Off limits lover, p.1
Off Limits Lover, page 1
A Houston After Dark Prequel
DEBORAH GARLAND
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Off-Limits Lover Copyright ©2022 Deborah Garland
Rough Lover Prologue Copyright ©2022 Deborah Garland
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Off Limits Lover was originally titled Off-Limits Cowboy.
Edits by:
Julie K. Cohen
Published by Deborah A. Garland
www.deborahgarlandauthor.com
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
ROUGH LOVER
HOUSTON AFTER DARK
MORE BOOKS BY DEBORAH GARLAND
HERE’S DEBORAH
CHAPTER ONE
Grant
“We good?” I slid my pants on and zipped my fly.
I didn’t know the name of the woman lying on the bed in a tangled mess of sheets because this wasn’t the kind of place The Stable pretended to be. My high-end club for consenting adults fulfilled fantasies for those of us in Houston who didn’t have time for relationships.
Sex here meant nothing more than a release.
For men and women. The Stable offered equal opportunity, no-strings playtime. And women wanted mindless sex with strangers just as much as men. Made it more fun.
The lady I just gave my all to, three times, reared up on her elbows. Her hesitation in answering gave me pause.
In the few hours we’d been in here, she’d screamed and scratched up my back and arms real good. So why the silent treatment now?
Uh oh...
Slipping one boot on, I said, “You okay?”
Her eyes were still glazed as she looked me up and down. “Sure am, cowboy.”
I never worked on a ranch, but I rode horses, hunted, and fished large mouths and small. The hat... Right.
“Well, this has been mighty enjoyable.” I tipped my Stetson to her with a smile. Here at the club, I dressed in my good plaid shirt with nice slacks and brought my expensive cream-colored cowboy hat to show I had class.
Many women came to The Stable looking for a roughneck cowboy to take them for a ride. I always delivered whatever type of cowboy women here wanted me to be.
I turned to leave my private suite, paid extra for it because of the bathroom with a shower and jacuzzi tub, depending on my mood.
For years I couldn’t bring women home when I lived with my younger sister. Even with her being twenty, she didn’t need to know about places like The Stable. I didn’t care if anyone called me a hypocrite for trying to keep my sister from hooking up with guys like me. A guy’s gotta protect the females in his life. Enough said.
Now I lived alone, and I still didn’t want strange women in the bed I slept in. Saying that thought in my head put a sour taste in my mouth, realizing how detached I’d become.
“What’s your name, cowboy?” My date for the night flashed me a smile and a blush colored her sculpted cheeks. “Can I see you again?”
I froze.
Fuck. Me. Hard.
Oh, she did that already. The whole point of this place was no-names, no-strings. I never bothered to confirm that rule with a ‘date’ and assumed the club’s sales staff made those terms perfectly clear.
The club covered everything its clients needed, including background checks, medical tests, and a probationary period. I’d seen this particular redhead a few times over the past year, so I knew she wasn’t a probie.
Oh, she probed...
“When can I see you again?” Not if, but when.
I cleared my throat, pushing down the guilt. Hurting women wasn’t my thing. And, well, a woman getting turned down wasn’t something I’d watch if you paid me. Until I felt ready to open my heart, I needed this place so I’d stay sane. My throat tightened when the idea of opening my heart felt impossible.
“About that...” I started when my phone rang. “Hang on.”
As a private investigator, I worked 24/7. My current caseload at the moment was just surveilling some cheaters, insurance fraudsters, and guys with gambling debts up the ass. I didn’t recognize the number, but screening calls didn’t cut it in my business.
The no-name rule here at the club had me answering the call sounding shady. “Hello?”
“Grant Harding?” the voice on the other end bellowed my name loud and clear.
I squeezed my eyes shut. “Speaking. Who’s this?”
“My name is Landon Clark. Sheppard Mills said you were handling my case.”
“Hang on, Mr. Clark.” Pinching the bridge of my nose, I turned to the woman, who had gotten out of bed and started to dress. I’d liked what I’d seen when she took that dress off, but now...
Our time was over. Going separate ways was a foregone conclusion. I hated feeling like a dick. But Landon Clark saved me, even though I cringed at his words because Sheppard, my boss and owner of Mills Security, hadn’t mentioned this case I was supposedly handling.
Some clients were just impatient as fuck.
“Work’s calling me, I need to take this,” I said to the woman, acting cold and not making eye contact.
“Fine. I’m leaving, cowboy.” The deep, sex-kitten voice had vanished.
I cursed myself for not picking up on how this might end. The private suite was mine all evening, but I never spent the entire night here. The comfortable king-size bed and soft cotton sheets had one purpose. Sex. Some of the members used their suites like a hotel room and stayed all night. Others were in and out with different women like a revolving door.
Neither suited me. I came here a few times a week when I needed sex and nothing more. The Stable was my haven. My secret.
The door clicked shut and I lowered my head, the last of the woman’s perfume leaving with her.
“Grant?” The man on the phone used my first name, rubbing me the wrong way immediately.
“I’m here. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting your call at...” I glanced at my watch, “Ten p.m. on a Saturday night.”
“I gave Sheppard a retainer on Monday. I’ve been expecting you to call me.”
My nerves seized. What the fuck? I could throw Sheppard under the bus. He’d been acting strangely the last few months, but to blame him only made us both look bad. I’d worked for him for twelve years, straight out of high school.
Had to. My parents had gone to jail for cooking meth and I’d had my seven-year-old sister, Callie Rose to look after when they got locked up.
“Sir, Sheppard’s messages must be lost in my phone somewhere. I apologize.” Anger burned through me for taking the fall. I missed nothing. “What can I do for you?”
He roughly exhaled. “Really? I spent two hours talking to Sheppard, explaining what I needed. I didn’t think I had to do it again.”
I felt for the guy. And he paid a retainer. Sheppard needed a talkin-to. He crossed the line giving out my number. “Your situation must have gotten buried with that lost call. I can hang up and try to find it, or you can—”
“Never mind. My daughter is being stalked.” The guy’s age didn’t come through in his voice, so I had no idea how old this daughter was.
“How old is your daughter?” And if that answer was the wrong one, you’d get shot in these parts if you had that girl in a compromising position. Something I’d never do. The seasoned women here at my club suited me just fine.
“Eighteen. Just graduated high school,” he answered reluctantly like I wouldn’t take him seriously.
“Okay.” I sat on the edge of the unmade bed that still smelled of my cologne and sex. “Define stalked.”
“He sends her those messages on social media.”
“And you have access to her accounts?” I imagined how Callie Rose would kill me if I read her messages. At twenty, she deserved privacy. To a point, of course.
“Yes. I...” He paused. “I know my way around an iPhone, but I’m lost when comes to this social media stuff. I didn’t want to drag the police into this yet if it turned out to be nothing. I did detective work with Houston PD years back, anyone on the force who could have helped me is long retired. Me, I got hurt. Now, I’m the Director of Security at Magnolia University. I manage a team of campus cops. We don’t do investigation work, but that might change soon.”
I let him talk without interrupting. Listening was key on this job. “Is your daughter going to be a student there?”
“No. She’s leaving in a few weeks to go to Arizona State. Freshman. I can’t let her go with this creep harassing her.” Landon had a good reason to worry. Cyberstalking was on the rise and this creep could live anywhere.
“Has your daughter...” I chose my words carefully. “Encouraged him at all?”
“What?”
“Sir, you’ve read the messages.” I kept the accusing tone to a minimum to set expectations. “Has she told him to f... To go away?”
“Not really.” He groaned into the phone. “She’s talking to him like she knows him. Like he knows her. He said in one message he’s nineteen. I’m sorry, I work on a college campus, I know how frat boys talk. I’m pegging this guy for late thirties, maybe forties.”
I held my breath for a moment, and said, “Now, Mr. Clark, your daughter is eighteen. I’m not saying this guy doesn’t have ill-intent, but she’s not a minor. He’s not committed any offense by messaging her. Sadly, men lie to women all the time.”
I hated fucking liars. My parents were drug addicts and that made them lying experts. And at times, I got into a bar fight with the bastard members here with wives who used The Stable to cheat.
“I’m paying you to check him out. If you tell me he really is some nineteen-year-old geek at Texas A&M, I’ll consider this case closed.”
“Fair enough. Can you send me a copy of those messages?” When he hesitated, I added, “Did Sheppard send you a contract to sign? It states our privacy policy.”
“Yeah, he sent it. I signed. Is this your official work cell phone? I’ll be honest, I called in a favor at my old precinct to get your number. Sheppard wouldn’t give it to me.”
Swallowing down a fresh resurgence of anger, I wondered if Sheppard had jumped to the same quick conclusion that an eighteen-year-old girl talking to a guy of any age wasn’t a crime. Took Landon’s money and never intended to give me the job.
Otherwise, he’d have to pay me. Probably stalled the guy for a week, saying he’d get in touch with me while he worked up some BS report showing all was Georgia-Peachy.
What the motherfucker was going on with Sheppard?
“Yes, sir. You can use this number.” I had burner phones for jobs when needed, and besides talking to Callie Rose, my gun-range and hunting buddy Noah, and cyber guy Zane, this phone only rang for business. “Is this a cell you’re calling from?”
“Yes, I’d rather you not call the house. I don’t want Avery to know I hired someone. She thinks I’m overbearing to begin with.” The anxiety he’d been through came out in his voice, no mistaking it.
“What about her mom?”
“Her mom took off on us years ago. After my accident. Couldn’t deal with my moods which I admit, I was a sumbitch. I’d been shot in the neck for Pete’s sake, and I needed a lot of therapy. Anyway...”
Tough break for the guy and the girl, Avery... Her name had just come out of the guy’s mouth, and it hit me like a piece of velvet rubbed against my skin.
Avery Clark.
“I’ll text you my work email,” I said, wanting to help him out. “I’ll get with a cyber guy to check out this stalker’s profile and see where he’s messaging her from. It won’t take me long to find out his real name and dig into his background. Sound good?”
“Yes, thank you. I’m sorry if I came on strong.” He sounded sincere. “This is my little girl. The idea of some guy...”
“I understand.” Really, I did because I felt the same way about my sister.
How my father couldn’t give a fuck, burned the shit out of me. How could he sleep every night in prison and not worry about her? The only contact I had with him was the letters he’d write, asking for money. Never once asked about Callie.
Loser. He could rot.
My mother was a whole other story. Her letters made me want to tear my hair out. Good thing I had a head full of thick blond hair.
“Rest easy, Mr. Clark. I’ll get to the bottom of this.” I hung up and before I called Zane, my cyber pro, I needed to get to the bottom of a bottle of whiskey.
CHAPTER TWO
Grant
Landon Clark blew up my email, the dings annoying me as I downed my third shot of whiskey at the bar. Sated from good sex and buzzed from the alcohol, my mind just wanted peace for a few damn minutes.
The scarred mahogany bar, whiskey bottles lined up, and leather stools could fool someone into thinking The Stable was just an up-scale honkytonk here in Houston. With tables for two and a polished dance floor, this was the pick-up area. Sure, I needed game and charm to take the woman I wanted upstairs. No meant no, but yes meant game on.
I even considered going another round tonight with someone else until I made the mistake and glanced at one message with a link to Avery Clark’s Instagram account. My fingers strangled my phone for many reasons.
One: Holy fucking shit. Sable hair and lots of it, blue eyes, and a heart-pounding smile stopped me in my tracks. I had a hard time believing this beauty was only eighteen. Someone breezing by her profile would think early-twenties.
Two: Something visceral fucking twisted inside me. In those eyes, I saw innocence with a touch of fire. It wasn’t any of my business why she’d been messaging a strange man. And dear God, I hoped digging through her account wouldn’t uncover a crowd of men sweet-talking her.
I wasn’t sure where this job would lead me. I had to get with Sheppard right away and tell him I spoke to Landon. Hopefully, Shep wouldn’t tell me to blow it off. He better not have just charged the guy with the intent of lying, saying that Avery’s so-called stalker was just a harmless teenager.
Plus, I expected to get paid. I had bills to pay. Callie Rose’s college tuition for the fall semester was coming due.
Landon said he worked at Magnolia University. I resisted a whistle. A pricey private school if there ever was one. That also meant Mr. Clark, as the Director of Security, took home a nice salary. Sheppard would have guessed this too.
Callie Rose knew I didn’t have money to send her to a school like Magnolia and I’d told her taking a huge loan wouldn’t serve her well when she graduated because she wanted to be a social worker. Those loans would wreck her life. She wisely agreed to get her degree at the community college.
My splurge? I rented an apartment for her.
It was best for both of us. I couldn’t deal with her bringing home dates. Dates a twenty-year-old woman had every right to...
God, I couldn’t even think about it. Landon and I had something in common. Only, I couldn’t get Avery’s smile out of my mind.
Knowing I would drown myself in whiskey until The Stable’s bar closed down, I took a car service here and then back home to the townhouse I’d bought for me and Callie Rose after years of living in a crappy apartment. With her gone, the two-story townhouse felt empty. The openness of the kitchen to the living room where my big-screen television took up one wall worked out great for football game parties, but in the dark before the dawn, all that open space reminded me how alone I was.
High, but not shitfaced, I heated up a frozen pizza. Flicking the television on, I kicked off my boots and sat down in my leather recliner.
With the buzz leaving my body, tension crept back in. My boss acting suspiciously. My lack of interest in having a relationship. My need to bed strange women I didn’t even give my name to and shuddered when asked.
And now Landon’s daughter Avery.
Eighteen.
She looks twenty-five, the devil on my shoulder said. If he’d been real, I would have smacked him. Eighteen, twenty-five, and every year in between were way too young for me. I had sophisticated tastes. Another reason I used The Stable. A place where I liked to get very dirty. I needed a woman who could handle me.
Fuck, lust powered through me. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Wicked smile with full lips. Avery...
You’re only human. She’s fucking gorgeous, the kind of beauty that’s hard to forget. The angel on my shoulder patted me, giving me permission to think about her.
Only... I turned rock hard.
How could I work for her if just her damn Instagram profile picture tied me up in knots?
You’re not working for her. You’re working for her father.
Right, thanks, angel.
I clicked the television off and closed my eyes. Pretending I wasn’t about to do what I was about to do, I unbuckled my belt. My zipper had seen a lot of action today. Once again, I slid the thing down. I could have banged that woman a fourth time earlier, I chose to take a client’s call.
You’re a good man, Grant.
Thank you, angel.
Now shut the fuck up and let me pretend I got Avery beneath me.
