Quick & Reckless, page 1
Quick & Reckless
The Quick Billionaires
Book 3
Whitley Cox
Copyright © 2018 by Whitley COx
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
Cover Design: EmCat Designs
Editing: SkyDiary Productions
Don't Forget
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A few other books by Whitley Cox
The
Single Dads of Seattle
Grab book 1 here
https://books2read.com/HBTSD-SDS
*
The Quick Billionaires
Grab book 1 here
Quick & Dirty
https://books2read.com/QDirty-QBS
*
The Harty Boys
Grab book 1 here
Hard Hart
https://books2read.com/HH-HB
*
The Young Sisters
Grab book 1 here
Not Over You
https://books2read.com/not-over-you
*
Doctor Smug
https://books2read.com/DoctorSmug
*
Hot Dad
https://books2read.com/Hot-Dad
*
Snowed In & Set Up
https://books2read.com/SISU
*
Love to Hate You
https://books2read.com/Love2HateYou
For Julie. A great friend for over twenty years.
Thanks for always being there.
xoxo
Contents
1. Chapter 1
2. Chapter 2
3. Chapter 3
4. Chapter 4
5. Chapter 5
6. Chapter 6
7. Chapter 7
8. Chapter 8
9. Chapter 9
10. Chapter 10
11. Chapter 11
12. Chapter 12
13. Chapter 13
14. Chapter 14
EPILOGUE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Chapter one
Silver
Stupid motherfucker. Selfish jackass. Prickless prick. If she ever saw that son of a bitch again, she’d rip his balls off with her bare hands and shove them down Candy’s throat. Lord knows that home-wrecking slut had other parts of Silver’s fiancé down her throat at some point.
Fuckers. Both of them. And they could rot in hell for all she cared.
Handing the cab driver a hundred dollar bill and not even bothering to get change, Silver stepped out of the taxi, slammed the door and made her way toward the wide double doors of the hotel bar. She’d asked the cabby to take her to a bar, far, far away from the church. To a place where she wouldn’t run into anyone she knew and could just wallow, drink and forget. He’d nodded solemnly, taking in her state of dress and tear-stained face, and then driven roughly forty minutes out of West Vancouver and toward downtown.
The June weather was warm. Perfect wedding weather. Fuck weddings. Fuck grooms. Fuck commitment. Fuck life.
The hinges squealed as she heaved on the brass handle and pulled open the door. The bar was dark, but clean and inviting. There were no weird stains on the carpet, the smell of Lemon Pledge hung gently in the air, and the bartender appeared to have all his teeth and not be a lecherous weirdo. Things were looking up … slightly.
It was a newer hotel, so everything still seemed shiny and fresh. Yet, even then, there was an Old World vibe to the place. A grand piano sat on a stage near the back along with a microphone stand, there were dark booths lining each of the walls, and all the lighting was muted and intimate. The perfect place to get lost in one’s problems and not be noticed by a soul as the alcohol slowly numbed the pain. Dusk was setting in, so the outside patio seemed to be hopping, but inside was still rather quiet, and only a scattering of people rimmed the horseshoe bar.
Silver pulled up a stool at the bar. It wasn’t lost on her that she was drawing a few glances. She was hard to miss. But she hadn’t had time to run home and change. At least not to their home. She fought back tears.
I will not cry.
Their home. God. She couldn’t live there anymore. Not with the knowledge that Trent had probably fucked Candy all over their goddamn apartment. Besides her clothes, Silver was going to have to burn the rest of her stuff, or at the very least disinfect the bejesus out of it.
She shuddered at the thought.
“What can I get you?”
Silver’s head snapped up from where she’d been staring at the engagement ring on her finger to find the bartender, an attractive man in his mid- to later fifties, giving her the curious lone eyebrow quirk. “I’m guessing something hard and mind-numbing?”
Silver nodded. “Sounds perfect.”
The bartender nodded back and walked away for a moment. He returned seconds later with a clean lowball glass and a bottle of what looked to be decent whiskey. He poured an ounce.
“More.” Silver nodded, tapping the bar.
He added another ounce, then glanced up at her.
She nodded.
He poured.
When it was around four ounces she finally tapped the bar again. He sniffed through his nose and gave her a lopsided smile filled with sympathy before taking off to the other side of the bar.
Silver brought the glass to her lips and took a sip.
It burned.
She winced.
She took another sip.
It still burned.
But she liked the pain. It matched the pain in her heart. It matched the pain she wanted to inflict on Trent and Candy.
“People only drink like that for two reasons,” said a deep and sexy voice with what sounded like an Australian accent. “They’re either wallowing or celebrating. And I’m guessing right now,” his eyes traveled the length her, climbing her body with such lazy indulgence you’d think she was naked, “you’re the former.”
Yes, definitely an Aussie. Her skin broke out into gooseflesh despite the warmth of the bar. She could have sworn she felt his hand travel up her arm. But he was several seats over, and both his hands were cradling his beer bottle.
“What gave it away?” she asked with a snort.
His smile stole the breath from her lungs, and she swayed where she sat. Glancing briefly at her glass, Silver contemplated another sip. Was she already drunk? Or was he just that handsome?
“You here alone?” she asked. Glancing at her glass again, she shrugged, tipped it back and drained it. This time both the bushy brows of the bartender lifted on his forehead. She nodded. He was over in a jiff, topping her up.
Aussie man chuckled. Fuck, even his laugh was sexy. Throaty and deep, and just rough enough to suggest he may at one point have enjoyed the odd cigarette or indulged in a weekly cigar. He was tucked just far enough away, near the dimly lit corner of the bar, so she couldn’t quite tell how old he was or what color his eyes were. She knew his hair was dark, but if his eyes were blue, she was a goner.
“I’m here alone,” he finally answered. “Why do you ask?”
Silver’s eyes drifted to the vacant seat beside her. “I hate to drink alone,” she said.
Taking her invitation, he moved over three seats and joined her. One of the pot lights overhead was shining down on him now, giving her the perfect opportunity to see every inch of his big, hard body.
He was younger than she would have thought, given the deep voice, maybe twenty-eight or thirty? But his face didn’t hold an ounce of baby to it, it was all man. Chiseled and refined, with a dark, close-shaved scruff hugging his angular jaw.
His laugh stirred her from her scrutiny. “Ya done checking me out?”
Silver swallowed and removed her eyes from the V of his legs. Fuck, had she really been staring at the crotch of his dark-wash jeans? She was biting her lip, and her face was warm.
Yup, she had been.
Shit.
With embarrassment clinging to every cell of her body, she slowly lifted her head.
Double shit.
Those were some blue eyes.
“Hmm?” he hummed.
Swallowing again, she nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“Good.”
She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth again. Could she? Should she? She’d never done a reckless or spontaneous thing in her life, and look where that got her. Sitting in a random hotel bar on her wedding night, contemplating asking a hot, sexy foreigner to fuck her brains out on what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life. Yep, if this wasn’t rock bottom, Silver didn’t know what was.
“You, ah, you staying at the hotel?” she asked, nerves running rampant through her at the idea of what she was doing. She’d never propositioned someone before; hell, she’d never even hit on a guy before. But just like a bolt of lightning, that whiskey hit her in the brain hard and then whooshed right down until her toes tingled. She could do this. She was going to do this. Tipping back her glass one more time, and with new whiskey-fueled confidence, she signaled for the bartender.
He was back in a flash. “Careful, Miss. I hope you intend to cab home.”
“Cabbed here,” she said, flashing him a big, drunk smile.
He nodded solemnly as he poured her two more ounces.
“So.” She turned to face Mr. Sexy-Accent Man. “You staying upstairs? Got a room?”
His smile was slow and sexy, and the way it made every muscle inside her clench had Silver crossing her legs and squeezing before she knew what she was doing. “I don’t fuck drunk chicks.”
Her bottom lip dropped open. “I ... uh ... ”
Reaching back down the bar closer to where he’d been sitting, he snatched a big leather menu off the top of a pile. “Pick something to eat. I’m buying. You need to put some food in your belly, otherwise you won’t be able to walk, let alone talk or fuck in an hour.”
“I ... uh … ”
He flipped open the menu and started perusing. “I could go for a burger. You?”
She hadn’t even been thinking about food. After this afternoon, nothing but booze and lots of it had been on her mind. But then the more she thought about it, the more she realized she was starving. She’d been too nervous to eat this morning. Her aunt had said it was cold feet, the jitters, but now Silver thought perhaps it was intuition. That she knew, deep down, how the day was going to play out.
A burger sounded perfect. A greasy, gooey, cheesy burger with lots of fries. And onion rings. She didn’t have to fit into a dress anymore, so she’d eat whatever she wanted.
She nodded. “Sounds perfect.”
Chapter two
Warren
Of all the gin joints that Warren could have chosen to frequent that night … He hadn’t stepped foot into the hotel bar in his entire two-week stay. Well, at least not at night and during peak operating hours. He’d checked in with the staff a few days ago, spoken with the manager and chef, but he hadn’t actually sat down and enjoyed a beer there yet. But something had drawn him there tonight. Maybe it was the fact that he’d spent the last ten days being lugged around Vancouver by his mother and was plumb exhausted, or perhaps it was the fact that the bar was actually advertising the showing of a rugby match on the televisions. But either way, he hadn’t expected to watch a whirling dervish in tulle and taffeta bust through the door and pickle herself in good whiskey. Lucky day?
“God, this is good,” she said through chews, tucking a bite of her burger into her cheek and then wiping her mouth with a napkin.
“Good call on the onion rings. I always forget about them.”
“Fries are good, but onion rings are better.”
“Agreed.”
“You ever tried poutine?”
He wrinkled his nose as he took a swig of his beer. “What the hell is that?”
Her eyes went wide before snatching the menu off the bar and opening it. “Yes.” She waved over the bartender. “Can we have the poutine, please?”
He nodded. “Coming up. Probably a good idea to fill your belly with grease and gravy. Will make the hangover in the morning less severe.”
“That’s the plan,” she said with a laugh as she pushed an onion ring into her pouty mouth.
“So,” Warren started, “you going to tell me your name?”
She finished chewing. “You going to give me an answer about my earlier proposition?”
He eyed her up. She was feisty and forthright. And he hadn’t gotten laid in a while. Not that he had much time or had been looking while on vacation in Vancouver. Kind of hard to come visit your mother and then ditch her for a local delight just so you could get your rocks off on another continent.
“What, are you afraid of the big bad bride in the poufy white dress? Afraid she might take advantage of you?” she asked.
Damn, she was cute.
He snickered before popping a French fry into his mouth, chewing methodically. “Uh, no. Not quite. It’s more like I don’t do drunk chicks. I told you that. Hence why I’m pumping you full of food and have told the bartender to give you nothing but water for the next hour.”
She seemed slightly taken aback at first, but then shrugged. “Why?”
“I dunno, respect for women, consent and all that jazz. I’d like to know you’re a willing and active participant when I fuck your brains out. Not just there because the whiskey rendered you speechless and unable to advocate for yourself.”
“Hmm,” she hummed. “How very noble of you.”
He made a noise in his throat but didn’t say anything right away. After taking a sip of his beer, Warren glanced down briefly at her chest and the neckline of her dress. She had to be hot and uncomfortable in that getup. He leaned his elbows on the bar. “So, are we going to talk about the fact that you’re in a wedding dress? You care to tell me what happened? Why you’re here, in a hotel bar talking to me, and not off on your honeymoon with your husband?”
She snatched the tall glass of water in front of her and took a long, healthy sip. A small trickle dribbled down past her plump, pink lips and hung like a bead of dew on her chin. Warren ached to lean over and wipe it off.
“Well.” She lifted the back of her wrist to her mouth and wiped. “I was left at the altar … ”
“I gathered that.”
“He left me for his sister.”
“Excuse me?”
She shrugged. “Well, step-sister, but it may as well have been his sister. They’ve known each since they were ten. Their parents met in the PTA and got married. I think it’s disgusting.”
“Well,” he interrupted, “it’s not like they’re blood-related.”
She scoffed. “Might as well be. It’s gross. Once your parents are married, that makes you family and siblings. Blood or not, it’s gross.”
Warren took a deep breath, offering her a smile of sympathy. She was being a little harsh, but he understood why. She was hurt and angry and rightfully so.
She looked like she wanted to continue her story, so with an encouraging head bob, he urged her to go on.
She nodded and continued. “And what’s even grosser,” she went on, “is apparently, they secretly lost their virginity together when they were sixteen and then their parents found out and shipped her off to boarding school. Then she went to college back east for six or something years and has only been back here in Vancouver for a few years. They’ve been sleeping together for nearly a year. She has a boyfriend. We’re all friends. Were friends.”
“You didn’t know about them having a thing back when they were kids?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t know any of it. In my mind they were brother and sister. Stepsiblings. Not stepsiblings who fucked.” She shuddered and then made a gagging face. “For Christ’s sake, I made her one of my bloody bridesmaids. And then what happens? When the minister asks if anyone objects, they both, both of them say, ‘me’ at the same fucking time and then profess their love for one another in front of everyone. They said that they’ve been in love since they were ten.”
She glanced around the bar, probably in search of another drink. Finally, she spotted Warren’s beer and, without hesitating or asking, grabbed it and drained it.
He couldn’t blame her. Not after the day she’d just had.
“Wow! That’s quite the story.”
She snorted. “Quite.”
“Hmm. So, what would you like to do?”
Licking ketchup off her thumb, she turned to face him. Curiosity colored her face. “What do you mean?”
“Well, it seems your fiancé got what he wanted. What do you want? It’s your wedding night, and you’re certainly not going to be spending it the way you thought you were going to be. So, what would you like to do? How would you like to spending your non-wedding wedding night?”
“I … ” she paused for a moment, her bright gray eyes twinkling in the soft pot lights overhead. She was a looker, all right. Tall, curvy but fit, with dark blonde hair that at the moment was pinned up on the back of her head, showing off a long neck. And that nose, the way it wrinkled when she thought extra hard, it was almost as cute as the small mole just below her right eye.
His lips curled into a smile.
Not so forthright when your alcohol level has dropped, now are we, little bride?
