit. I don’t think you’re attracted to me at all, and your little dream stunt, which was meant to distract me, is not something I haven’t had to deal with before.”

  I hid my scowl behind a perfectly bland face and my burgeoning erection beneath my folded hands. That might’ve been a stunt—I was well aware I was deflecting from the real issue at hand, mainly my useless brain—but my attraction to her was no lie.

  “What do you want, Bo?” She stood with her back to me. “I can’t keep you hostage, and all I want is to help you.”

  “A night I can sleep all the way through without waking up to mortars going off.” I stationed myself against the wall across from her in a standoff. I locked sights with her. “You. I want you. Don’t know why. I want to see your hair down, your skin bare. I want to go mayhem all over your body and kiss everything away.”