Chapter 8 Questions, Answers, and Christmas Spankings
Questions, Answers, and Christmas Spankings
HORSE
Ilean back on the leather-covered booth seat and watch Gwen move around the food on her plate.
She seems to have relaxed more since we got here.
I suppose that’s good. She was tight as a rattlesnake coiled up and ready to strike on the ride over.
It’s not exactly a calming ride knowing you have a potentially deadly animal right beside you, waiting for the first opportunity to strike you down.
After I told Gwen about Caleb, she steered the conversation to other things.
I worried that when I first mentioned my son, she would run away.
She hasn’t done that, but she’s not asked one question about him either.
That doesn’t sit well with me. I need to find a way to crack this wall of defense that Gwen keeps up at all times.
If I don’t, there’s no way I’m going to get to the heart of her—and fuck, I need to do that.
I want this woman. I’m pretty sure that she’s the one—but I can’t continue to do all the work.
“Is there a reason you’re staring a hole through me over there?” she asks, making me grin.
We’re at Ray’s Steakhouse—which is a couple of counties over from Valley.
I did that on purpose. I wanted to have time with her that was just ours—not running into people we know.
I definitely didn’t want the rumor mill to start saying shit that might get back to Dee.
The place is completely decked out. Across from our booth is at least a nine-foot Christmas tree with a ton of western-themed decorations and colored lights twinkling.
Those same lights cast a glow around us that somehow makes Gwen look even more beautiful.
“You are fucking beautiful. Do I really need another reason?”
I see the blush that rises to her cheeks. I know she’s fighting her reaction to me, but the fact she’s struggling to do so gives me hope.
“You’re terrible,” she mumbles, a smile tugging at her lips.
“It was the truth … well, mostly.”
“Mostly?” she asks, making me put my fork down and contemplate my words.
“You haven’t asked about my son.”
Her forehead crinkles in what I think is a mixture of confusion and surprise. “Should I have?”
“I told you that the four of us are meant to be a family. I haven’t made a secret of my intentions where you are concerned. I think it would be natural for you to ask me questions,” I grumble, not liking the direction of this conversation at all.
She leans toward me, her voice soft but firm.
“Wyatt, we’ve not even known one another for twenty-four hours.
If you want to tell me about your son, feel free.
I’m game. The thing is, I’m not going to tell you I’m all in with your crazy plans.
I don’t know you. The only thing I can say for certain is you’re trying to steal my dog. ”
“You’ll get to know me,” I shrug, not concerned at all. I’m not concerned that we’ve just met. She’s the one. If it doesn’t work, then it doesn’t, but something deep inside me says it will. Fuck, I knew Dee for years, and look how that shit worked out? Time doesn’t mean a damn thing.
“Okay, big guy, I see that I need to break this down for you.”
I laugh outright. I’m not a man who laughs that often. The only person who ever brings that out in me is my son. Gwen seems to do it with ease. “By all means, honey,” I murmur with a grin. “Break it down.”
She rolls her eyes, which should annoy me, but just turns me on. I like her spunk. I’ve never really been attracted to women who couldn’t dish out their feelings and thoughts. Her sassy mouth and the way she reacts to me—it just makes me want her more.
“In the real world—which I seriously think you may have checked out of—people go on dates. They get to know one another. They see if they have things in common. Spending time together ensures they make sense. Then, eventually, they start slowly getting to know people in one another’s lives.
They don’t lock down a forever-type relationship, and they certainly don’t move in together and meet important loved ones within twenty-four hours.
You shouldn’t do that, especially with your son.
You should be very sure of any woman you bring into your son’s life,” she instructs.
I stare at her for a moment and then ask her the one question I really want the answer to. “How has that worked out for you, Gwen?”
“Huh?”
“You’ve had that kind of relationship, right?
Where you’re dating to get to know one another.
Yet, I assume you're single. So, tell me how dating someone the way you said worked out for you?” She frowns, and then there’s a look that slithers across her face that doesn’t sit well with me at all.
There’s a story there and I vow to find out what it is.
Gwen shrugs. “I’ve dated. Only one has been what I’d call serious.”
“Since you’re here with me, I’m going to say it didn’t end well. Want to tell me what happened?”
“There’s nothing to say really. I thought he was a great guy. He did everything he could to feed that perception. I discovered he was anything but great—unless it was lying. He’s really, really, good at that.”
“What did he lie about?”
“A better question would be what didn’t he lie about?”
I study her, leaning my head to the side.
I see anger simmering on the surface, but her eyes are what give away how much it hurt her.
“He hurt you?” My simple question comes out in a growl.
The idea of someone harming Gwen fills me with so much anger, I’m having trouble getting control and holding it back.
“Not the way you’re thinking, but there are more ways to hurt a woman than physically, and some can be a lot more scarring,” she says so quietly that the words come out seeped in pain.
Then, she gives a self-deprecating chuckle that sounds cold to my ears.
“I’m being dumb. Honestly, it’s not a big thing.
If anything, it’s just cliché. He cheated on me with the woman I thought was my best friend.
I came home early from work and found them together in our bed. ”
“I give you my word, honey. I’d never do that shit to you.”
She looks up at me with a smile. “It’s kind of easy to say that, but kind of hard to make someone believe it—especially when we don’t even know one another.”
“Gwen, I stayed with my ex for years knowing it was over, knowing she was fucking other men, and putting up with all her bullshit. Not once did I cheat. If you want proof, the two of us will get in the car right now. I’ll drive you straight to the club, and you can ask Animal if I ever fucked around on Dee.
He’ll tell you. I don’t have a damn thing to hide, honey. ”
“Animal? How did you guys come up with these names?”
I laugh. “Road names just kind of happen. Storm is our Road Captain. He got his name because I swear every single time we’re going to get bad weather, he knows.
The bastard says he can smell it in the air.
I have no idea, but he legitimately knows a week in advance and is more accurate than any weatherman. ”
She giggles and surprises me by asking for more. “Tell me about the others.”
“Well, Rocky is our club enforcer. He’s in charge of security and overseeing alliance meetings and that kind of thing,” I explain, skating over Rocky’s more unsavory responsibilities. “Sometimes that requires brute force, and Rocky is built like a tank, so …”
“Rocky as in Sylvester Stallone,” she fills in.
“Yeah,” I admit, loving the grin on her face. It lights up her gorgeous eyes. “Knife works with Rocky on security and shit. He loves to collect knives, so …”
“Well, that one is a little disappointing,” she complains, and I laugh at the cute pout on her face.
“Okay, then, how about Pie?”
“Let me guess, he has a pudgy belly and loves chocolate pie? Or maybe peanut butter?”
“Nope,” I reply, doing my best to hold back my laughter.
“No?”
“He likes pussy. The man has an addiction to it. If he could get away with it, he’d be muff-diving twenty-four-seven.”
“Oh my God,” she whispers, sounding scandalized, looking around to see if anyone is overhearing what we’re talking about. “I can’t believe you said that,” she chastises, her face heated and shiny red as she chokes on a laugh.
“You asked me to tell you,” I point out, enjoying her blush. I’m wondering how easily I can make her blush when she’s in my bed. That’s a game I’m definitely down for.
“I did,” she agrees. “How did Animal get his name?”
“When you piss him off, he literally sounds like a rabid dog snarling,” I tell her.
“I want to hear,” she snickers.
“I can arrange that,” I purr.
“And your name … Horse.”
“You’ve heard the saying. Hung like a …”
She rolls her eyes. “Whatever.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, loving spending time with her and listening to her challenge me. She’s fucking perfect.
“Every man says they’re hung like a horse. They always brag about their length, and studies have shown that men usually overestimate their length by at the minimum a couple of inches.”
“I don’t.”
“And every man always assures a woman they don’t—which just means they definitely do.”
“You’re setting yourself up for trouble, sweetheart,” I warn her, my voice smooth and slow like honey. She’s playing right into my hands, and she doesn’t even know it.
“Whatever you say, baby.”
I shake my head, not bothering to hide my reaction.
This woman could easily turn me into a simpleton—who does nothing but laugh and smile at her every word—if I let her.
I have a bad feeling that I will let her do whatever she wants with me.
The more time I spend with her, the more I want her.
How bad will it get when I’ve actually had time to kiss her, hold her close through the night …
I shut down the fantasies that try to start. Now is not the time.
“Tell me something about you that you’ve never told anyone else.”
“Huh?”