Wicked Need (The Wicked Horse Series Book 3)(5)

She surprises me though and nods against my grip. “Okay.”

Though I’m loathe to release her, I do it anyway. “Okay then. I think your goal for today is to go to that attorney’s office and ask for a copy of Samuel’s will.”

“Just show up without an appointment?” Cat asks with hesitation.

“Yup. Just walk in and ask for it. You shouldn’t need an appointment for that.”

I think. Fuck, I don’t know, but it’s a start.

“I can do that,” she says as she stands from the chair.

For the first time since last night, I actually see a glimmer of hope in her eyes that perhaps things will turn out okay. I don’t know that they will, but I know for sure I’m not going to abandon her.

Jake’s going to give me so much shit.





Chapter 2


Cat



So I have a plan.

A temporary one, but at least I have a plan.

I also have a roof over my head for the time being, and since Rand told me to help myself to anything in the apartment, I will also have food in my belly. While he takes a shower, I make use of the carton of eggs in his refrigerator and scramble some up for both of us. I have a plate waiting for him when he emerges from the bathroom, wearing nothing but a pale blue towel wrapped low around hips.

I know that body well. It’s tall and lean with just the right amount of muscles gracing a broad chest and strong arms. I happen to know when he flexes his abs, they’ll tighten into a six pack, just as I know his pierced tongue feels good between my legs. I know well those green eyes that will stare at me with frenzied lust and the soft brush of his blond beard against my skin.

Rand is a beautiful package, no doubt. He’s edgy with his golden hair shaved on the sides but long on top. He often brushes his fingers through it, pushing it away from his face. I find it amusing that he always seems exasperated by the length, but he never cuts it any shorter. Add in a multitude of tattoos over his chest, back, and upper arms, a silver ring through his left nostril and a matching one through his left eyebrow, and you have a man who’s edgy, cool, and sexy all at the same time.

So I feed him scrambled eggs while he sits at the table. I try not to stare at the gap in the towel that rides up his right thigh and instead focus my attention on his apartment.

It’s small in and of itself, but it’s cramped with so much clutter that it feels like you’re in a closet. Not the type of small clutter like unwashed cups left on tables, but rather his mudroom has at least four pairs of ski boots shoved under a bench along with a pair of snowshoes in the corner and puffy ski pants and coats hanging on hooks on the wall. In his living room, two corners have various skis and poles leaning in causal stacks. A bookcase holds trophies and glass-encased medals I briefly noticed last night as he was making up the couch. So many, in fact, they appear just haphazardly jammed on the shelves, not to display but merely to just put them somewhere out of the way.

I was so exhausted last night I didn’t take a very close look, but while Rand was getting my luggage out of my car, I went to the bathroom and my attention was caught by a framed photo. It was pushed into the back corner of the second shelf from the top. It caught my attention because of one of the most recognizable logos in the world displaying prominently in the background.

Five circles.

Three on top. Two on the bottom. All interlinked.

Each a different color. Blue, black, red, yellow, and green.

I halted as I recognized the Olympic rings, but more importantly, I recognized Rand standing on a tiered podium, right in the middle and on the highest dais. Both arms were raised high in the air in victory, with one hand clutching a bouquet of flowers and the other raising his index finger pointed upward to the sky.

Around his neck, a large, round gold medal hung on a thick white ribbon.

I was stunned.

Rand was an Olympic medalist?

My eyes roamed around his small living room again, taking in the ski equipment. Back to the photo where he was wearing a heavy, puffed overcoat on the stand done in pristine white with the American flag patched over his left breast.

Holy f*ck. Rand won an Olympic gold medal.

I didn’t say anything when he came back in as he dropped my luggage next to the couch and said he had to jump in the shower and head to work. So I made eggs, my gaze flicking periodically to the shelves of trophies and medals, wondering what else was in there.

Now I look over Rand’s shoulder as he hunches over his plate, shoveling the food in, which makes me suspect he might be late for work. My eyes come to rest on the photo I studied earlier.

“You won an Olympic gold medal?” I blurt out, dying to know more about him. I mean… he’s always just been Rand. A gorgeous, sexy man who’s tremendously talented with his cock, mouth, and fingers, but past that, I know nothing about him.

His eyes rise up to meet mine as he finishes chewing the eggs in his mouth. After he swallows, he swipes his lips with the paper towel I laid next to his plate and gives me a wolfish smile. “That was five years ago in Vancouver. Won the gold in the Super Combined as well as two silvers in the Super G and Downhill.”

My mouth hangs slightly open in astonishment. “Three medals?”

He nods, gives me a wink, and takes another bite of his eggs, seemingly not interested in touting his accomplishments to me. But I’m amazed I didn’t know this about him. “Did you compete in last year’s Olympics?”