“Hey, Bodie,” the blonde says as she comes to stand near the brunette. “Anything on tap for tonight?”
“Not yet,” I tell her with a grin. “You offering?”
The blonde and brunette share a look, and I know my idea of a three-way isn’t mine alone.
“We get off in about an hour,” the blonde says. “Want to play in The Silo with us?”
Fuck yes, I want to play with them in The Silo. It’s my favorite room at The Wicked Horse, mainly because of the variety of gadgets and machines up for use in there. Being with two women is a tricky business. To make sure they’re both satisfied, there’s an industrial dildo in there just waiting to hammer some pussy. My dick starts to get hard thinking about it.
“See you there in about an hour then,” I tell the ladies with a nod.
“Looking forward to it,” the brunette says.
Oh, me too.
I turn away from the bar, content to just stand and watch my buddies continue the poker game. Kynan McGrath owns The Jameson Group now, and he led our operation in Riyadh. Including me, we have three other men who make up Eagle Team One.
Eagle is the name of our high-profile security group. I belong to Team One along with my best friend Cage Murdock, a wily southern boy from North Carolina. Our team is completed with Locke Meyers and August Greenfield, both former law enforcement turned security specialists. In addition to doing security on the Eagle team, I’m also on a Renegade team, which is our special-ops division.
As I walk back toward the poker table, I catch movement from the corner of my eye. My entire body tenses up when I see Rachel Hart walking toward me.
We’ve barely spoken ten words to each other since our mission in Paphos, and the reason for that is two-fold. First and foremost, I’ve been on Eagle operations since then, and Hart has been… well, elsewhere. Secondarily, I think we’re avoiding each other because what happened in that hotel in Paphos shouldn’t have happened. Hart was nearly drunk, and we were both sapped of any common sense following such a harrowing mission. While members of The Jameson Group tend to hang out at The Wicked Horse since the founder of our company is the owner of this esteemed sex club, we never cross lines by fucking each other. It’s not a written rule, but it’s totally understood. We can’t afford to have personal connections muddying up waters when we need to have crystal clarity in all situations.
Still, as Hart walks toward me, I can’t help but remember that night because it was hot as fuck. Probably the best sex of my life. That’s because she’s gorgeous and adventurous in bed, but mostly because I respect her as a capable and trustworthy teammate.
It hits me all at once, though, that I don’t think she’s at The Wicked Horse to play. Oddly, that relieves me somewhat. It’s not something I can tell from her expression alone. Many of the guys tease her, telling her she has “resting bitch face,” but I’ve never thought that. In my mind, she wore a determined look because she’s one of the most seriously determined people I know. She’s got that look tonight, but that’s par for the course.
Usually when she is on the prowl at the club, Hart would be wearing a dress barely covering her tits and ass, which never lets anyone forget that she’s first and foremost all woman. I expect it’s a nice change from sweaty combat gear and the stench of danger she normally wears.
Tonight, Hart is wearing a pair of faded jeans with rips in the knees, a V-neck shirt that fits her nicely but isn’t overly sexy, and a pair of tennis shoes. Her nearly midnight-colored hair that normally sits just below her jawline is pulled into a stubby ponytail, and she’s devoid of makeup. When she’s playing in the club, she always wears dark eye makeup, which makes her pale blue eyes stand out so brightly it’s hard to look away from them.
She doesn’t even spare a glance at the poker table, but her eyes stay locked on mine. A feeling of immense apprehension takes root deep within me.
“Hart,” Locke calls out, but I don’t look away from her gaze. “Come play poker with us. Wright’s too much of a pussy to continue.”
She shoots a glance his way, gives a tight smile, and says, “Can’t tonight.”
And then, they’re forgotten when she reaches me. With lips pressed into a grimace, she murmurs, “I need to talk to you. Privately.”
“Okay,” I say somewhat hesitantly, but I put my beer down at a nearby table, prepared to follow her wherever she wants to go for a private discussion.
Hart spins and marches out of The Apartment. I take in the set to her spine and the way her hands are clenched into fists. Same hands that were clenched around my cock six weeks ago—
Okay, stop that.
I follow her down the private hallway, through the Social Room, and into the private elevator that takes us to street level. It’s slightly chilly outside. While the temps can get in the upper eighties in Vegas in mid-May, the evenings still call for a light jacket. Hart’s hands come up and cross to rub at her bare arms. I can faintly see the pink scar left by the bullet.
I’m surprised when she does a quick look left and right down the street, and then darts across when there’s an immediate break in traffic. I jog behind her, following her to an empty bus stop bench.
Hart takes a seat and I sit down as well, angling my body so I can face her.
She pulls no punches with me, but then, Hart isn’t the type of woman to ever sugarcoat anything.
“I’m pregnant,” she says bluntly. Since I’m the one she’s telling this information to, I know it means I’m the one who knocked her up.
“Fuck,” I mutter, dragging a hand through my short hair. I knew this was a possibility.
That night was all kinds of wild and crazy. Neither one of us had any condoms and in hindsight, neither of us cared. With Hart fisting my cock and rubbing the head through her wet folds, I was dizzy with fucking lust.
Her soft words, “Just pull out, okay,” told me all I needed to know.
I was going to fuck Hart, and there was no stopping that train.
She was safe or else she would have never said that to me. The trust I had in her was inherent as evidenced by the fact I let her cover my back while I blew up an ISIS camp. It also meant she trusted me, or else she knew I would have said no if I wasn’t safe.
Her words also told me she wasn’t on the Pill, and there was a risk of pregnancy.
Except there was no explaining that to my dick or her uterus, because I plunged in hard and deep. She responded by digging her nails into my back and drawing little half-moons of blood.
In my mind, I’d pulled out in perfect fashion. Jacked my cock three times and came all over her stomach and breasts. It was one of the hottest things I’d ever seen.
Guess something of me got left behind, though. I remember all about sex education in school, and I know damn well a woman can get pregnant even if the pull-out method is employed.
Apparently, being the risk takers that we were, it just didn’t matter to us that night.
Still, a flush of guilt heats me up from within. Hart had been drinking, and she was emotionally vulnerable that night.
I should have fucking said no.
“You’re sure?” I ask, not doubting it’s mine, just curious if she’s been tested.
She nods. “I didn’t think anything of it when I missed my period because I’m not regular, but I’d been having some nausea and my boobs started hurting. I took a home pregnancy test, and it was positive. Had Doc McCullough do a blood test, and he called me this afternoon to tell me it was positive.”