Jacked Up (Bowen Boys #4)(44)

“What the f*ck are you doing here? I told you to wait in the truck.”

Jack’s voice. Jack’s chest.

Damn, that had been fast.

She lifted her gaze to find his eyes spitting fire. He was pissed.

“What part of ‘wait for me in the truck’ is unclear to you?”

So many things were wrong with that question and his tone, she didn’t know where to start. As she was thinking what to tackle first, she heard a high-pitched squeal.

“Jack!”

A gorgeous woman with red hair, smoky eyes, and long legs came running and threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around him, and began showering him with kisses.

Jack hugged her too, a big smile on his face. “Hi, baby girl. I see you’re happy to see me.”

The breath Elle was taking froze in her lungs.

“You kidding? I missed you like hell,” the woman said in between kisses and hugs, clinging to him as if she were a monkey while Jack chuckled and returned the embrace.

Elle staggered back. That was why she was supposed to stay outside, to keep her from meeting Jack’s other squeeze.

“When are you coming home?” the redhead asked, pouting cutely and smoothing his shirt. “I’m so lonely without you.”





Chapter Eleven


When are you coming home? I’m lonely without you.

Elle hadn’t caught his answer, but he’d snorted at the redhead and said something, his tone light and playful, that made her laugh.

She shook her head, trying to wrap her mind around what was going on in front of her damn eyes.

Jack had a woman. Not just a woman, but a frigging sexpot. Feeling sucker punched, Elle took a step back, bumping into the biker dude.

Her throat was dry, but she forced the words out. “Who’s she?”

“Veronica Copeland. Owner of this joint. Wildest cat this side of Boston, which makes Jack Copeland the most envied and feared man this side of Boston.”

Oh. God. Jack was married? And to a sex bomb whom he called baby girl?

Numbness and disbelief transformed into fury, Elle’s blood boiling up in a nanosecond.

She dashed to him and punched him on his arm. “You *. How dare you?”

“Who’s this?” the redhead asked.

Elle ignored the woman and yelled in his face. “All that shit about searching for an Amish wife and you’re already married?”

Kudos to him, he even managed to look surprised. “What?”

The redhead lifted her eyebrows. “You’re searching for an Amish wife? When were you going to tell me?”

“Yeah, baby girl,” Elle continued, putting emphasis on baby girl, “and for your information, he isn’t home with you because he’s at my place, busy screwing me!”

Baby girl turned to Jack, her eyes big as plates. “You’re busy screwing her?”

“Not discussing that,” Jack answered and addressed Elle. “What do you think is going on here?”

God, would he still have the balls to deny what she just saw with her own eyes? “So you were not smooching with this…bombshell?”

“Aw, thanks. You kick ass too.” The bombshell stuck her hand out to Elle. “Nice to meet you. You’re the first person he’s busy screwing whom I get to meet. Very exciting.”

“Ronnie,” Jack growled.

Elle couldn’t believe her ears. This Ronnie was nuts. “This doesn’t bother you?”

She pondered for a second. “I must admit I’m a bit grossed out, but I’ll live.”

Drunk. The bombshell was drunk. Or high. Heck, drunk and high. Or they had a very liberal marriage. Amish wife, her ass.

“Veronica, you are not helping,” Jack said in a warning tone Elle knew far too well. It infuriated her even more.

The redhead smirked. “And who says I want to help, hubby?”

“Enough. You,” Jack said to her, “go back to the office, where you’re supposed to be, not behind the bar serving drinks. And you,” he said to Elle, “go back to the truck. This is not the time or the place for this conversation.”

She punched him again but the ass didn’t budge an inch. “You don’t get to order me around. And this is the perfect time and place for this conversation.”

The bombshell leaned toward him and mumbled something that sounded very much like “I like her. And you don’t get to order me around either.”

His voice was calm. “Yes, I do get to order you around. Both of you. This is not what you think, pet.”

Pet. The balls of this man had to be cast iron.

“Don’t you even. And don’t pretend she isn’t your wife. He told me,” she said gesturing at the biker.

Jack zeroed on him and the big guy lifted his arms, taking a step back, shaking his head.

She stood on her tiptoes and jabbed at Jack’s chest, facing off. “I. Do. Not. Screw. Married. Men. ”

By now half the joint was staring at them, but she didn’t care.

“When we’re done,” Elle said, imitating his baritone, “you can go back to doing as you want, but until then I’m the only one who f*cks you. Forgot to mention the little wife at home? Two-timing, two-faced figlio di puttana. You said you had no one, that no one was waiting for you.”