Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Summary
Russian Words & Phrases
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
MORE SEXY ROMANCE ...
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
FOLLOW THE HONEY
A Sweet & Dirty BBW Romance, Book 4
CATHRYN CADE
Windtree Press
BEAVERTON, OREGON
Copyright
Copyright © 2017 by Cathryn Cade
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.
Contact information:
Windtree Press
Beaverton Oregon USA
http://windtreepress.com
Cover Art by Leah Kaye Suttle
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Book Layout © 2017 BookDesignTemplates.com
Follow the Honey/ Cathryn Cade. -- 1st ed.
ISBN 9781944973193
Dedication
This book is
for
Cathryn's Clique –
All my Readers
Who Make This So Much Fun!
You know who you are
Summary
After she’s fired unjustly for embezzling from a brewpub owned by the Devil’s Flyers MC, a revenge prank is the worst idea this bubbly, BBW brunette ever had. But when she’s caught by her hot boss, he has a very adult punishment in mind!
Lesa Boggs has solid goals—build a white-collar career that will make her father proud, find a steady, faithful man to marry, and then help her younger sisters do the same. But she's better at waitressing than crunching numbers, she has a massive crush on her hot, man-slut boss, and a habit of acting on impulse. None of which make her a good fit for her life plans.
The Flyers have a new plan for her--with a few surprises.
Pete Vanko co-owns the best brewpub and grill in Airway Heights WA. He has a big, rowdy family in the Devil's Flyers MC, and sexy women whenever he wants, with zero reason to choose just one. He loves his life—until fate drops a sweet but feisty brunette in his lap, with curves that won't quit and a knack for getting into trouble. When his scheme to use her to catch whoever is stealing from him blows up in his face, Pete discovers life and love, aren't always in his control.
Now Pete must set a trap for a family of dangerous thieves … but the one he really wants to discipline is Lesa.
Russian Words & Phrases
Bezrassudnyy = reckless fool
Da = yes
Kotik or kotyonok = pussycat, kitten
Khuyesos = cocksucker
Malyshka = baby
Milaya = sweetheart
Milaya moye = my sweet, my honey
Moye = my own
Mudak = asshole
Nyet = no
Sladkaya = honey
Tigryonak moye = my little tiger or tigress
Vashlee = cash
Xuj = dick
Zhopa = ass
Ty che, blyad? = What the fuck?
Ya hochy viebe menye. = I want you to fuck my brains out.
Da, pyshnyye moye = Yes, my curvy one
CHAPTER ONE
February 1st
Lesa Boggs crouched in the inky shadows of a pickup truck. And not just any truck, Pete Vanko’s classic 1954 Chevy, rebuilt and lovingly restored.
At nearly one a.m., with only stars and a fingernail moon shining over the Eastern Washington countryside, the January night was dark and cold. But in the glow of the yard light outside the open shed, the truck’s sleek, rounded lines were visible.
For a long, aching moment Lesa stared up at the gleaming hulk, inhaling the scents of gasoline, leather upholstery, and a faint whiff of shaving cologne through the window, which he’d left cracked open.
God, the cab of his truck smelled just like him, the woodsy, spicy scent that blended with the pheromones given off by a big, muscular, virile male, enticing every woman within his reach. As if his blond Viking looks weren’t hot enough, he had to smell like walking sex as well.
She tipped her head down, blowing out a breath. Focus—she needed to focus on something else, anything else.
Such as the way he’d betrayed her.
She braced her left hand against the door, the metal smooth and cold as ice under her palm. A rock bit into her knee through her jeans. The small pain brought her back to her surroundings. To the ground under her feet, frozen hard by winter's chill.
Across the drive loomed Pete's big farmhouse, where he was probably lounging snugly by a fire, drinking one of his own micro-brews. Thinking himself safe from the people he stomped on, in his hard-headed drive toward his goals. People like her.
In Lesa's right hand, she clutched a key, so tightly that one sharp edge dug into her palm. Her hands were nearly numb with cold—she wore her warmest jacket and boots over jeans and a sweater, but she'd forgotten her hat and gloves in her car. Betrayal would do that to a girl.
The sharp pain in her hand loosed the fiery ache of tears pressing behind her eyes. She sucked in a breath that turned to a shaky sob, and then fell to her knees, long hair falling about her face as she gave a low keen of grief.
She was such a failure. She couldn’t even do what she came out here to do—exact her revenge on Peter Vanko.
Everyone at The Hangar Brewpub & Grill knew he loved this truck, that he'd worked for months to restore it from a rusted hulk he’d found in an old barn. Now, though she couldn’t see well in the darkness under his carport, Lesa could p
icture the deep, glowing bronze of the truck’s body, the faint, red ghost flames and the Hangar’s red-white-and-blue emblem on the doors.
Pete drove into Airway Heights at least five days a week, Tuesday-Saturday, around ten a.m., one arm on the steering wheel, blonde hair pulled back in a short ponytail below a baseball cap on sunny days, and aviator sunglasses shadowing his handsome, bearded face, his broad shoulders relaxed as he cruised the small-town roads. And on his way, he passed her tiny, rented house just off the main road as she was walking out her front door, having fed the stray cat that had taken up residence under her back porch, and swept the snow away from her front porch and walk.
At first she’d waved, but stopped after a few days because while he nodded back, he did so with a smirk that said he found her or perhaps her tiny house amusing. But she’d thought he liked her a little. That he at least respected her willingness to work hard and do whatever it took to help keep The Hangar’s business thriving and growing.
But clearly, he neither liked or respected her, because today, without any warning, he’d walked into the office and told her that she was fired.
She shuddered, remembering …
Earlier that day
She’d taken her lunch break at one o’clock, sitting at the end of the bar nearest the kitchen to eat one of Pico’s delicious burgers and a salad. Pico had prepared it just the way she liked it, the meat juicy and a little pink in the middle, the bun toasted on the grill, and laden with lettuce, tomato and dill pickle. Joe added a side of crisp, leafy salad with creamy blue cheese dressing, and three little paper cups of ketchup.
Both cooks had teased her while she ate, making her laugh and nearly spit out her salad.
“She prolly thinks she’s too good for us now that she’s the bookkeeper,” Joe called from the counter where he was prepping burger patties for the dinner rush.
“Yeah, she’s management now,” Pico agreed, giving Lesa a mock pout.
“That’s right,” she called back, once she swallowed. “Everyone knows the bean counter is the queen of any establishment.”
Joe held up a huge ring of raw, sweet onion. “Here, got a crown for ya, queenie.”
Lesa wrinkled her nose. “Nothing but the best for me, sir. If that’s my crown, I demand it be deep-fried to crispy, golden goodness.”
“That’ll make your hair smell interesting” Streak put in from behind the bar, where he was slicing oranges for hefeweizen-style beers. “Eau de onion, every man’s favorite.”
She finished her last bite of burger and wiped her fingers on her napkin, then sighed. “You’re right. I shall remain crown-less.”
“A-and, time for me to go.” Carrying her plate, Lesa ducked into the kitchen and stacked it in one of the bus trays inside the big restaurant-sized dishwasher. She washed her hands at the sink there, and then hurried into the office, wondering why Marta was coming back here, after she’d been fired just days ago.
Well, big advantage, this was not her problem. Lesa set her glass of diet soda sitting on the narrow counter to one side of her desk, where even if it tipped over, it couldn’t spill on her keyboard or any other tech.
She’d spent the last few hours using Pete’s absence to peruse the manual for the Hangar’s on-line bookkeeping system. She planned to print herself a cheat sheet of keyboard commands and slip it into the desk’s top drawer where she could use it when needed.
Somehow, she could memorize dinner and drink orders for a table of seven, but not this program’s annoying key commands.
When her boss strode into the office an hour later, she jumped in her seat, startled by the abruptness of his appearance, but kept her eyes on the screen as she highlighted, copied and pasted the section of page she wanted.
Instead of moving over to his own desk, Pete stopped in front of her desk, and waited until she looked up. Lesa flinched at the forbidding scowl on his handsome face, and her lunch knotted in her stomach.
“What’s wrong?”
“Clean out your things," he said, "And go. You’ll get a paycheck for the next two weeks, but I don’t want you in this office anymore.”
He hadn’t bothered to say this privately, either. He’d left his office door wide open, so everyone else there—the two grill cooks, the two waitress-barmaids, and Marta could hear.
Stunned as if he’d slapped her, her breath frozen in the icy void that was her chest, Lesa had barely been able to form the single word, “Why?”
In answer, his angled jaw clenching, eyes going even icier, Pete had flung two sheets of paper on the desk between them. Two balance sheets, showing costs for the same list of brewery and restaurant supplies. Only they didn’t match. On one sheet, the costs were higher, several amounts circled in red.
Shaking her head, Lesa looked up to find him watching her with the closed, pitiless glare of a man wronged by a trusted employee.
“But I didn’t,” she’d fumbled, her voice numb with shock. “I—I wouldn’t. I’m not a … a thief. I'm not!”
Oh god, oh god, oh god, not again!
“There’s no one else it could've been,” he’d said, his deep voice cold and clear.
Sure there was, and that woman was standing in the rear of the small group watching through the open office doorway. But when Lesa had opened her mouth to correct him, Pete had preempted her.
“You expect me to believe one of them did this?" he'd demanded, indicating their silent audience with a wave of his hand. "People I know much better than you? Not happening, so don’t bother giving me that wounded, innocent look. Just get your things and go.”
In shock, Lesa had cleaned the drawer of her desk, grabbed her coat, purse and the picture of her with her dad and two younger sisters, and stumbled out to the parking lot, past the wide-eyed stares of her fellow employees.
Pico and Joe, the two cooks, had given her looks of wounded sympathy. Aysha had sneered, while Sylvie looked away, face pinched as if Lesa had betrayed her personally.
Marta had watched Lesa's every move, expression stoic, eyes avid.
Lesa’s own face had burned with humiliation, her eyes blurred with tears as she stumbled out of the brewpub into the bitter chill of the afternoon wind off the snow-covered prairie. She’d barely made it around the back corner before vomiting up her lunch onto the frozen ground, heaving until her stomach was empty, her mouth filled with bitterness.
Shuddering, she’d fumbled on her coat and stumbled home in a daze of shock and misery, unable to believe how quickly her dreams had once again exploded in her face.
It had taken her the rest of the afternoon and evening to figure out what had happened, but she’d done it. She knew who’d embezzled the money from the brewpub, and she knew why Peter Vanko had been so ready to blame her instead.
Because the embezzler was his former bookkeeper—had to be.
Marta, who strutted through the brewpub in the latest fashions, on stiletto heels, her hair and makeup always perfect. Who spoke with a Russian accent pretty as she was, and often lapsed intimately into her native tongue with Pete, and with his older brother Stick.
Marta, who had also been Pete’s lover, at least when Lesa had started working at The Hangar.
Until the last few weeks, when they’d all seen Pete ignoring the redhead while she cast wounded looks his way, and then flirted under his nose with other attractive men. To Lesa's secret relief, he hadn't seemed to mind. But he must have, if he didn’t want to believe Marta had stolen from him.
But Lesa had finally deciphered the strange look on Marta’s face earlier today—it had been a mix of guilt and relief, as if she couldn’t quite believe she’d gotten away with her crime. But who had more opportunity, and was angry enough to steal from Pete Vanko, than the woman he’d just tossed away like a used bar towel?
Now, crouch
ed in the cold and dark, in Pete Vanko's remote country farm yard, Lesa wept for the unfairness of it all, and especially for the fact that she couldn’t even exact her revenge.
Pete Vanko had humiliated her in front of her fellow employees, and the entire town. Lesa didn’t bother to kid herself that the news wasn’t all over Airway Heights by now. She’d have to leave, and find a job somewhere else.
And she liked it here, damn him. She’d had plans and dreams.
But she was also occasionally impulsive, and once she was really, truly angry, she acted on it.
Which brought her to back to here … and now.
She sucked in a long, shaky breath, and then froze as she heard a low, chilling sound in the shadows, the growl of a large dog.
CHAPTER TWO
Very slowly, Lesa turned her head.
“G-good dog,” she managed, her voice thick. “Good girl, Dima.”
A bulky, dark shape materialized in the narrow space between the truck and the side of the garage. As hot, moist breath assaulted her, Lesa lifted her hands in self-defense, not knowing what to expect.
With a deep groan, Pete’s big dog moved closer, crowding her against the wall, and proceeded to lick Lesa's chin and ear with her long, wet tongue.
Dima was part German Shepherd and part who-knew-what. She was white, with touches of black and brown, and despite her forbidding size and looks, very friendly to people she knew.
She often accompanied Pete to work, wandering the non-public areas, the brewery and office and the graveled sweep behind the building or snoozing on a dog bed in Pete’s office.
The office Lesa had shared, for two short weeks. Dima had quickly spotted a sucker and interrupted Lesa on a regular basis to be petted, her big head butting Lesa’s arm until she gave in and gave the soft fur a good rub.
Still, Lesa hadn't been sure if Dima would treat her differently tonight, as an uninvited night-time visitor.
“Ssh-hh,” Lesa pleaded now. “Quiet, girl. I’m g-glad to see you, too. Or at least I would be, if—oh, never mind. Let me out of here. I have to get going.”